by Cameron Jace
Holding onto Constance, it suddenly strikes me; Lewis Carroll’s suffering. How many years did he spend with Carolus inside him? How many nights did he stay awake not to give the devil the chance to rise out of him? My heart is with you, Carroll. There is a reason why we sometimes need makeup when looking in the mirror, so we can camouflage the darkness inside.
“Just tell me who the Jabberwocky is,” I’m pretending I’m weak, buying myself time, trying to please her. She loves to see me like that.
“Ah,” she circles us. “Which reminds me. I should tell you who the Jabberwocky is. It will cause you more suffering than just killing Constance.”
My trick is working. Let her babble. Whoever the Jabberwocky really is, I’m sure I won’t be surprised. I’ve seen it all. Let her talk while I figure out an angle where I can slice her open with my Vorpal sword. I just need a moment when she is looking away so I can reach for it on my side.
“Let’s start with that old memory of yours,” Malice says.
“What memory?”
“The one you’ve been remembering the last hour. The one about you and Jack.”
“How do you know about it?”
“Come on, partner. We’re still one. And sometimes I can see inside you.”
“What about that memory?” I keep occupying her mind.
“Jack and you walk hand in hand and suddenly he disappears and leaves you alone for the dark entity amidst the poppy fields in Wonderland.”
“Bravo,” I roll my eyes. “You can read my mind. So what?”
“Eeny meeny miny moe, who’s da Jabberwocky, do you know?” she is proud of her stupid rhyme.
“I guess he is the dark figure in my memory,” I tell her. “He’s always been there.”
“Of course he is the dark figure, baby fool,” Malice says. “But who? You know him, Alice. You so know him, and it will break your heart.”
“Trust me, nothing breaks my heart anymore.”
“So tell her, Constance,” Malice says.
Perplexed, I lean back and see Constance has opened her eyes. I want to hug her and comfort her but she stops me with moistened pupils.
“I’m sorry, Alice,” she says. “Malice told me who the Jabberwocky is.”
I’m utterly confused now. Constance is a strong girl but that weakness I see in her eyes disturbs me.
“See?” Malice says. “I’m not that evil. I resurrected her for free—or maybe so she can tell you and tear your heart into pieces.”
“Constance?” I barely talk. “What’s going on?”
“Jabberwocky is someone so dear to you,” Constance says. “Malice is a bitch, I know, but she showed me the full memory. I’ve seen who the dark man is. I’ve seen him and you know I will never lie to you.”
“How can you tell it’s a real memory?” I ask her.
“I can tell, Alice,” Constance says. “I have so many suppressed memories inside me from the girls in Lewis Carroll’s photographs, remember? I’m sorry, Alice.”
“Why do you keep saying you're sorry,” I snap, my mind racing into corridors of perpetual darkness, haunted by a past that should not have been remembered. “Who is the Jabberwocky?”
“Mr. Jay,” Constance says while Malice won’t stop snickering with anticipation.
“We all used to call him Mr. Jay. I don’t see what’s new about that,” I say.
“Why do you think he called himself Mr. Jay?” Malice interrupts, unable to hold her excitement. “Because his name starts with a letter J.”
I neglect Malice behind me and look into Constance’s sincere eyes for an honest answer. She says, “Two people we know. Actually one.”
“This can’t be true, Constance,” I got it. “This just can’t be true.”
“It is, and I’m sorry,” she says. “In that memory of yours, Jack never left.”
I’m going to faint and die and get buried among the hollow skeletons of fools who died for trusting the wrong people. Malice's words ring in my head: why do you always want to do the right thing?
“Jack didn’t leave you,” Constance says. “Jack is the dark man.”
I feel like I’m dead already. Numbness runs through my skin like a fatal disease.. It’s as if I don’t exist. As if I’m in my mother’s womb again, contemplating whether to make it out to the mad world or just die inside the protective warmth of her cushiony canvass.
“That is, Alice…” Malice adds her last touch of insanity. “Why you killed him. That’s why you were on the bus.”
31
Present: On the Road, London
Jack Diamonds strutted all along in the wastelands of the world. Dying people, screaming children, and utter chaos. He had stolen a dead man's rifle and made sure he would make it out alive.
Lewis had run for Fabiola after she accused him of something he didn't quite understand. But it didn't matter. Jack was all alone. No more Lewis, Fabiola, or Constance in his life. This vagabond of friends had been one hell of a ride, but all mad things come to an end.
All he cared about was Alice. He wanted to make sure she was alive. He wanted to make sure she outlived this and found her inner self and won this war. He would help her with all his might if he could only find her.
He didn’t mind her killing him over and over again. For some wicked reason, he wanted to be with her for life. Not necessarily life and death, but maybe life and madness.
He was aware of the fact that the children could only read for so long before they tired or ran out of breath. If they lose hope before the Inklings do something about the end of the world, the Jabberwocky will have their souls for life.
Time was of the essence and he was clueless about how to find Alice.
Also, this memory of the past haunted him.
Alice and him in the poppy fields of Wonderland, separated by the presence of this dark figure. Who was he?
Dread came with this memory, but also love and appreciation. And an explanation.
The memory certainly explained his devotion to Alice. They had known each other since they were kids. This was an absolutely amazing revelation.
But why couldn’t he remember the rest of this memory? Did the memory return with the mushrooms infesting the worlds?
He noted the presence of the jagged-edged plants in the distance. They were huge, like reptiles invading the earth and skies.
For some reason, none of them neared him, even though he remembered them from his past memory of Wonderland. Not that they were as evil and huge, but he had seen them before.
Amidst his exhaustion, he realized that bits and pieces from the memory came back. A slow-burn puzzle of what happened that day.
Still blurry though, because the memory from Wonderland was like a palette of shiny purple and green colors occasionally interrupted with blotches of yellow patterns he could not fathom.
Slowly, he realized the yellow was another memory, one that didn’t occur in Wonderland but in the real world, a few years ago.
A memory of a bus.
A yellow one like the one he survived hours ago.
A memory of Alice going bonkers and killing everyone including him.
Jack stopped in the middle of nowhere, hardly capable of breathing. A jagged-edged migraine attacked him. He cupped his head in his hands as if trying to squeeze his migraine out of his head.
Then he fell to his knees, afraid his eyes would pop out.
Two memories. Years apart. Worlds apart. One fact, one fiction. But with one conclusion.
Both starred Alice Wonder and the Jabberwocky.
It baffled Jack how this was true. Did he not want to accept it. That the dark man in the field was the Jabberwocky?
But who was he?
In Jack’s version, he stood next to Alice staring at the dark figure—he did his best to focus on the memory from Wonderland, as the yellow bus memory also attacked him.
Then he heard the voice.
He thought it emanated from his memories at first, but soon enough reali
zed the voice was standing a few feet from him.
On his knees, he jerked his head up and looked at the man with the voice. Actually, the boy with the voice.
A snicker of a smile pulsed on the boy’s lips. Eyes like stones from hell. Red and firey.
The boy was the same height as Jack. Same….
Who was he kidding? The boy was him.
“How ya doin’, Diamonds?” the boy leaned back against a flipped-over truck with a slight angle. He chewed on a match and held a deck of cards in his hands.
Jack said nothing. Either the migraine was too hard on him or he was meeting his darker self, like everyone else these days.
“You know what I like about cards?” the boy asked, chewing on his matchstick. “They will make you lose, almost all the time, but statistically speaking, people still want to play.”
“Who are you?” Jack’s raspy voice exposed his fractured mind.
“Ah, sorry,” the boys said. “I’m Spades.”
“Spades?” Jack grimaced.
“You’re Jack Diamonds. I’m Spades. You’re a big red heart full of love. I’m a black hole the shape of a spade,” Spades winked. “One round for you, five rounds for me.”
“Why five rounds for you?” Jack found himself sucked into the conversation. Meeting one’s darker self was shocking, yet uncannily familiar.
“I’m evil,” he whispered into the palm of his hand. “I usually win.”
“That’s not true. Good wins as much.”
“That’s movie talk, Diamonds,” Spades sighed. “Good guys love to celebrate their wins too loud and too much. You put Hitler to sleep after he broke the world, you make movies and talk about them for life. Little Hitler boys damaged the essence of humanity so much that none of your celebrations would top it, yet the man never made a fuss about it. Like you and me—“
“What do you want?” Jack felt annoyed more than scared. Something inside him toughened up.
“I want to play a game,” Spade’s voice was smooth, almost seductive, his eyes meeting with Jack’s. Same eyes. Uglier soul.
“Of cards?”
“A last round for the road,” Spades said, “before the world is drained down the toilet.”
“You will not win.”
“I always win. You know why?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“Cause I’m restless,” Spades flipped the cards in the air and none of them fell back as he straightened himself to face Jack. “I’ve got nothing to do. I’ve got no purpose. I barely work for Black Chess, where everyone has nothing to do but to mess with people’s lives. Do you see how you have lost before we even play?”
“And you still want to play?”
“I have a weakness, Diamonds,” Spades put a hand on his heart. “I’m addicted to something.”
“Addicted to my pain.”
Spades nodded as the cards fell back in his open palm. He looked at the last card on the deck. A spade. “It keeps me in top form, Diamonds.”
“I've got time to play,” Jack dared him.
“No you don’t, Diamonds. You want to find Alice. But you know you have to get rid of me first. How is Malice doing with her by the way?”
“Malice?”
“Ah, you’re way behind, Diamonds,” Spades said. “Malice is Alice’s inevitable plus-one, you can say.”
“Is she going to hurt her?” Jack looked around in case Alice was nearby. He worried about her.
“She already did, Diamonds,” Spades flipped the cards. “You want to cut first?”
“What are we playing?”
“Well, I was thinking about this game,” Spades, in a swift and unexpected maneuver, hurled a card in Jack’s direction.
Jack watched the sharp card flip like a knife in the air and slice at his neck. It happened so fast Jack had no idea how to process it. He hadn’t the chance to move. The cut was small. It felt like a paper cut.
“But nah, I’m not a violent Spade,” Spades said.
“What kind of game then?” Jack worried that all his None-Fu skills wouldn’t work with Spades. The cards were like flying razors. No amount of fighting or jumping was going to top that.
“I ask you a question and you pull the cards for an answer,” Spades chewed harder.
“Why would an answer hurt me?”
“Words are mightier than swords, Diamonds. Cards are sharper than your IQ. They’ll strip you down of all you’ve got.”
“If you say so, Spades,” Jack wasn’t sure if he was buying time or being utterly helpless.
“Question one,” Spade’s eyes twinkled. “Who is the dark man in your memory?”
“You know about my memory?“
“Cut the crap. Alice asked the same thing to Malice. I know your memory, so who is the dark man?”
“How should I answer that by picking a card?”
“Oh these cards can do a lot,” Spades said. “Come here, Diamonds. Don’t hesitate. I would’ve already killed you if I wanted to.”
Hesitantly, Jack approached, eyes on Spades. What a strange feeling, fearing your own eyes in someone else’s body.
“Pull one out,” Spades spread the cards, face down, on his palms.
Jack pulled one, nonchalantly, wanting to get it over with.
“Look.”
Jack did. It was a spade but with writing in the middle. It said, “Mr. Jay.”
“That’s not news. I’ve guessed it’s Mr. Jay, who is probably the Jabberwocky. Is that the game?”
Spades smiled.
Jack thought he heard something flutter behind Spades. Did this asshole have wings?
“Now pull one more.”
“What’s the question?” Jack said.
“Not a question,” Spades’ enthusiasm showed on his body language. “The cards will tell you who the Jabberwocky is—this is so exciting.”
“The Jabberwocky is the Jabberwocky,” Jack shook his head.
“No Diamonds,” Spades said. “Don’t you get it? How the memory with Alice doesn’t make sense? You ever ask what really happened on the bus? How was it possible that she killed the boy she loved since childhood?”
“I don’t see how it all connects?”
“Pull the damn card,” Spades grunted, his wings slowly showing from his back. “I mean, please pull the card, Diamonds.”
Jack pulled the card, eyes still on Spades.
The card showed him an answer.
Jack couldn’t fathom it. Something didn’t make sense. This was impossible.
Spades enjoyed the puzzled look on Jack’s face and hurled the cards up again. None of them fell back and this time Spades wings fluttered left and right.
“This can’t be true,” Jack said. “The Jabberwocky can’t be…”
The cards fell back and immediately Spades sliced at Jack’s neck again. “It’s true, Diamonds, and now it’s time for only one of us to live—and let die.”
32
Two Years Ago: Yellow Bus, London
Alice stood at the station waiting for the yellow bus.
It was a sunny day. July the first. The Famous Alice Day when kids celebrated the maddening events of the book. Still, Alice rubbed her arms against the chill running through her body.
She wasn’t cold. She was scared.
She shook to the vibrating phone in her back pocket. Another unnecessary scare jump, she thought. She wasn’t picking it up. She knew who it was. Professor Carter Pillar.
The students standing next to her ignored her. She had gotten used to that. She was the freak. The girl who thought she was the Real Alice and had crossed over to save this world’s children from the Jabberwocky.
She didn’t blame them. Who would have believed her? Fiction touched people on deep levels but they still insisted on it being just fiction. Because what if fiction was true? With all its adventures and heroes and bittersweet stories, it would have made human in real-life look dull and boring. No real fun. No real emotion. No real life. And no gran purpose.
Alice checked the schedule on the station and saw the bus would arrive in two minutes.
She gasped.
Jabberwocky was going to be on the bus.
Even though all she had to do was to drive it against some wall or something and kill him in his human form — the Pillar reckoned the Jabberwocky’s weak spot was when in human form; he’d die like any other human, though he’d be able to resurrect himself as the dead, but then he wouldn’t be as effective. He wouldn’t be Jabberwocky anymore.
Her phone vibrated again.
The Pillar sent her a message.
The bus is coming.
She typed back, annoyed.
No shit.
The Pillar wrote.
You have to make it work this time.
She wrote.
Alice has to save the world, again! I know.
The Pillar wrote:
We can’t afford to cross over through the Looking Glass anymore. Every time we do it, something happens to us. Something happens to Wonderland.
She hesitated to write back. As much as she loathed the Pillar at this point, never knowing his intentions and watching him hurt a lot of people, he was the only one who believed in her—and accepted her for whom she was.
But this wasn't the first time she tried to kill the Jabberwocky. This had been happening for so many years. Since she and Lewis and the Jabberwocky first crossed over through the Looking Glass. Since the facts of life stained their naive and pure souls of fictional Wonderland.
The Pillar had only crossed recently when she realized she needed him to kill the Jabberwocky. Though Nemesis, it was the perfect collaboration. She wanted to save the children. The Pillar wanted to rule Black Chess—she had always known she would have to deal with him later, but the Pillar was nothing compared to the Jabberwocky’s darkness.