by Cameron Jace
“Trust me, Jack,” I tell him. “It doesn’t matter. We just want to find them.”
“Yeah,” Constance says, turning pages on the phone in her hand. “Sometimes I don’t know what we are doing at all. Wouldn’t it be easier if Fabiola and Lewis tell us what the precious thing is?”
“I am a dead man,” Jack chuckled. “Don’t ask me.”
“Wait,” Constance stopped, staring at the phone.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“The logs on this phone are a bit strange.”
“What do you mean?”
“All calls received or dialed were last done this morning, but the last call was made twenty minutes ago.” she raises her eyes toward me.
“What does that imply?” Jack asks.
I know what it implies. “Tom,” Constance and I say in one breath.
“But he said he would call his children,” Jack says. “What’s wrong with that?”
“His children are in Scotland, remember?” I say after having snatched the phone from Constance again. “This is a number in London.”
Jack shrugged, hands gripping the wheel.
“I never trusted him,” Constance says, glancing back at him, sitting next to Fabiola and Lewis, staring out the window.
“You think he works for…” I begin to say, but then stop. Jack is cussing out loud.
“Oh, no!” Constance says, staring ahead.
I look and see the police have blocked the road ahead. “Can we go back?” I ask Jack. “Scoot over; I’ll drive.”
“No point,” Jack says, looking in the rear mirror. “They’re behind us as well.”
“And we’re in a narrow alley,” Constance says. It’s the first time I can sense fear on her tongue.
“We’ve been ambushed,” I let the words spill out of my mouth.
In the back, Tom sticks his head out of the window and waves, “Hey, it’s me, Tom. Just kill them.”
36
Past: Wonderland
Fabiola’s journey from darkness to light was a messy one. Day after day, she came to wake up and understand. Every day she woke up and looked at the pictures Lewis had given her. The face of the girl called Constance still talked back to her, though it faded away slowly. It’s seemed like the magic Lewis used didn’t last so long. Why would it? Fabiola had seen the light and needed to act.
Each day, she would stare at the Pillar and see the real him. Behind the facade of happiness and fun existed an evil soul. How did she miss that?
Of course, she hadn’t been that alert all of the time. The mushrooms effect on her made her love him occasionally. The whole situation felt like trying to stop taking a certain drug. One that had run deep into her vein and hurt every organ. She was an addict, wanting to stop, but couldn’t.
There was also the matter of not showing the Pillar what she had learned, or who knew what he’d do to her. She began talking to people behind the bushes of the forest. She began communicating. Hearing stories. Horrible stories about the Pillar. The real Pillar. One day she met a young boy who’d been addicted to the Pillar’s mushrooms, and now that he’d spent all his family’s money, he had no way to pay him. The Pillar was cruel enough never to give him his fix. Instead, he would ask him to do terrible things for him as payment.
Then the White Queen figured out a way to leave the forest. She made up stories about wanting to buy dresses she liked from merchants in the heart of Wonderland. She’d earlier made up a story about visiting her sister, but she’d dearly suspected her sister had a hand in this conspiracy. She knew how the poor Queen of Hearts hated her.
Reluctantly, the Pillar allowed her to leave, for a few hours max. Not much time to ask for help. Not enough time to reach out to Lewis.
Another idea had crossed her mind: to reach out to the Hatter, but she was worried the Pillar and the Queen would hurt him if they knew about their meeting. She had no accurate recollections of her love for the Hatter in the past, but there was this tinge she could feel in her heart whenever she thought about him now.
Fabiola’s only solution was the words. In the scant time she had to herself away from the Pillar, she reached out to the Duchess. That ugly looking woman, living alone in the woods that were nearest to the forest. She had only met her once or twice before. In Fabiola’s mind, she thought the Duchess would sympathize with her, especially since she’d been a neglected individual in Wonderland.
“How can I help?” asked the Duchess, pouring some tea for her. Fabiola had entered a few minutes ago, and the lonely woman had welcomed her.
“I am embarrassed to ask,” Fabiola said. “It’s about the Pillar.”
The Duchess twitched. Apparently, she didn’t want to have anything to do with the Pillar. Fabiola could see how people feared him now.
“And the mushrooms,” Fabiola said.
For an hour, she told her what happened. The story from beginning to end. Fabiola was surprised by the Duchess’ lack of surprise.
“We’ve all known,” the Duchess said. “Though we weren’t sure about the mushroom that made you fall in love with him.”
“It’s hard to imagine that love can be induced by a drug,” Fabiola said.
“Love is a drug, darling,” the Duchess replied in her gruff voice. Fabiola noticed that she smoked all the time. The woman smoked her lonely life away. “But I can help you.”
“How so?”
“Magic.”
“What?”
“Dark magic, to be precise,” the Duchess said. “Let's face it. The Pillar owns you as a slave now. Even if you confront him, he will find a certain mushroom that will serve his purpose and stuff it in your guts.”
Fabiola shrugged with despair. “So what about the dark magic?”
“Fight fire with fire,” the Duchess said. “To counter the Pillar’s mushrooms, you will need to use a terrible magic.”
“How terrible?”
“It’s a spell. One that will hurt a lot.”
Fabiola leaned forward. “But will it help me?”
“It will.”
“Will I be free of the Pillar’s mushrooms?” Fabiola asked. “Will I be myself again?”
“Yes. And then you could maybe help out all the other poor Wonderlanders under his spell.”
“You mean the kids he sells drugs to?”
“I mean people like Lewis,” the Duchess said. “Can’t you see he hasn’t been himself lately?”
“I can,” Fabiola considered. “I saw him. The Pillar messed with him and gave him an evil mushroom.”
“You make me laugh, child,” the Duchess said. “There is no such thing as an evil mushroom. Only we are the evil ones.”
The Duchess struck Fabiola as a wise woman. She felt for her. Then she heard baby cries in the back of the house.
“You have a child?” Fabiola asked.
“A baby,” the Duchess said. “Just don’t tell anyone.”
“Why?”
“He is a bastard son,” she said. “I had him with stranger traveling through Wonderland. A man I only saw once. I fear people would know I have a baby and ask about his father. Let’s face it, and no man would love me with my looks.”
Fabiola patted her. “Don’t worry; I will not tell anyone.”
“Now, are you ready for the dark magic?”
Fabiola hesitated. “How painful is it?”
The Duchess stood up and pulled out a glinting knife. A small one with a sharp, thin blade. “This painful,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Here is the situation,” the Duchess said. “The Pillar has you under his spell. To unchain yourself you will have to cut yourself.”
“Cut myself?” Fabiola began sweating.
“There is no way around it,” the Duchess said. “Small cuts every day, all over your body. Make them look like tattoos and paint over the cuts, so the Pillar won't suspect you’re using dark magic.”
Fabiola hugged herself gently. She could taste the pain of the blade o
n her arms already. “But--”
“There is no other way,” the Duchess said. “Fight fire with fire.”
Fabiola took the blade and slowly cut herself in front of the Duchess. The first cut wasn’t the deepest though. It would take her months of pain, cutting through herself to rid herself of the Pillar’s spell. And the cuts would live with her like another layer of skin forever.
37
Present: Fly Emirates Airplane
The Cheshire loved flying first class. He’d booked his ticket and booked two seats left and right so he could take all the space he wanted. In the public’s eye he was Angelo Cardone, so he could do whatever he wanted. What he wanted more was to know why Mr. Jay had asked him to fly over to England.
He was reluctant at first. Who wants to fly an airplane with all that was going in the world? The last he’d heard was that most airports were closed, and very few airlines still functioned. But Mr. Jay advised him not to believe all that’s been said in the news. Mr. Jay had bought Virgin airlines a few days back. Virgin had known about the prophecy of the Wonderland Wars twenty years ago. Special hangers, planes, and even crews had been on standby for many years. And you know what? The time has come.
“Of course,” the Cheshire unfolded a newspaper to read as the plane took off. “The rich are always prepared.”
“Did you say something, Sir?” the stewardess asked, a beautiful Swedish girl with too much makes up. Some apocalypse that was. “Can I help you with anything?”
“Actually, you can,” the Cheshire said, lowering the newspaper.
“Please tell me,” she leaned forward, her scent driving him crazy.
“Playboy,” he said.
“Play-what?” she tilted her head, a little shocked. Did the man from the Vatican just say Playboy?
“I don’t care to read the news about the world,” he said. “The world is going to hell anyway. Do you have the latest edition of Playboy?”
The girl leaned back, not sure if she’d heard right. She was little in shock.
“Latest edition, please,” he said. “I’m not keen on outdated boobs.”
The girl stiffened like a broom, shrugged, and turned around. As she walked to get him what he wanted, he summoned her back, “And a bottle of Scotch. Two glasses. No ice. Shaken and stirred.”
Every other rich businessman and woman looked away. Some pretended to be busy with their phones. Some pretended this wasn’t happening.
The Cheshire leaned back in his seat. “God Damn World War Wonderland,” he said. “If there is going to be a war, why does it have to take this long? Why wouldn’t an asteroid come and just end this world? Boom. Boom. Shaka-Laka.”
Then his phone rang.
He untied his collar and leaned back in his seat. “Chesh speaking. I mean Angelo.”
“Are you on your way to London?” Mr. Jay inquired.
“I am, Sir. Can I ask what this about?”
“Your mission in the Vatican is done.”
“I saw that. I left it with drunk popes and nuns, and none of my crowd was there, probably killing terrorists somewhere.”
“You did well.” Mr. Jay chuckled. He rarely did. The Cheshire must have amused him. “And now I have to fulfill my promise.”
“Did you promise me something?”
“Not literally. I am a subtle man.”
“Hmm…”
“I will give you what you have always wanted.”
“All I want is for the human race to die miserably.”
“No, that’s not it,” Mr. Jay said.
“Oh?” the Cheshire didn’t like this.
“You want revenge, but not just from humans. You want revenge on someone else. Someone who did something bad to you in Wonderland.”
The Cheshire shrugged. He now knew what he was talking about. Why would Mr. Jay bring this up now?
38
Ice-Cream Truck
I am standing on top of the ice-cream truck, facing one of the sides. It occurs to me that it’s a stupid move a bit too late though. Any of the Reds could just shoot me to my grave right now.
But it doesn’t happen, and it makes me think if something deep in my lost memory granted me the naive audacity to stand up like that. A faint vision strikes me, and I don’t know what it is. A vision from the past, but I am in too deep in my reality to care about an old forsaken memory.
The Reds in front of me lower their guns. Then the shooting turns to silence. I turn slowly to watch the Reds behind me. They are inanimate and silent, too.
The moment is too heavy; I think I am not breathing at all.
What is this? An ambush? A mockery?
Should I let myself drop down again into the ice-cream truck? Or should I just roar with anger, like in a superhero movie, and start killing them?
The silence is long an unwinding. All I hear is the distant sounds of killing and madness in the neighborhoods all around.
Something is very wrong.
“I think they are afraid of you,” Constance’s voice comes into my ears. I haven’t figured out the telepathy thing yet, but it’s not the time to do that.
“Why?” I say back with my mind.
“Because of the Vorpal sword, I guess.”
Looking down I see that I am gripping it so tight that my knuckles are whitening. Should I raise it up to scare them away?
“But wait,” I tell Constance. “This can’t be. I had the sword back in the warehouse. They still fought back.”
“You’re right,” she says. “Something is wrong.”
I take a reluctant step forward to test the Reds. None of them moves yet.
“Hey!” I shout at them. “What’s going on?”
No one answers me. I raise my sword, ever so slowly, in case they change their minds and decide to shoot.
Nothing.
One of the Reds takes a step forward and lowers his gun. He gestures with his head in a way that implies respect. “Please come with us.”
“What?”
“Mr. Jay wants to see you.”
“Ah,” I say. “That’s what it’s about. You don’t want to kill me.”
“We want to kill them,” he points at the truck. “But we’re instructed to bring you alive.”
Though I will never do it, I am curious. “Why does he want to see me?”
“We are only Reds. We obey orders.”
“Oh,” I lower my sword and loosen up. “So I guess I am in charge here. You can’t kill me.”
“We would love to,” the Reds mocks me. “But we can’t for now.”
“And I will not let you kill anyone in the truck,” I say. “So my advice is that you leave us be.”
“We can’t.”
I raise my sword again. “I will kill you if you don’t leave.”
“Actually, I think you will go with them, Alice.” Tom Truckle’s voice sounds somewhere.
At first, I am not sure from where, then I know. I realize what they have done. Why they’d stopped in the first place.
The truck’s rear door opens, and Tom stands with a gun pointed at the March. The son of a mushroom hadn’t left the truck. It was a trick.
Slowly he drags the poor, comatose March behind him like a sack of carrots, pointing the gun at him.
Behind him, Lewis, Fabiola, Constance and Jack stumble out with their hands bound behind their backs.
“Sorry,” Constance says telepathically. “He threatened to kill the March, so we gave in.”
Shocked at the whole situation, I send her a message, “Why didn't you tell me with your mind?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I did, but it didn’t seem to come across. I think once I am afraid and in a fearful state, I can’t do it. I was worried about the March.”
I was going to burst out and scream at her, as she has been suspecting the March a few minutes ago. But then I realize she that is a seven-year-old child, no matter what she pretends to be.
“Time to get off your throne, mad girl,” Tom says.
“Why? None of you will kill me.”
“I will kill the March.”
“You won’t,” I say. “You know he has the Keys and you have probably told Mr. Jay already. Which means you don’t need me.”
“Oh, we need you,” he smirks. “Mr. Jay’s issues with you are way beyond all this Wonderland War stuff. You know he killed your family.”
Tom is provoking me. Still, what would Mr. Jay want from me? He killed my family but doesn’t want to kill me. Strange. And I think he is beyond the idea of persuading me to rejoin Black Chess.
“Come on, Alice,” Tom says. “I will shoot the March if you don’t surrender yourself to the Reds.”
“You won’t. You need him. Mr. Jay needs him. We all need him.”
“But you will not risk it,” Tom says. “Even if there is tiny possibility that I will shoot him, you will never risk it. Bear in mind that I don’t care for the whole Six Keys bonanza. I just want my pills, and money for my kids.”
I dare him, “No you won't, Tom. You’re a coward.”
“Really?” He smirks again and points the gun at Constance and shoots.
39
Past: Wonderland
The Duchess opened the door for the Queen of Hearts. She hadn’t been used to that. Her Majesty visiting a poor, neglected woman like her was more of a threat than an honor. Margaret let her inside, watching the army of Reds waiting outside. She wondered if today would be the last day of her life.
“Please come in,” she ushered the Queen.
“Ugly house,” the Queen took off her red gloves. “But then again, ugly woman.”
Margaret said nothing, and ate a bite from her food instead of eating shit.
“I need a chair,” the Queen demanded.
Margaret nodded obediently. She put the food away and went and fetched a chair. She had to choose between ramshackle and crippled, though she’d have loved to see the short Queen fall.
The Queen embarked the chair. She was still shorter than Margaret, but not that much. “Now we can speak,” the Queen plastered a wicked smile on her face.