Checkmate (Insanity Book 6)

by Cameron Jace

  “Exactly,” I explain further. “You forced me in a game where I have to try winning in a losing war; where, when I lose in the end, I have no choice but to drink the seventh poisoned cup that will kill me.”

  “And you fooled me by losing earlier and not buying into my frame.” The Chessmaster is amazed but saddened and disappointed with this whole existence. “Now that you made the most stupid move in history, I had no choice but to checkmate you earlier in the fourth round.”

  “Stupidity is so underrated.”

  “And by recklessly checkmating you in the fourth round, you will never reach the seventh cup, and you will simply not die,” he finishes my masterpiece for me. “You bought yourself out of hell by being a moron.”

  “I prefer being called mad.”

  “And that’s not just it,” the Chessmaster nails his own coffin with his last words. “Having been unable to kill you, I’m obliged to drink all seven cups, even though I checkmated you. It’s the rules of the game.”

  “Let me just correct this part. In reality, I checkmated you. Kinda kicked you in the balls, wrapped you up in choking foils made out of your anger, and rolled you down the rabbit hole of hell.”

  The Reds in the place crash onto the stage and force the Chessmaster to his final verdict, to drink the seven cups of poison.

  I watch him give in, the audience behind me applauding, reminding myself of the man who has taught me this trick.

  The Pillar.

  With my Red guardian reminding me of the technique written on the napkin, I was the one who laughed last. I didn’t buy into the Chessmaster’s game, made him think he was winning, and struck when it was hot.

  Now that I’ve practiced what I’ve learned and saved the world, I have to finish my masterpiece with a few last words. Words I’ve been taught by The Pillar, whom everyone says is a devil.

  A broad smile, a euphoric feeling of transcendence, and a breeze of hope caresses me as I stand above the Chessmaster, Death himself, and tell him.

  ‘I will die when I say so!”

  Chapter 77

  London

  Inspector Dormouse had finally reached the address where Mr. Fourteen resided. He’d managed to extract it from the conversations in the recordings and drove from Oxford to London, hoping he wasn’t too late.

  He stopped the car by a place called Lifespan, a hospice where Mr. Fourteen hid, pretending he was dying man, just to stay away from The Pillar’s wrath.

  With everyone asleep, the lazy Inspector stepped up and entered the main hall. He pushed the sleeping nurse aside and flipped through the guest’s names. He’d learned the name from the recordings too.

  There he was, resident in a private room on the sixth floor.

  Dormouse hurried to the elevator but found it dead. Maybe the elevators fell asleep.

  He had to struggle with the misfortune and pain of climbing up the stairs. Gosh, six stories?

  Inspector Dormouse was incredibly out of shape. The last time he had climbed up six stories must have been in his sleep.

  Three floors up, panting and wheezing and feeling his limbs tear apart, he fell asleep again. He just couldn’t resist it.

  A few minutes later he woke up, shocked and disappointed with himself. What if The Pillar had reached Mr. Fourteen earlier?

  Like a slow-chugging locomotive, the Inspector trudged step after step, now coughing out thick fumes he preferred not to look at.

  Finally, there he was. On the sixth floor. A few strides ahead and he’d be inside Mr. Fourteen’s room — even if he’d found him asleep, he would still be able to protect him.

  But first, Dormouse needed to drink. He stopped by the water cooler in the corridor and gulped water, wetting his shirt and pants in the process of his slurping.

  Fresh now, he still had to tie the loosened laces on his shoes, and then he approached the room.

  He knocked once but no one answered. Mr. Fourteen was unquestionably asleep.

  But what was that blood seeping from under the door?

  Enraged, Inspector Dormouse kicked open the door into a dark room.

  A switch flicked by the opposite wall. A faint yellow light that only showed two things: a man dead on the floor, probably Mr. Fourteen, and The Pillar with a gun in his hand, sitting nonchalantly calm under the yellow light.

  “Too late, Inspector,” The Pillar smirked.

  “You killed him,” Dormouse said. “You killed Mr. Fourteen.”

  “Had to be done,” The Pillar said. “It took me a long time to find him.”

  “What kind of beast are you?”

  “Call it what you want. I made my choice.”

  “You call killing an innocent man a choice?”

  “What makes you think he is so innocent?”

  “I know all about you, Pillar. I know about your deal. You and Alice. The ritual to gain more lives than the Cheshire.”

  “Really?” The Pillar considered. “Is that what you know?”

  “You killed the Fourteen because they betrayed you and wouldn’t let you collect your souls.”

  “That’s one side of the story.” The Pillar rubbed something inside his ear with his little pinky, his other hand gripping the gun, pointed at the Inspector.

  “There is no other side to it,” Dormouse said. “You will not walk out of this building alive.”

  “I came and went as I pleased in the asylum. No one could ever stop me,” The Pillar said. “Besides, you should really lower your voice, Inspector. Everyone’s asleep.”

  “You got that part wrong, Professor,” Dormouse smiled victoriously, as the people in the hall were starting to wake up. “Because Alice killed the Chessmaster. People are about to wake up.”

  And for all the conflicting reasons in the world, Dormouse saw The Pillar smiling in broad lines, his eyes wide, and it looked like his heart was fluttering. Dormouse didn’t know what to make of this. If The Pillar was this brutal beast, how come he was so happy Alice was still alive?

  Chapter 78

  The Last Chess Game, Chess City, Kalmykia

  “You think you beat me?” The Chessmaster writhed on the ground, gasping for his last few breaths. “I never lose.”

  “Don’t fight it,” I tell him. “The world is a better place without you. The world is safe now.”

  “And ironically you’ll be the hero?”

  “Trust me, no one ever thinks I’m the hero. I’m a nineteen-year-old mad girl at best. Most of my boyfriends die, or I make silent sacrifices for them. I have no friends. Neither do I have idols. Everything around me is a purple haze of madness, but you know what? I save a few people from time to time.”

  “You killed my family. You’re not supposed to win.”

  “Even if I did, I’m really, really sorry, but that wasn’t me. That was someone else.”

  “I still can’t believe I’m dying after all these years of planning to get you and The Pillar,” he coughs and slurs.

  I kneel down beside him. “About The Pillar,” I say, “how come the Executioner was one of the Fourteen when I saw The Pillar missing two fingers, like every other child the Executioner enslaved in Mushroomland?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it seems like The Pillar was a man, enslaved by the Executioner as a kid in Colombia at some point,” I say. “Even though the whole timeline is messed up, but it still seems to me the Executioner tortured The Pillar as a kid.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “Maybe it’s you who is lying and made it all up.” I want to believe The Pillar isn’t that bad. I really want to.

  “You don’t get it.” The Chessmaster’s eyes flutter. “The Pillar used to meet the Fourteen in a secret place underneath Oxford, in the kitchen. There is a reckless cook called Chopin who accidentally chops off people’s fingers. He’s even chopped his own finger once.”

  “So?”

  “The Pillar once caught him eavesdropping. They had a fight. Chopin escaped, and chopped off The
Pillar’s two fingers on the way out.”

  “You expect me to believe this story?”

  “I don’t expect anything from you.” The Chessmaster’s eyes fling open with all the power left in him. “It’s you who is blind. It’s you who wants to believe The Pillar is a good man. Can’t you see?”

  “No, I can’t,” I say. “I’ve never seen The Pillar want to mass murder people. It’s the monsters like you I come across each week who do this.”

  “What if I can prove it to you?” The Chessmaster grips my arm. His need to tell me something far outweighs his weakness to the poison he’s just gulped.

  “What is it?” Something tells me I don’t want to hear it.

  “Say my name,” he demands.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Say my name, Alice.”

  “Okay, if that’s your last wish. You’re the Chessmaster.”

  “Not that name.” His grip tightens. “My real name.”

  “Ah, that. Your Russian name,” I try to recall it. “What was it? Yes, your name is Vozchik Stolb. Why?”

  “Can’t you see what my name means?”

  “I’m not into Russian.”

  “Vozchik is a rough Russian translation to the word Carter in English,” he begins, and the world begins to dizzy again. “Stolb means…”

  “Pillar,” I finish it for him. “You’re one of the Fourteen.”

  “Yes,” the Chessmaster winces. He is determined to tell me though. “That’s why I told you I made sure he dies. I split my soul into two with the Cheshire’s help. He is after the one in London, not knowing I exist.”

  Even though I’m shocked I have to bring the Chessmaster the bad news. “I’m sorry, but you really underestimate The Pillar,” I tell him. “Do you really think he didn’t know who you are? The Pillar planned this all along. That’s why he left for London, and paved the way for me to kill you here.”

  The Chessmaster’s dying eyes are in flames, shocked to hear about the genius Pillar, who has fooled him, me, and the world. I am as shocked as him, having finally tied the knots of the puzzle. Who is this man called Carter Pillar, and why is he doing this?

  “What are you telling me?” the Chessmaster says.

  “I’m telling you if there is one man who played Chess with God and won, then it’s not you, but The Pillar,” the words escape me, and I’m not sure what to think of The Pillar. Maybe the premonition about me killing him in the future is real. Hell, it begins to feel like a must.

  “Damn you Alice and The Pillar!” The Chessmaster let’s go of me, as I stand up.

  I prefer to have him at my back. There is no point into being sentimental. I’m a bad girl who is determined to do good things and save the world from the worst kind of evil. To do so, I have to make choices like killing a man I may have once hurt — if it wasn’t The Pillar, and he just pulled my leg into the story somehow — to save so many lives. In my book it’s not who you were yesterday. It’s who you are today.

  And though the tables have turned, the Chessmaster with his pain is the villain today, and I’m trying to save lives.

  It’s a grey truth. Colorless, confusing, and borderline unethical. But it’s a truth that saves innocent people’s lives.

  “Damn you, Alice!” The Chessmaster won’t give up before he dies, expressing his hatred toward me.

  But I have no time for him. I need to find The Pillar, and in case he turns out to be that evil genius, I will have to believe in the future I kill him.

  The Red, my guardian angel, stands before me and pats me on the shoulder. In his hands, I see my Tiger Lily.

  Note: I knew it means much to you so I kept it safe. You did well, Alice. You did the right thing.

  “Why are you sure?” I ask, hugging my Lily pot.

  Because I believe in you. And look, the people in the world are awake. You helped them open their eyes. Maybe someday they will see how great you are.

  “You think I’m great?” I ask. “Why do you believe in me so much? Who are you?”

  I’m the one who will guard you until you grow old, become a mother and grandma with wrinkles on your face, and arthritis climbing on your back like a monkey.

  “Not the best choice of words,” I chuckle.

  It’s not about the words you hear, it’s about what you feel, Alice.

  “Seriously,” I insist. “Who are you? Are you my future husband, trying to lean into my heart?”

  The Dude doesn’t answer me.

  “Wait. Are you Jack? Please tell me you’re Jack.”

  The Dude doesn’t answer again, but pushes a sword into my hand.

  It was Fabiola’s Vorpal Sword. It’s yours now.

  “Who gave it to you?” I grip the sword with Fabiola’s blood fresh on it.

  She is alive. She told me to give it to you. Now go get The Pillar, if he so deserves to die.

  The Dude disappears into the crowd, cameras still flashing everywhere, TV spreading the news of the world having been saved, but no one mentions my name.

  On my way out to find The Pillar, the Chessmaster insists on cursing me. This time, it’s a bit different. “Damn you Alice. Damn you… and your family.”

  This cements my feet to the ground. “I have no family,” I say without turning. “Lorina, Edith, and their mysterious mother aren’t my family.”

  The Chessmaster laughs through his coughing and last breaths. “Oh, lord in heaven. She doesn’t know.”

  I hurl back and part the people in my space, stooping over his body, now on the ambulance’s stretcher. “What don’t I know?”

  “You don’t know who your family is, Alice.” He says. “I thought you were playing me, but you really don’t remember your family.”

  I pull him by the neck and near him, disgusted by the breath coming out of his foul mouth. “I have a family? A biological family, you mean?”

  “Of course,” his eyes are glimmering with some sort of mocking victory. “Your family, Alice. They’re the reason why you became who you are after the Circus.”

  He doesn’t stop laughing. As if my pain, and his amusement, gave him means to live again. “It turns out I really never lose a game of chess,” he says. “Because I will die without telling about them. I will take it to my grave, and I will always be the Chessmaster who never loses.”

  In spite of me holding onto him, wanting to squeeze out answers, the soul inside him departs his body. It’s like he’s been waiting for this last moment to declare his winning, and leave me hopeless, helpless, and lost without knowing about my real family.

  Chapter 79

  Lifespan Hospice, London

  Inspector Dormouse was still intoxicated with The Pillar’s happiness with Alice’s survival. It even seemed like a weak point in the professor’s attitude, enough to encourage Dormouse to attack him. But the Inspector’s out-of-shape body wasn’t going to help.

  “Close the door behind you,” The Pillar demanded. “Before everyone wakes up.”

  Dormouse couldn’t oppose the notorious monster by the name of Carter Pillar.

  “Step in closer,” The Pillar said.

  Dormouse did, his mind trying to figure out what was going on. There was this one possibility. A flicker of a thought. A slice of an assumption. A far-fetched idea he didn’t want to think about it. All the way driving from Oxford to London, he’d been thinking about it. He just couldn’t swallow it.

  Now, staring right into The Pillar’s face, the idea surfaced. The Pillar wasn’t the most honest of men; his moral code was shabby, and to the police force he was downright a serial killer. But if there was one quality about The Pillar, one which Inspector Dormouse had witnessed over and over again, it was this: The Pillar cared about Alice. He would die for her.

  The look on The Pillar’s face simply exposed him. And Dormouse, being a father, knew how precious of a look it was, unconditionally caring about someone.

  “Who are you, Professor Pillar?” Dormouse had to ask.

  Half of The Pillar’s
face shone in the weak yellow under a lamp. The other half loomed behind the dark. He looked like a ghost, one who’d disappear any moment, but leave his scent behind, forever haunting you — in good ways and in bad.

  “I will give you the precious chance to leave this office right now,” The Pillar said. “I will never hurt you. All you have to do is go back to your sleepy life and never mention whatever you’ve discovered. Believe me, you don’t want to know the truth.”

  Dormouse hesitated.

  “Go back to your daughter, Inspector,” The Pillar advised. “I’m not a sentimental man, and will shoot you dead if you dig deeper into things you shouldn’t.”

  Inspector Dormouse nodded, turned around, and paced toward the door. What was he really doing here, digging into secrets of Wonderland? He was better off going back home, enjoying a nap among his family members who loved him – and were much saner than the world outside.

  Inspector Dormouse even made it so far as to grip the doorknob on his way out. But then the conclusion hit him hard, a revelation so intense and surprising he feared he’d never be able to sleep again.

  He turned around and faced The Pillar. “Oh, holy lord of rings,” he said. “I know who you are.”

  The Pillar titled his head with pursed lips. He even shook his head in a ‘no’. “Don’t do it, Dormouse. Don’t think too much. It may cost you more than you can handle.”

  “Let me rephrase it,” Dormouse insisted, unable to suppress his thoughts. “All of us have been mistaken from the beginning, questioning who you really were.”

  The Pillar said nothing.

  “We were asking the wrong question,” Inspector Dormouse said. “The right question was who you weren’t. And who you aren’t.”

  The Pillar squeezed his eyes shut, and let out a long sigh. He gritted his teeth, his hand tightening on the gun. “Don’t say it, Dormouse. Just leave.”

  But Dormouse’s excitement and curiosity took the best of him. “You’re not The Pillar. You have no relation to the monster Carter Chrysalis Cocoon Pillar, whatsoever.”

  The Pillar opened his eyes, looking angry, like a hangman sad he had to pull the lever, and pointed the gun at the inspector.