by Cameron Jace
The Queen’s face tightened. “Who told her about the Inklings?”
“Doesn’t matter.” The Cheshire stood, too. “What matters is that, even if this girl is delusional, she isn’t stopping. She has a heart made of breathing fire.”
“Suppose she is,” Margaret said. “Where is all of this going?”
“We need to start to work together. Let’s forget our pasts and grudges and unite to get the Six Keys, and then we can bite at each other all we want.”
Margaret looked at the Queen for advice.
“Listen,” the Cheshire said. “Carolus is a madman when he needs his pill. I have incredible powers. Margaret is a ruthless woman. And you, My Queen, there is no one as evil as you are.”
The Queen felt pleasure. She liked the compliment.
“So be it,” she said. “If the Inklings are gathering, then I may as well welcome you and Carolus into Black Chess. But as long as you do as I say.”
“Thank you,” the Cheshire said.
“And don’t ever grin in my presence. God. You’re a creep.”
“As you wish,” he said. “Did you ever know Tom Truckle, the Radcliffe Asylum’s director is a Wonderlander, by the way?”
“Why do you say that?”
“I tried to posses him, but couldn’t.”
“Can’t be. I’m sure I’d recognize most Wonderlanders.” The Queen dismissed him.
“If you say so,” the Cheshire played with Jack’s deck of cards. “Why should I care?” he shook his shoulders. “So what’s our next move?”
“The third key, of course,” Margaret interfered. “We have the one with the Pillar, and we know Alice has one. I may have an idea were the third one is.”
“Great, but not now,” The Queen said. “I need to play with my dogs for a while. And you, Cheshire, get rid of Jack’s body. Jack is dead. I don’t want to see him walking around.”
“But, My Queen.” The Cheshire couldn’t help but flash his grin at her. “I’m planning to do horrible things with his body.”
“How horrible?”
“Horrible as in using him to learn everything about this Alice girl.”
“Now that’s brilliant.”
“And it’ll get even better once I find the Tweedles.”
Chapter 108
The Inklings, Oxford
I am cleaning the floor when the Pillar enters the bar.
“No news of Jack, yet?”
“Nothing,” I say. “Like you said, I think he will just show up on his own like he always does.”
“Can’t argue much with a boy who is a figment of his own imagination.” The Pillar knocks his cane on the ground. “How about you, are you feeling all right?”
“For letting a monster go?” I stare right at him. “Yeah. I’m fabulous.”
“Listen. I didn’t know the plague was only going to last for three days. Besides, killing Carolus will always kill Lewis.”
“Did you notice that all we do is compile Wonderland Monsters one after the other? It’s like I’m useless.”
“You’re not useless. You’re learning. If you think you’ll become an overnight hero like in comic books, you’re dearly mistaken.”
“And what about you, Pillar?” I put the broom aside.
“What about me?”
“Did you become a ruthless killer overnight, or did you have good training?”
“You’re starting to sound like Fabiola.”
“Maybe I should learn from her.”
The Pillar reverts to silence.
“Look, I’m never going to forgive you for fooling me and taking the key. And I’m not going to ask what’s with you, Fabiola, the kids, and the Executioner. I respect that each one of us has his own past,” I try to be as forward as possible. Frankly, the man is irritable in all the wrong ways. “But be warned. Once I don’t need to learn from you anymore, we won’t talk again.”
“I understand.” He flips his cane. “Don’t worry. I might be gone sooner than you think.”
“Good.” I try not to say a word so I don’t soften to him in any way. Then the stubbornness inside me takes over. “Now, you need to leave. The Inklings only welcomes those who can walk on the white tiles of chess.”
“I hate chess.” He wiggles his nose. “But I wasn’t here for this. I just met with the March Hare. He told me there is a small aftereffect for the plague that has just ended.”
“What kind of aftereffect?”
“Everyone in the world will unwillingly tell the truth again from five to six PM today.”
“Everyone? Us included?”
“Yes. It doesn’t matter whether we smoked the hookah or not. It’s kind of contagious. Everyone who was out there in the world for the last three days must have caught it.”
“So it didn’t end?”
“Actually it’s nothing harmful, according to the March.”
“How so?”
“He says the aftereffect is a bit personal. Everyone will either confront themselves with a truth or someone dear to them.”
“A benign truth?”
“If you want to call it that.”
“Okay then.” I turn back to cleaning. “You need to go now.”
“If I had a smoke every time I hear this,” The Pillar mumbles. Then he hesitates, as if he wants to tell me something. I see him in the mirror on the wall. Fiddling with his cane.
The silence seems to stretch for ages. But eventually he turns around and leaves.
“Pillar,” my tongue betrays me.
“Yes?”
“You think it’s a bad thing that the only way the world experienced peace was to lie?”
“Only if you think the opposite of truth is lying.” He doesn’t turn around, his hands on the handle of the glass door.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means it’s true we avoid the truth at all costs every day in our lives. But we don’t really lie. We make up things. Like a beautiful novel where we fake all our needs for a good hero. By the end of the book, you know it’s fiction, that it’s not true, but you’d be mistaken if you think it’s false either.”
My mind is reeling with ideas and metaphors again. How does he do that?
“Listen.” I stand up. “I may have been a bit harsh on you.”
“No, you weren’t. I’m terrible.” He opens the door to leave. “But don’t worry,” he sounds as if he’s going to break my heart like no one has ever done before.
And he does. The last words the Pillar says almost bring me to my knees.
"You will not see me again for another fourteen years.” The Pillar says, closes the door behind him, and disappears forever.
Epilogue Part One
London. The Hour of Truth, between 5 PM
In the hour of truth, Margaret Kent stood in front of her mirror again. She couldn’t get her eyes off her fake beauty. All those plastic surgeries and the money she spent did a good job in fooling the citizens everywhere. Her face had earned her a few good jumps in her career, a lot of money, and even admiration and respect.
But if it was so good, why couldn’t Margaret forget her own ugliness whenever she looked into this mirror?
Unable to help it, Margaret brought a chair and smashed it into the mirror. She hit it until her arms tired and her makeup thinned. Then she fell to the floor crying.
This hour of truth was incredibly devastating to her.
A few miles away, the Queen of Hearts also stared into the mirror. However, she didn’t worry about her looks. She had made peace with her looks years ago. It wasn’t the looks.
The Queen piled up chair after chair so she could stand on top of them. All she ever wanted was to be taller. Even a little bit taller would have sufficed. Every head she chopped was in hope to make others shorter – and so she’d be taller. If not in physical measures, then in the eyes of those she ruled.
Sometime she told herself she didn’t really mean to kill anyone.
But the question alway
s remained. How high could she stand on the chairs in front of the mirror?
At the highest point, where she felt a tinge of satisfaction, all the chairs tumbled down again.
Picking herself off the ground, she ran to the door and yelled. “Off with their heads!”
The guards looked puzzled, not sure whose head she wanted to chop off this time.
“I’m sorry, My Queen,” one brave guard offered. “Whose head would you like us to cut off?”
“Since you opened your mouth”—she pouted—“Then it’s you. Off with your head!”
How she wished the hour of truth would soon end.
As for Carolus, he now lived in a small room in the Queen’s garden, waiting for his pills to calm him down every few hours. The rest of the time he kept reading that scary book called Alice in Wonderland. Oh, how it gave him a headache. He understood nothing of it and ended up looking forward to finding a way to put an end to this Lewis Carroll someday.
The truth brought nothing but headaches to him, so he gave in to sleep.
In the streets of London, the Cheshire had locked Jack in a basement while he strolled out, jumping from body to another.
The Cheshire used those people’s bodies to do horrible things. The least of which was using the body of a ninety-year-old woman and lighting a car on fire.
But whatever he did, something was missing. What? It was simple. The Cheshire longed to know who he really was. Sure, he was a cat many, many years ago. But cats don’t have names—no really, people make them up and think that the cats care.
In the hour of truth, the Cheshire realized that he could be anyone he ever wanted, except one: himself.
Farther and farther, Tom Truckle still kept the secret of his identity, which wasn’t that hard to figure out, but most people just didn’t notice. And to make sure he wouldn’t feel the need to tell anyone, he locked himself up in the VIP floor of the asylum, now that the Pillar was gone.
But if the hour made him realize anything, then it was his utter loneliness in this world. His children didn’t love him, nor did his wife, and hardly did anyone else.
Tom ended up talking to his best friend in the world. The flamingo, which turned out to be a perfectly lovable animal.
In the few last minutes of the hour of truth, he told the flamingo who he really was. The flamingo’s eyes widened, wondering how no one ever noticed.
Epilogue Part Two
Oxford. The Hour of Truth, between 5:30 PM
Alice, at the hour of truth was a bit off her rocker. She was about to kill the lights in the Inklings when she saw Lewis Carroll sitting on one of the tables.
“I’m not imagining you, am I?”
“No,” he said, resting one leg on another, his hands gently set on his legs. “It’s one of the privileges of the Inklings. Sometimes I can pass through and meet you in this world.”
“So what are you? Dead?” Alice stood frozen.
“It’s complicated, and I don’t have much time to tell,” he said. “I’m here to thank you.”
“Thank you!” His funny, curious rabbit peeked out of his pocket.
“For what?”
“For not killing me—Carolus, I mean.”
“Yeah, about that,” Alice said. “How did you let that happen, Lewis? I can’t believe something so evil could come out of you.”
“It’s a long story. Now is not the time to talk about it.”
“Then what do you want to talk about?”
“That you have to stop worrying if you’re the real Alice or not,” he said. “I’m telling you, it’s you.”
“Yes, sure,” she said reluctantly. “But how can I be sure you’re real in the first place? How can I be sure anything is real?”
“How can anyone be sure, Alice? People walk in a haze all day. You think they’re sure of anything? The trick isn’t to be sure.
“Then what is the trick?”
“The trick to believe.”
“Believe things are true no matter what?”
“No. Believe in yourself.” He stood up. “I really need to go now, so again, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“By the way,” he stopped before disappearing. “You never asked me why I was grateful you didn’t kill Carolus.”
“Isn’t obvious? So you don’t die?”
“Everyone dies, Alice,” Lewis said. “I thanked you because if you have killed Carolus, I’d never have known if I could beat him myself”
Alice considered it for a moment. It was a good point of view. “Wait. I just realized you’re showing up in the hour of truth. Does that mean you’re real?”
But then Lewis was gone and the lights went out.
Epilogue Part Three
The Hour of Truth, between 5:43 PM.
In the Vatican, Fabiola sat alone in her private room in the back.
She was about to take off her white dress and fold it next to the Vorpal sword on the table.
Slowly, she began unbuttoning her dress. From this day, she was not going to be a nun anymore. It had only been a matter of time.
She stared at her arms and shoulders, and almost closed her eyes. They showed traces of her past in the most unusual ways.
Fabiola changed into a modern dress, jeans and a t-shirt, took her Vorpal sword and opened the door.
She stopped by the children from Columbia. The children nodded understandably. They knew what was going on, and they liked it.
Then Fabiola walked past the people who loved her and cherished her.
Smiling at her followers, she cursed the Pillar under her breath. She cursed him for so many things, but mainly for reminding her she was no nun. That no matter how she tried to hide it, she was a warrior. And World War Wonderland was only a week or two away.
Some of her people cupped their hands on their mouth, staring at her arms. Was this the nun they had loved and cherished all along?
But Fabiola had no choice. Black Chess surfaced. The Inklings were gathering. The prophecy had proven to be right. The girl was the Real Alice, even if she didn’t always seem apt to the mission.
She stepped out of the church, asking to be forgiven, for she was about to stare darkness in the eyes, hoping she’d be as strong as Alice and not get stained like in the past.
She turned and said goodbye to her people, still staring at her hands and shoulders covered in tattoos. She knew it was shocking, even to herself after all this time. But she could not escape who she really was. The Pillar made sure she’d return to her old self, and she hated him for that.
Throughout the piazza, walked the White Queen, gripping her Vorpal sword, wearing the tattoos that mostly said:
I can’t escape yesterday because I’m still the same warrior now.
On the other side of the world, the Pillar was sitting on a bank in Oxford University when the hour of truth came. He’d managed to resist the truth for half an hour. But it was no use. Whatever this curse of truth was, it was madder than fiction.
He was fiddling with the key when the hour’s effect empowered him. There was no going back now.
He pulled out an envelope and tucked the key in.
Slowly, he walked out of the university to the nearest post office. He borrowed a pen and wrote on a small piece of paper:
Here is the first key. Alice has another, so you have two out of six now. As for me, mission accomplished. I’m done and gone. None of you will ever see me again.
The Pillar slid the piece of paper into the envelope and licked it to a close.
He borrowed the pen again and wrote on the back of the envelope:
To the only woman I’ve ever loved.
Then he wrote the address on the back: The Vatican.
While trying to slide the envelope into the box, his glove stuck in a nail sticking out from the side. He took off the white glove, just for a moment, and found himself staring at an old heart-wrenching memory. He was staring at the two knuckles missing from the fingers on his right hand.
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The END...
Alice will return in Insanity 5
Thank You
Thank you for purchasing and downloading this insane book. I’m so happy, and grateful, to be able to share this story with you, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed lying to you!
Hookah is a special episode in the series to me. It’s a stepping stone, where I realized the series isn’t just about Alice and the Pillar. I realized how every character was slowly coming alive, villain or hero, whether I liked it or not. How Lewis Carroll created such rich individuals is beyond me, but I’m chugging my way into who they could really have been.
A few facts about Hookah:
Phantasmagoria is a real mysterious poem from Lewis Carroll. No one’s sure, as far as I know, if it’s related to the art of Phantasmagoria – which you can google and learn more about if you’re interested. The Dodo in the Nasca Lines had always been a mystery, and whether it had anything to do with Lewis, especially that it’s an extinct bird now, I’m not sure. And Mr. Nobody is a real character in Carroll’s book. He’s always fascinated me. All jokes, the good the bad and the lame, are Carroll’s jokes, some of them you can find in The Hunting of the Snark and his diaries. The Inklings is real, and the facts about it are true.
As for Lewis Carroll’s migraines, there are no doubts about him suffering some kind of recurrent headache and pain. It’s documented in his diaries. There is even a missing drawing where he’d drawn his head missing half of it – split personality? Of course, Carolus Ludovicus isn’t real, but the name Lewis Carroll chose in Latin to create his Pen name. I created him to show the painful side of artists in general. In this case, I used Lewis Carroll as a vehicle. All respect and love to the people of Columbia, Peru, and Brazil; none of the storylines were meant to be anything but entertainment and mad fiction.
Lastly, I know the Pillar and Fabiola’s story is now more of a mystery, and I already got this question from my lovely beta readers: is the Pillar gone for good?
The answer is: I can’t say.
Also, I don’t have a name for Insanity 5 yet, but stay tuned. It won’t be long before it’s released.