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

by Cameron Jace

  “I just did, didn’t I?” I say, glimpsing my Vorpal sword attached to his beastly wings. Jagged edges run along its edges.

  “It took you so long,” he growls, mucus falling from his mouth. “And here I am.”

  “The question is,” I say. “Why didn’t you kill me so far?”

  “You have to fight me,” he says. “It’s the prophecy.”

  Deep inside I know I will never win fighting him, and it still puzzles me why he hasn’t chopped off my head or eaten me alive, turning me into a stinky slime running off his lizard-like skin.

  While thinking, I hear them from far away.

  I hear the children. They sound so near now.

  Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

  Their voices flutter like butterfly wings inside my soul. Their voices give me strength. Knowing so many children are on your side is refreshing and empowering, yet a huge responsibility.

  I take a step forward, not taking my eyes off of him, “Give me back my sword, Jabberwocky.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you know you have to fight me, or the prophecy doesn’t work. To have the children you have to kill me in this battle while I have the Vorpal sword.”

  “I will only give it back if you…”

  “I know,” I cut him off. “If the children stop singing. That’s why you chickened out of killing me. The children, while they are what you’re after, they are also your weakness against me, as long as they are reading. The irony. Let’s make this final scene epic.”

  Begrudgingly, he drops the sword on the ground. “Me against you, Alice. The final battle.”

  I grip the sword and smirk, “You’re wrong Jabberwocky. It’s you against me and the children.”

  44

  Present: Near the Ferris wheel, London.

  Hadn’t the children been reading, the Pillar and the Cheshire would have been swept away by the wind already. Eventually, the wind lessened and both stood to their feet.

  Immediately, the Pillar circled the children in the bubble of light and made sure they were safe. The Cheshire stood prefixed nearby.

  “Can you tell me when this whole mess ends, please?” he asked the Pillar.

  “I guess the Jabberwocky is fighting Alice already,” the Pillar considered. “And all of this ends when either one of them dies.”

  “Jabberwocky or Alice, you mean.”

  The Pillar nodded in agreement. “And then it’s a good life after or hell on earth.”

  “The human race,” the Cheshire shook his head. “So dramatic. Why couldn’t you just all go to hell already?”

  “I have to find Fabiola like I told you,” the Pillar said. “The children are safe. Soon they will gather with other children who are also reading.”

  “Where will you find Fabiola in all this mess?” the Cheshire said. “Besides, gimme back that whip. We had a deal.”

  The Pillar handed it to him nonchalantly, which only added to the Cheshire’s continued puzzlement.

  “You can’t kill me before I find Fabiola, deal?”

  “We said that before. But let me ask you, is that all about telling her who you are? I mean the same person the children think you are?”

  The Pillar nodded. “Just don’t worry about it, Cheshy. Curiosity will really kill the cat. You don’t care about anything. Don’t pretend you do.”

  “I’m not pretending I care,” the Cheshire said. “I just have an itch that I keep scratching. You!”

  The Pillar noticed him staring at the children. “Don’t bother. They will not tell you who I really am if you ask them. They’re busy reading and fighting the Jabberwocky with Alice.”

  “So why don’t you tell me?”

  “Why would I?”

  “The world is ending,” the Cheshire shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing’s left to care about.”

  The Pillar smiled. “If I tell you who I am now, it will defeat the purpose of you wanting the hose. Does that make sense?”

  “None whatsoever,” the Cheshire said, staring at the hose in his hands now.

  “Look, Cheshy,” the Pillar approached him slowly, the old look of mischievous Pillar returning on his face. “A wise man once said that one’s value to others is in his mystery. Expose it and you’re just another disposable John Doe.”

  The Cheshire didn’t really get that. Metaphors and overcooked words weren’t his thing. A product of humankind’s desire to be perfect. He liked straight words that hurt and told the facts.

  But even though there was silence between them, he began to have an idea of whom the Pillar might be.

  “I think I know who you are,” the Cheshire said. “It’s the only explanation.”

  “Yeah?” The Pillar looked like he was going to kill the Cheshire right then. “Tell me.”

  “You’re the…” the Cheshire said.

  45

  Past: Mushroom Garden, Wonderland

  The Hatter still held the hose in his hands.

  With the Pillar strolling in front of him, flaring his hands sideways in a pompous way, the Hatter had to make a decision.

  To save the White Queen, he had to become the Black King.

  The Black King was the man who will kill the Pillar.

  Not that it wasn’t handy or possible. It was just the fact that the Hatter had never killed anyone, not even an ant. In fact, he let ants run around his teacups on the table whenever he heads a party.

  What would he tell the children if he killed someone? Who would he become? Was it the right move to fight evil with evil?

  The Hatter’s hand stiffened midair. The Pillar was strolling away.

  “Leave the hose by the mushroom,” the Pillar laughed. “I will come collect it later.”

  The Pillar’s confidence pained the Hatter. Evil’s greatest privilege was knowing you, the good guy, prided yourself by being good. It meant a lot to you. It made you sleep better. It made you tolerate the turmoils of life. It made you feel better about yourself. Being good was an idea. A big one. Not just action. It granted survival by insinuating gave hope. Evil knew it was the good man’s weakness.

  The Pillar had the Hatter figured out, and it was heart wrenching.

  The hose glittered in the Hatter’s hand, urging him to make a move. To slice evil in two. To kill it and bury it in a grave.

  A plant cautiously leaned down to whisper in the Hatter’s ears, probably worried the Pillar would notice her and torture her, “Kill him, Hatter.”

  The Hatter shrugged. Neither could he say I can’t, or I will.

  “How many children will be hurt if you don’t kill him?” the plant said. “Do it.”

  The Hatter turned to face the plant, slowly. He worried that the plant was one of the Pillar’s tricks. But then another plant whispered.

  “We hate him but no one stands in his face,” it said. “No one dares.”

  “Then why should I?” the Hatter whispered back.

  “Because you care,” it said. “People always say they care but very few do.”

  “How do you know I care? I’m like everyone else, if not lesser.”

  “Don’t underestimate yourself,” it said. “You care for the children. You make people laugh when you feel the pain. You came here to help Fabiola. You do care.”

  “I thought I could reason with him.”

  “You don’t reason with evil, Hatter,” it said. “The hose in your hand will help. It won’t give in. Let it guide you. All you have to do is to choke him with it.”

  The Hatter burned from inside. Never had he been in a fight or choked someone. “So all I have to do is trust the whip?”

  “Trust it,” the plant said. “Choke the Pillar and bury him in the grave. We promise we’ll unleash maggots and insects upon him and make them eat him before he dares wake up again.”

  “Grave?” the Hatter wondered.

  “He had dug a grave this morning, knowing you will come to see him.”

  “Wh
at does that mean?”

  “It means he plans to kill you if you don’t,” the plant hissed. “It means this grave will be closed with either your body or his inside.”

  Another plant leaned forward, “The Pillar even wrote your obituary on the back of a mushroom this morning. He has it all planned. If you leave, he will kill you.”

  That was the moment when the Hatter felt it for the first time. Raw survival instinct. Not only was killing the Pillar a savior to the world, but also his soul. He didn’t want to die.

  His legs moved on their own toward the Pillar’s back. As he did, the whip glittered more and more.

  Step after step in the muddy grounds of the garden.

  Mushrooms on both sides leaned back to give way. Everyone was on the Hatter’s side. It felt reassuring.

  Only a few feet behind the Pillar, he gripped the hose with both hands. Just choke him and the hose will help you.

  Three feet behind him, the Pillar stopped.

  So did the Hatter, swallowing hard.

  Comfortably slow, the Pillar turned around.

  Make no mistake. He was shocked by the Hatter’s audacity of even trying. He stared at the Hatter from top to bottom then smirked, “Are you really trying to kill me?”

  “You asked for it,” the Hatter said.

  “I didn’t ask for it. I gave you no choice.”

  “I have a choice. To rid the world of your evil doings.”

  “Poetic and naive,” the Pillar said. “I guess the plants played you.”

  The Hatter shrugged. “It’s my decision to… let’s say make you promise me not to hurt anyone else, or I will kill you.”

  “Is that so?” the Pillar said. “So show me your move. How are you going to kill me now?”

  The Hatter took a last assuring look at the hose in his hand.

  “You’re a coward,” the Pillar said. “You won’t dare lift it.”

  The Hatter did. Its power ran through his veins. A burden more than a power. One that needed release. Now holding it with one hand instead of two, he slashed at the Pillar.

  Who surprisingly didn’t move, though it slashed at his shoulder.

  This provoked the Hatter. He stepped forward to choke him.

  This time the Pillar ran.

  The Hatter followed.

  In a fast maneuver, the Pillar took a right and disappeared behind the mushrooms.

  Too fast for the Hatter to reorient himself. Hardly stopping, he realized why the Pillar detoured.

  The Hatter’s legs slipped deeper into the mud. Deeper into a void. Into a grave, the one the Pillar had dug for him this morning.

  He fell to his demise.

  Lying defeated on his back in the bottom of the grave, the Hatter not only realized the Pillar had killed him, but he listened to the plants and mushrooms laughing at his naivety. Oh, how they played him and convinced him to march to his own death.

  46

  Present: The Wonderland War, London

  While my weapon of choice is my Vorpal sword, the Jabberwocky’s is fire he spits from between sharpened fangs.

  I am not sure about what I am doing but I swing my sword anyway. With every swing, light emanates from inside out. The color of lightning.

  The Jabberwocky barely makes an effort, treading sideways to evade my swing. In all honesty, I am a joke. My sword would barely scratch him, even if I hit a vulnerable spot. He is too big to get wounded by it.

  I realize I need help. And I can’t think of a better savior than the Pillar now. He must have a trick but I’m not even sure if he is on my side anymore.

  “You’re a joke, Alice.” Malice swings all around us, cheering for her boss. “A tiny ambitious girl with a little wand.”

  “I’d run if I were you,” Constance says.

  None of their comments phase me. My eyes are targeting the Jabberwocky who smirks and seems to enjoy my predicament.

  “Had your fun yet?” He growls and then spews fire from his big mouth in my direction.

  “Shit,” I duck and roll on the floor to evade the heat.

  “Tell me, Alice,” he growls. “How would you like me to burn you? Medium rare or Crispy dead?”

  I scramble on all fours, looking for a place to hide. No sense in swinging at this time. I need to find cover.

  Malice snickers with joy as I crawl underneath a mushroom. Since Jabberwocky descended, the mushrooms stopped melting so I have plenty of them to hide behind and even ascend if needed.

  Jabberwocky spews more fire now. I think I pissed him off hiding behind the mushrooms. However, they melt like marshmallows when they catch fire. I need to keep running and hiding.

  “How far do you think you can run, Alice?” Malice follows me everywhere, snaking between the mushrooms and remnants of a few buildings. “Give it up. Be reasonable.”

  “Since when did reason help me?” I mutter, crawling like a soldier on the asphalt.

  I can barely think so I keep on moving forward. There must be a way out.

  Jabberwocky spews more and more. A bit frantic, I think. Pissing him off is good. This is a war of minds more than anything. Sure everyone’s power is considered but it’s the emotion behind everything, the mindset, that makes it or breaks it.

  I remind myself that the Jabberwocky only showed himself when he saw that I gave up being provoked. It’s a paradox that he needs me yet wants to kill me. Evil can’t survive without good, still, it has to demolish it.

  My head is spinning as I crawl further. A melted blotch of mushroom splashes down my back. Heat pains me and I scream. I nudge it away with my sword and realize I have no time to rest or take my breath.

  The Jabberwocky fires again.

  I keep on crawling, realizing the heat has seeped through and my skin is slightly burning on my back. “Alice do this, Alice do that,” I mutter as I crawl under the fire. “Alice save the world. Alice your the chosen one,” I spit in frustration unable to stop. “Everyone thinks I can do it; no one ever says how.”

  Then I hear a laugh under the darkened shade ahead where the Jabberwocky hadn’t bestowed his anger yet.

  “Alice you’re so funny even when it’s raining fire,” the voice mocks me but in a good way.

  Is that who I think it is?

  I crawl farther toward the darker part under the mushrooms. Whoever spoke to me is crawling back toward me. I can see his shadow.

  “Alice will kill you if you don’t say who you are,” I say gritting my teeth.

  That someone crawls nearer and now I can see his face under the light of the fire.

  My mouth hangs open and my moist eyes contradict the smile on my face. I listen to him as he says, “Don’t worry, I'm used to it. You like me but you always kill me.”

  47

  Present: Near the Ferris Wheel, London

  “Stop!” Constance interrupted the Cheshire as he was about to suggest the Pillar’s identity.

  Both the Pillar and the Cheshire stood surprised she cared to come over. The Cheshire, in particular, hated her. She was too enthusiastic and entitled for his taste.

  “What are you doing here?”tThe pillar asked. “Where is Alice?”

  “Exactly,” Constance said, walking around and investigating the children hanging midair and reading. “Malice took her.”

  “Malice?” the Cheshire asked.

  “Her darker side,” she sighed. “Am I going to have to explain?”

  “You don’t have to,” the Pillar says. “I know who Malice is. What form did she show up in?”

  “One of the plants. She took and sedated me then when I woke up Alice was gone. I got lost trying to find her. Had I not seen the children floating in the sky I wouldn’t have found you guys. What’s going on?”

  “I was about to tell the Pillar who he really is,” the Cheshire began.

  “Alice is definitely fighting the Jabberwocky.” said the Pillar to Constance, totally overshadowing the Cheshire.

  “How do you know?” Constance said.

&nbs
p; “The wind, the fire, the foul smell,” the Pillar said. “Had you walked toward the fire you would have found her."

  Constance looked in every direction. It was hard seeing the fire through the ashen sky. Not from here. She had to keep walking, but not before she asked, "Why are you here, not helping Alice?”

  “I did already help her,” the Pillar said. “This final chapter is hers. Nothing I can do.”

  “Why do I have a feeling you are planning something?” Constance grimaced. “I mean you sound ... unlike you.”

  “That’s because he turned out not to be the Pillar,” the Cheshire said.

  “The Pillar is not the Pillar?” She gazed back and forth between them.

  “This one is an imposter,” the Cheshire said. “Though he really pulled it off.”

  Constance considered for a moment. “I have to go help Alice but it makes sense. So who are you, Pillar?”

  “Ask the Chesh,” the Pillar smiled mischievously.

  “Who is he, Chesh?”

  “The one who killed the Pillar,” the Cheshire said.

  “And how does he look like the Pillar?” Constance said.

  The Cheshire told her about the curse.

  Constance considered. “At least the Pillar is dead.”

  “Hold your horses, little girl,” the Cheshire said. “If he isn’t the Pillar, but just pretending to be the Pillar, don’t you think you want to know who he is?”

  “That’s easy to figure out now,” Constance said, ready to leave.

  “Why easy?” the Pillar looked curious.

  “Well for one, you played it well, and used the Pillar’s name and darkness to help the Inklings, which means you’re one of the good guys, which makes it only a few choices; someone from Wonderland who wanted to do good,” she said. “And that someone has to have been dead for a long time.”

  “Touche,” the Cheshire said to Constance. “You’re sure you’re not a cat?”