by Cameron Jace
The Cheshire trying to explain the Pillar’s devious plan to Fabiola proved futile. He almost choked her, pulling her away while the Pillar lay face down against the asphalt.
“Leave me alone,” Fabiola shouted. “I’ve always known you like the Pillar. You admire his evil and now you don’t want me to kill him.”
There was no point in defending himself, the Cheshire thought. No one wanted the Pillar dead as much as him. But the Queen had told him about the plan—which he actually began remembering in detail. He could remember faint glimpses of him and the Pillar standing over the Hatter’s grave after the Pillar killed him, and talking about it.
Such a vague memory, it was.
Fabiola stumbled backward and rolled sideways, freeing herself from the Cheshire’s grip. The Cheshire could finally breathe. He stood up, about to celebrate his success. For some reason, the Pillar’s hose ended up in his grip.
As for the Pillar, he spat mucus and blood as he began to stand on all fours, scurrying away like a rat.
Light bulbs from the Ferris wheel shone over their sweaty and reddened faces, not really reflecting the gravity and tension going on.
“Phew,” the Pillar rubbed his bleeding neck. “That was hardcore.”
The Cheshire couldn’t help but laugh. “Was it good for you, darling?”
“Shut up, both of you creeps!” Fabiola couldn’t stand up yet. Whatever strength she had left was withering away.
“We should do this more often,” the Pillar dead-panned. “May I?” he stretched out his hand toward the Cheshire, pointing at the hose.
“Easy, butterfly,” the Cheshire stepped back. “I didn’t say I’m not going to kill you. I just need a moment with Fabiola to discuss the means of doing it. We need to settle on which one of us will end up wearing your face.”
Fabiola protested. “Stop playing games.”
“I’m not. You would have ended up wearing his face and body for life."
"Nonsense," Fabiola stood up. "Long ago we realized it is a myth.”
"How do you know it's a myth?" the Cheshire said.
"Because it's bonkers," Fabiola said. "Why would I look like the Pillar for life? No magic can do that. I believed it at some point and spread the word, but I can assure you it would never work.”
“You don't know that." the Cheshire said.
"Even if it were true, I don't mind," Fabiola said. "So what? I’ll have his face on me. As long as this cockroach is dead, life will be better."
"Butterfly," the Pillar corrected her politely. "Or Cocoon."
Fabiola ignored him. "Give me back the hose, Cheshire. I need to finish this."
The Cheshire mused from under the Joker’s mask. "Well, I was thinking if anyone should look like him after his death, it should be me."
"So that's what it's all about," Fabiola said. "Did you forget that I will kill you eventually after killing him?"
"We're not sure of that," the Cheshire said. "I mean, to be honest, who doesn't want to wear the Pillar's face, and have his mind? I could get a lot of stuff done in this world."
"I'm flattered." the Pillar said with a scoff.
"You know what?" Fabiola said. "I don't care. Just do it."
The Cheshire let the hose loose, dangling from his hand, and then whipped it against the ground. Lightning sparkles all around him.
"Ah, we’re going Fifty Shades of Grey now?" the Pillar asks.
"Do it, Chesh," Fabiola said.
The Cheshire swung the hose back to ready himself. He was pleased to see the hose glimmer.
"Do it!" Fabiola's demanded in an unusually dark voice. Almost demonic.
The Cheshire whipped the hose against the asphalt one last time and then swung. It spiraled like a poison snake in the air. Surprisingly, sharp edges appeared.
The Pillar didn't move.
Fearless?
Sure of his own whip not hurting him?
None of that.
He waited in place until blood spattered on his face.
Not his blood, though.
Not the Cheshire's.
Fabiola's.
The Pillar watched her severed head roll on the ground until it met his boots.
He nodded emotionlessly at the Cheshire who felt mischievously good about killing Fabiola and then said, "I think I changed my mind. I never really liked threesomes.”
28
Present: The Wonderland War, London
Telling Malice that this was a war between fact and fiction isn’t a big deal to me. Maybe to her, but I am more concerned with Constance's health now.
I lay her down on the ground and breathe into her mouth.
"She’ll be alright," Malice the plant said, snaking her path through the air above us. "I just whispered something in her ears while I gripped her. I guess she couldn’t handle it."
"Why do that to her?" I shake my head and rub Constance’s innocent face.
"Well," Malice said. "The Jabberwocky is right about wanting to control children. It's hard to understand what's on their mind. I had to test her strength.”
"You mean you have to practice your authority as an adult on a helpless, young girl," I say. "Is there a way to wake her up?"
"You have to whisper an antidote in her ears."
"What antidote?"
"I'm Malice. I only know of poisons. Antidotes are your department. Good and evil, you see."
"Bitch!"
"Did you just call yourself a bitch?"
"You're not me."
"That's debatable," she snickers.
"What's the antidote?"
"You think about it."
"What did you whisper in her ears?"
"I told her who the Jabberwocky really is."
“He is Lewis’ Illustrator,” I say. “I know that.”
“You know wrong, darling.”
“He is someone else. Someone you know but also don’t know.”
I hate puzzles. Fed up with them. But what does she mean with the Jabberwocky not being Lewis’ friend. I’m sure of it.
She nods and dances in the air. “Constance was shocked."
"I can't think of whom else he might be," I tell her. "So my antidote would be what again?"
“Telling her the same name I told her."
"I don't know who the Jabberwocky is!"
"Guess. It’s a game… of life and death,“ she swung left and right, proud of her useless rhyme.
"How would me telling be different than you telling her?”
"When I told her, I said the Jabberwocky's real name and that he will hurt her," Malice says. "You’ll say the name and assure her that he will not hurt her."
"You want me to lie?"
"You want her to live?"
"So it's only a matter of perception to Constance. If I whisper the same thing in her ears, she will awaken, only because I promised her she will be safe?"
"Spot on," Malice says. "You see, Alice of Wonderland, we all know the world is a shit hole - ahem, pardon me - I mean a rabbit hole. Children don't need lies. They don't want you to tell them there is no monster. They want you to tell then there is a monster but that they will be alright. That they will be able to kill the monster.”
"Fact against fiction," I nod.
"Why do you think the human race invented books, movies, and games?" she asks. "To cope. They know the world is dangerous and hardly bearable. The books and movies are their fictional weapon against reality. Did you ever wonder why movies that end in a dark way are universally hated?"
It baffles me that my evil side is wiser than me.
"Wonderland and Real Life," she says.
"Fiction against fact," I say again, buying myself time to think.
"Nah," she corrects me. "Fact against fiction. Wonderland was once fiction, now look around, it's going to be a fact."
"Except that no one in the world ever imagined it to be that dark."
Malice's eyes shift back to Constance.
"Three whispers, Alice," Malice sa
ys. "You have to get it right at least once, or she will die."
"What?" my heart misses a beat.
"That's the game."
"Why are you doing this?"
"'Because I can," she says then descends closer to my ears. "And I love to make you suffer."
I grit my teeth.
"You know only one of us can outlive the other eventually, right?"
"I thought about it."
"Did you think you’ll fight me with your fancy sword? It's a war of the mind, darling, not of weapons," she retreats upward, watching me like an all-seeing eye from above. "Three guesses, Alice."
I have to guess the Jabberwocky's identity and whisper it in Constance's ear or she will die. In my attempt to trust my gut feeling -- and the logical turn of events -- I bend over and whisper in Constance's ears. "Carter Chrysalis Cocoon Pillar."
29
Present: Ferris Wheel, London
“Whoa!” the Pillar clapped his weary hands at the sight of Fabiola’s chopped-off head. “The Queen of Hearts would have loved the sight of her sister’s head chopped off.”
The Cheshire said nothing. Even though having killed Fabiola, he felt unusually exhausted and confused. He’d done it on a whim. On a feeling. A cat’s hunch.
“You did good, Cheshire,” the Pillar said. “I owe you one.”
“You owe me a lot,” the Cheshire whipped the deadly hose in the air.
“I forgot,” the Pillar smirked. “Now we have to kill one another. You want to have my face and body for life?”
“So it’s true. Huh?”
The Pillar nodded. “I’m a narcissistic butterfly,” he laced his fingers together and shaped them into a butterfly flying free and breaking all the rules. “I want to live forever.”
“But you couldn’t, so you made a devilish deal with the mirror.”
“The guys in the dark magic departments hadn’t discovered immortality, but they have some messed up spells.”
“And whoever gets your face and body will end up being you somehow?”
“They should end up being their version of me. I don’t really care. My face lives, even when I’m long dead.”
“So, for you, this isn’t about living a long time?”
“I’ve done all I want to do,” the Pillar smiled, almost feebly, as if hiding something, the Cheshire thought.
“The funny thing is, Pillar, is that you’re like me. You don’t really know who you are,” the Cheshire said. “I have no face and couldn’t decide whose to wear—ending up in a Joker’s mask.”
“It sucks, by the way,” the Pillar said.
“And you have a face but don’t know which side you’re on, Black Chess, Inklings, Jabberwocky, Alice.”
“Oh, I know which side I’m on, Cheshire. Don’t be a smartass.”
“Yeah?”
“Mine, you stupid furry nonsense,” the Pillar said. “Look, I’ll let you keep the hose, and even let you kill me whenever you like. I just need one last favor.”
“You mean one more trick. I’m not buying into this.”
“Well, you should trust me after killing Fabiola. How did you know about her?”
“At first, I wanted to stop her from killing you until I’d figured out what to do about your curse, but then her insistence to kill you didn’t make sense.”
“Meaning?”
“I knew she wanted to hurt you. All that choking and stuff, I had a feeling she would never truly kill you. She wanted to test your suffering limits. To punish you for what you did to her.”
“That doesn’t make sense. She wanted to kill me.”
“I’m the Cheshire, Pillar. I’ve been into so many human minds and bodies. I learned that what people say and what they mean are two different things.”
“She doesn’t love me,” the Pillar smiled in a bittersweet way, crooked curves on his lips while shyly brushing the ground with the bottom of his boots.
“Oh, she does,” the Cheshire said. “She wanted an apology for the past, but for some reason, she loved you. Who am I to say why? I’ve never been in love with anybody but with myself.”
The expression on the Pillar’s face puzzled the Cheshire. It was like the Pillar wished the Cheshire was right about Fabiola loving him—and also wished he was wrong.
How the Cheshire wished to know what was going on in the Pillar’s head. What last secret or trick did he keep from the world?
“Anyway,” the Cheshire broke the silence. “That’s when I knew she wasn’t really Fabiola.”
“She isn’t,” the Pillar raised his head, facing the Cheshire. “She is her darker side.”
“I figured that out, because, like I said, the real Fabiola wouldn’t want to hurt you. But how does this work, Pillar? I mean since the Mushrooms popped out of the earth, people have doppelgangers now?”
“Nah, that’s their darker half, Cheshire. It’s a sign of the end of the world. The mushrooms are Wonderland’s way to invade the real-life through a crack in the Looking Glass. Fiction wants to rule over fact, the same way facts repeatedly debunked fiction for years.”
“So the darker side is everyone’s fictional side?”
“You could say that. It’s the duality of life’s nature. Night and Day. Sun and moon. Fact and fiction. Good Fabiola, Bad Fabiola.”
“You know what,” the Cheshire considered. “I think I will let you do that last thing before I whip you to your grave. You’re pretty useful and informative, Pilly — if you don’t mind me calling you that. I can learn a thing or two from you before wearing your face and wrecking havoc all over the world. So what is your last wish before dying?”
The Pillar ran a hand over the skin of his forearms and smiled to himself. It occurred to the Cheshire to ask if the Pillar was going to die from whatever skin disease he had before he enjoyed killing him, but then the Pillar said, “I want to find the Real Fabiola before I die.”
“Tell her you love her?” the Cheshire raised an eyebrow. “You cheeky bastard.”
“None of your nosey business.”
“Okay, let’s go find the love of your life. Though I thought you’d want to find Alice.”
“Alice doesn’t need me. She is strong enough now.”
As they trotted out of the park in the dark, an idea nagged the Cheshire, “So if everyone’s darker side comes alive, how come you and I don’t have doppelgangers, Pilly?”
The Pillar laughed walking next to his nemesis, “Cheshy, Cheshy, Cheshy, when are you going to get it?”
“Get what?”
“You and I, my friend, are already evil and dark enough there is no darker side for us—and before you ask, it’s not reversible, you will not find a goody-all-goods version of the Pillar or the Cheshire walking around. We’re remorseless.”
30
Present: The Wonderland War, London
“Not the Pillar,” Malice the Plant snickers at me, holding the dying Constance in her arms. “One answer wrong. Two to go. Or Constance will be gone forever.”
I need to think carefully to play her devious game, bearing in mind that I might be hallucinating. But how, when I can feel Constance’s body turn cold in my hands.
I need to save this little girl. I’ve abandoned my duty of saving this world and fighting the Jabberwocky to find her. I’m not going to leave her now.
It’s hard to admit it, but maybe I’m thinking of her as my successor, in case I die facing the Jabberwocky. Maybe I’m turning into another Pillar, mentoring a younger apprentice.
“Tick. Tock,” Malice snickered again.
“Stop it!”
“Tick,” she says, descending her jagged vines down and cutting at my hand.
I bite my lips, not wanting to vocalise my pain. Nothing is worse than showing weakness to your enemies.
“Tock,” she swirls her vines and cuts at Constance's cheek.
Instinctually, I raise my hand and let her cut me instead.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I told you
,” she says. “I love hurting others for no apparent reason.”
I check out my hand. It’s just a paper cut. A reminder of her tick-tocking time-constraint.
“See? You can’t fight me,” she continues. “I’m pure evil. Pure nonsense. I have no motive. No baggage.”
“Everyone needs salvation and redemption from time to time.”
“Not when you’re fictional,” she reminds me of the Wicked Witch of the West. Another fictional/factual character? Who knows who’s who in this world anymore? I’m talking to a freakin’ plant.
Which brings back that memory of me and Jack in the fields back in Wonderland. After holding hands, I see a dark figure ahead, and then Jack disappears. I’m all alone there. How could he leave me alone? I am just a child.
In that memory, a plant dangles from above and opens its eyes. Frog eyes that look like mine. Malice has been there all along from the beginning. Her shadow draped me in more darkness as she whispers, “How can Jack leave you alone, Alice? Maybe you should kill him later?”
I shake myself out of the memory and Malice’s eyes find me again. This time in the present time.
“Second guess, Alice,” she urges me.
“The Cheshire,” I blurt out in despair. “Oh, wait, no, I think it’s the Queen of Hearts.”
“Tsk. Tsk,” Malice muses. “Two chances lost in one. You’re so bad, Alice, and you need to be punished.”
“What?” my eyes plead. “Wrong?” What was I thinking? Why did I blurt the name? It’s hard to guess who the Jabberwocky really is. So hard when Constance’s life is at stake.
Malice snakes around me, trying to find her way to Constance. Like a veil or canvas, I shield Constance from her by wrapping my body all around her.
“If you want to kill her, you have to kill me first,” I say.
“I will kill you eventually, dear Alice,” she says, her eyes reddening, “but first I want to see you cry out in pain. I want to see you suffer.”
“Why? Why?”
“Because I’m sick and tired of seeing you trying to do the right thing,” she spits in anger. “They’ve put you in an asylum. Your sisters wanted to kill you. The Pillar played you. Fabiola wanted to get rid of you. Every once in a while you save someone from a Wonderland monster without credit or thanks from the world. All of this and you still want to do the right thing. I loathe you. I’ve been trapped inside you for so long. You have no idea how much I’ve waited for the mushrooms to rise from the grave. Killing you will never quench my thirst. First, I have to see you pay for locking me up inside you for that long.”