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

by Cameron Jace

  “I’m not leaving, Pillar!” Fabiola shouted from down there. She was loud enough for someone in so much pain. He guessed killing him was a desire that demolished her physical pains. He was familiar with that certain emotion.

  “One last spin, White Queen,” he shouted from high above. “One last wish before dying.”

  “I’m not waiting for the wheel to stop. I will stop it manually from down here,” she shouted. “You’ve never cut him any slack!”

  “How do you know that?” the Pillar said. “How do you know that I didn’t give him one last wish.”

  Fabiola stopped before the lever, listening to the Pillar talk. “I doubt that. You wanted him dead. I know you. You always take what you want. And you couldn’t have me. He loved me.”

  The Cheshire stood, hands folded next to the romantic Fabiola. He was bored out of his mind. He had never been a fan of love stories. But he knew they were talking about the Hatter. Fabiola loved him and he tried to help her escape the Pillar back in Wonderland. Before the night he disappeared and was later known to have been killed by the Pillar.

  “I did give him one last wish, Fabiola,” the Pillar said, spinning in the sky.

  “Prove it!” Fabiola said out of frustration. It wasn’t going to change anything. She only longed for some resolution. Something to ease her pain. The Hatter’s death was a chip on her shoulder. He was nothing but a funny man loving children and attending tea parties. His love for Fabiola was a mistake — though she loved him back — and only paved the way to his death.

  “I asked him if he had one last wish before I buried him alive,” the Pillar said in his deadpan voice. “And you know what he wished?”

  Fabiola didn’t answer, her hand gripping the lever.

  “He asked me to tell you that he loved you and will always love you,” the Pillar said. “That was his last wish.”

  Tears flowed from Fabiola’s eyes, “To hell with you, Pillar.”

  And she pulled down the lever with her left hand. The hose in her right.

  19

  Past: Mushroom Garden, Wonderland

  If anyone in Wonderland hadn’t been touched by darkness then it was the Mad Hatter.

  He seemed not to care about politics, turmoil, and conflict. In a pink-shrouded world of optimism, he lived. Late twenties and single, he hadn’t even cared about love or companionship. All he wanted was to drink his tea in peace.

  Five o’clock tea every day.

  Cinnamon flavored, peppermint flavored, and sometimes nonsense flavored - courtesy of his mentor Lewis Carroll.

  The Hatter loved Lewis. He loved how quirky and lonely he was. So was the Hatter. But those traits of introversion hadn’t been frowned upon in society yet. An introvert was someone who left people alone and actually possessed a quality few people had: enjoying time with theirselves.

  Introverts like Lewis and the Hatter didn’t need external validation, neither clothes or money or belongings to fit in. They didn’t even think about fitting in though they knew people made fun of them.

  But Lewis was always busy busy busy. At first, he was a priest and had no time for tea, even if it were holy water flavored. Then he spent so much time enchanted by Alice whom the Hatter loved as well- actually they share a peculiar friendship. Alive loved his nonsense. He loved her trying to make sense of nonsense.

  Then Lewis changed. They said he entered that Looking Glass and saw things. Heck, they say Lewis was not Lewis anymore

  He was now Carolus.

  A pen name? The Hatter wondered sipping tea.

  These circumstances left only the March Hare to accompany him in his tea parties.

  The March, once a child, now a child in an adult’s body was a fitting companion - it was said that he had seen atrocities that made him grow earlier into this adult body, but it was also said that he was like Peter Pan, not wanting to grow up.

  Either way, the March Hare was fun.

  They sat everyday drinking tea at the long white table in the middle of Wonderland, enjoying it so much you would think they were high on mushrooms and other wordy substances.

  Little did Wonderlanders know that lads like them needn’t do drugs to feel good. Feeling good was a simple choice. Yes, they had to work for it every day but it was possible.

  A click of teacups.

  A few jokes about nothing in particular.

  If that was a not enough then smashing cups and plates did it.

  Sometimes they invited passers-by for a drink. Those were the days with the most fun. Meeting someone new. Exchanging thoughts and ideas then letting them go.

  These were the Hatter's parties that attracted the children.

  There was no fun back home with mum and dad being boring and borderline psychotic, worn down by the darkness of everyday life.

  The Hatter seemed free and loosened up with no worries.

  Here children came.

  They drank tea.

  They laughed at nonsense - their favorite part.

  And they snatched teacups.

  Also, the children’s parents didn’t mind: why not. They wanted to rest and could not attend to the burden of the child they once brought into the world. Talk about irresponsible parents huh?

  But the Hatter had never been judgmental.

  He loved the company.

  The March Hare loved that children accepted him as an old child.

  All was good and all was fun, until, like every story, a beautiful woman crossed the Hatter’s path.

  The White Queen.

  True, the Hatter could never reason why he choked on his tea or why his heart raced. But he knew it was her. She was the one he would give up everything for. No long love stories. No love-hate relationships. No reasoning why love happened.

  Come on, this was Wonderland and the Hatter loved nonsense.

  What is love but a beautiful act of nonsense?

  But that was then...

  All pearly and flowery beginnings and all.

  Now Fabiola, after her encounter with the Pillar was damaged, and he had to do something about it.

  Not only for her. But everyone in Wonderland whom the Pillar hurt.

  In the most nonsensical and naive way, the Hatter decided to go talk to the Pillar and stop him. Maybe persuade him over tea.

  Because why the hell would someone be that evil? Didn’t the Pillar know that we are only characters in a book?

  And off to the Pillar he went.

  He was never to be seen again.

  20

  Earlier: Yellow School Bus, London

  Jack remained still.

  Aching and loudly pronouncing his pain had become a luxury at this time. His body had numbed to nothingness and given in. Strangely enough, he couldn’t remember suffering so much in death last time.

  Why can’t I get done with this, he thought. If I’m going to die why can’t someone just pull the plug? Why should I suffer, withering away?

  He had no doubt about the others’ deaths now. None of them talked or screamed or called for him. He was the last man standing.

  Probably the last mad man standing.

  But then he realized that the world around him wasn’t that silent. Not really.

  Besides the jittering panic of the world outside the bus, he could hear faint voices. In his head or real? He wasn’t sure.

  What he suspected was that the voice enticed him to stay alive.

  Even in death, there was something to care about. And for some odd reason, he cared about the voices.

  Faint and distant, as if they were a memory of the past begging to surface.

  He closed his eyes and concentrated. He could hear them clearer now.

  Children in the far distance.

  Singing?

  Not really. They were chanting something, and they did it all together, so much that it brought more cacophony to his ears than a desired melody.

  Their voices came from different directions, he could tell. Some groups sang in unison while others la
gged a fraction of a second behind, then the third and fourth parts lagged even more. A succession of hallucinations overwhelmed his dying senses.

  In a weird way, they kept him alert and alive.

  Squeezing his eyes shut as if holding onto these precious voices and stopping it from fading away, he could make out different accents. Not just lags, but Dutch accents, Asian accents, Arabic, and Hispanic among others.

  The more he listened, the more he could breathe.

  In fact, the voices grew loud enough that they seemed to have hammered through his skull and filled the bloody void inside the yellow bus.

  He felt elevated.

  The closest description was a church’s choir, but only more Disney-like. The children seemed happy and recited with passion. As if conjuring a spirit, yet not a malevolent one, but a benevolent wraith of love—and childhood hopes.

  Jack found himself remembering his childhood, running through the colorful grass in Wonderland. Mushrooms all over the place. Purple and pink and blue and lime-green mushrooms that looked upon him with love, not dangerous ones like in the world outside now. A canopy of trees and plants bent all over him, protecting him and watching him play with friends.

  He was holding hands with this... friend.

  She had warm hands. Full of heart. Full of madness. Beautiful and larger than life.

  While dying now in the bus, Jack realized he didn’t want to give in. Kill a man once and he’d call it a sad ending to a movie. Kill him twice, now you’ve got an unnecessary sequel.

  Instead of dying twice, maybe the second death was his chance to live again.

  The children’s chanting grew stronger. He could feel it as if they were on the bus with him. Finally, he could hear them. Not chanting but reading a book. Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll.

  If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there.

  Jack laughed, not with his lips, but with his mind’s eye.

  We’re all mad here!

  The children recited those two sentences every once in a while. It seemed that the more they read, the more the voices united. The more it became coherently accessible. All races, all languages, no matter the distance, conjuring some kind of magic with a purpose he couldn’t fathom.

  The memory from his past returned. The girl with warm hands. Alice Pleasant Wonder.

  “You’re a pleasant wonder, no kidding,” Jack had smiled at her, running under the canopy of mushrooms.

  “Nah,” she said. “I’m more than that.”

  A plant bent over and hissed in Jack’s ears, “You take care of this one, Jack.”

  “Aye,” he nodded at the plant. A tiger lily as large as an elephant. Talking plants had been the norm in Jack’s childhood. “I will.”

  But then Jack had stopped.

  Alice next to him looked perplexed, following his gaze.

  Jack was staring at a dark man in the middle of Wonderland. Darkness stood out like an intense pain back then. With purple and blue skies and green lands, black was the sheep that never belonged.

  Jack’s memory began to blur. It faded slowly, from outside in, like a huge circle shrinking. The last disappearing part was the dark man in the middle.

  Who was he?

  In the yellow bus again, Jack spat blood from his mouth. Blood that he would have choked on and died if the children hadn’t been singing.

  He suddenly got it.

  He understood why the children read the book.

  They were keeping him alive.

  Not actually him.

  They were keeping Lewis alive.

  “Jack,” Lewis said to him. “I’m here. You’re going to make it. Hang on.”

  Was this happening or was it part of his memory from the past. He realized it was really happening.

  “How did you survive?” Jack asked between splatters of blood.

  “The children, Jack,” Lewis rested a warm hand onto his chest. “Can you hear them?”

  Jack nodded.

  “They’re keeping me alive by reading my book all over the world.”

  “What? How? Why?”

  “It’s always been my last resort, in case all else fails in the Wonderland War,” Lewis explained. “If the children of the world unite and read the book, I stay alive, and the Jabberwocky loses--hopefully.”

  Not that Jack fully comprehended, but he felt a sting in his heart when they mentioned the Jabberwocky losing. Or was he just coming back to life?

  “You see, Jack,” Lewis explains. “When the Jabberwocky and I returned from the Looking Glass, and I realized his intentions were to possess the children of the world so he can control the universe, I decided to write a book.”

  “Alice in Wonderland?”

  “And Through the Looking Glass,” Lewis nodded. “I wanted to write a book that lasts forever in the minds of the children,” Lewis kneeled close to Jack’s face. “You know why Alice in Wonderland is the second most sold book in history after the Bible?”

  Jack knew jackshit about that at the moment.

  “Because I have planned it,” Lewis says. “If I created a wonderful book that promotes wonderful madness and hope in children and they kept reading it for almost two centuries, the Jabberwocky had no chance.”

  Jack was impressed, but why did the word Jabberwocky bring that sting in his heart over and over again. Why did it scare him so much?

  “Now that Black Chess was about to win,“ Fabiola said. He hadn’t realized she survived the bus as well. “We had to resort to the one last trick.”

  “To make the children read,” Jack said, feeling better as if he weren’t dying. “If the book reading keeps Lewis alive why are we alive too, Fabiola?”

  “We’re his friends,” she said. “Besides if the children read further they can keep the world alive, but we’re not sure yet.”

  Jack propped himself on his elbows and looked around. The bus was a bloody mess but Lewis and Fabiola’s wounds have subsided. So were his.

  The children’s voices filled the air like a magical hymn or a bedtime story that wasn’t meant to put you to sleep but resurrect you from boredom and numbness and darkness.

  He wanted to ask where Constance was, but a nagging question distracted him. “But who made the children read, Lewis?”

  21

  Present: Mad Hatter School, Mushroomland, Colombia

  The teacher was breathless.

  Even though she had been suppressing a smile at the children’s accents a while ago, she came to realize the gravity of the situation.

  At first, the children laughed at the book. Alice in Wonderland had been a laughed-upon book back at their parent’s home. White girl, white author, animals that talk. Come on! This wasn’t a fairy tale or a kid’s book. It was a joke that bordered on insult.

  Prior to the teacher’s call to read the book, extremist troops had kidnapped some children and probably killed some folks. Hell, attending school hadn’t been one of their priorities. They had only come for the free lunch, courtesy of a mysterious man who called himself — drum and eye roll please — the Mad Hatter.

  Mad or not. Read or not. The children of Colombia knew Shakespeare had always been wrong. To be or not to be was never the question. To starve or not to starve was the ultimate question. Sorry Shakes.

  “Looouiee Carooole,” the brown kid wiggles his eyebrows and laughed.

  The kids laughed as well.

  The teacher had to threaten to deprive them of their free lunch if they didn’t behave, so they obeyed and started reading

  That was two hours ago.

  Now they’ve been reading for so long and never even asked about the meal. The book had been like a magic spell that consumed them and possessed them. The children read aloud, each pair from a book, and did their best to stay in unison.

  The teacher herself, a woman in her late thirties, gave into the magic and began sweating.

  She had nothing against the end of the world needing a little magic, a little hope by
reading a children’s book to supposedly keep the good guys alive. At times she wished it was real. She wished the world wasn’t a dark spot in the middle of the sun. She wished the mushrooms weren’t a sign from God that they went too far. She wished millions of kids weren’t kidnapped and thrown into the drug industry of Mushroomland owned by this dark man,

  Not the Pillar. The Pillar was the dark man’s assistant. They usually made the world think they weren’t allies, that they loathed each other, but the truth was they were rocking the same boat of evil.

  Mushroomland was owned by none other than this Mr. Jay, who some called the Jabberwock or Jabberwocky.

  She really wished magic existed. She felt for the children reading the book and after their initial skepticism believing in a little girl who went down the rabbit hole.

  In the teacher’s mind, Alice went down the rabbit hole, not to discover magic, but to escape the tragedy of real life.

  She so wished magic was real, but being old enough not to believe in unicorns, she knew it was a lie. A beautiful lie the elders like to tell children to put them to sleep.

  With all her denial and pessimism, something happened that made her reconsider.

  She watched, as the children read the book, that their bodies started to elevate above the floor. Floating they started to gather in a circle.

  With tears falling from her tired eyes, she couldn’t breathe. Not only because of the elevation, but because of the shape of the circle the kids created with their bodies.

  She had to stand up on the desk to watch from a higher angle.

  Not quite a circle.

  Close enough.

  The semi-circle the elevated bodies of the reading children created was the shape of a heart.

  22

  Earlier that Day: Yellow Bus, London

  Jack still lay on his back.