Figment

by Cameron Jace

  "'...because I was someone else then,'" he finishes.

  "Over and over again. You want to tell me what that's about?"

  He shakes his shoulders nonchalantly.

  "What really bothers me, she found no evidence of my Tiger Lily in my room," I say. "I mean if I feel so attached to that flower, wouldn't she at least find a photo or a book about flowers?"

  "Forget about your flower," he says. "Did she find any photos of Jack?"

  "Yes. Very nice photos. We were in love." I hold a single tear back, pressing harder on the phone.

  "How do you know you were in love?"

  "The way we looked at each other. It's the way only lovers do."

  "Just that?"

  "You wouldn't understand," I say. "There is one photo where Jack and I are at an Alice in Wonderland event, somewhere in Oxford, I believe."

  "It's called the Alice Day," he says. "Usually celebrated on the 7th of July for a week. People wear everything Alice and eat a lot of tarts. The parade starts right there by the Alice Shop you visited last time down the street." He points beyond the gates of the university. "What about it?"

  "I'm wearing an Alice outfit in the photo. Adam is wearing a"—I shrug—"Jack of Diamonds outfit, pretending to be one of the Queen's cards."

  "I see." He drums his cane on the grass.

  "Is that why I'm imagining Jack?" I turn back to face him. "Is the memory of that day so important to me that I imagined Adam resurrected as Jack? Is that true?"

  "I thought you were sure he existed. A lot of other people saw him, too, didn't they?"

  "But you never admitted seeing him."

  "I pointed at Jack in the theatre and asked the host to make him wear the Cheshire costume, didn't I?"

  "You may have been bluffing." I am guessing. "To get rid of the Cheshire's costume. Even so, why did you pretend you didn't see him before? Why did you say I was going to be with Jack in a few minutes if I died in the theatre?"

  "Knowing Jack's true identity isn't going to make your life easier, Alice." He says it with all the confidence in the world.

  "But you will tell me when this mission ends?"

  "I can tell you now, if you want." He turns and dares my eyes.

  I don't stare back. I didn't expect him to say that. My jaw drops. I have too many mixed feelings orbiting in my chest.

  "I thought so," the Pillar says. "You're not ready to know. It's typical of people to keep seeking answers they can't handle yet. Questions are easy. Everyone's got many. Answers are hard, and usually unlikable."

  Again, I hate it when the Pillar is right. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Delaying the truth a day or two isn't going to kill me. I am so afraid Jack is a figment of my imagination. I can't handle it if he is. Who has their boyfriend return from the dead? It's such a blessing, I can't deny.

  In the darkness of my closed eyes, I glimpse a faint image of the homeless children in Victorian England. It urges me to open my eyes again and ask, "Now, tell me why you're really here."

  "I know who the Muffin Man is, and the reason behind his killings."

  I lean forward and stare directly at him. "I'm listening."

  Chapter 46

  "I didn't know the cook—I mean the Muffin Man—personally in Wonderland," the Pillar begins. "I didn't even know his name back then. It still puzzles me why they call him the Muffin Man. I think the Pepper Man fits better." He pauses. "Frankly, he was some nobody to me; a third-degree citizen, a middle-aged man with many kids, if I remember correctly."

  "Third-degree citizen?"

  "The lowest rank in Wonderland. We called them 'Galumphs.' Bloody mean, if you ask me," he says. "There was a rumor he had been one of the Queen's advisors, specializing in crops and farming. But I can't confirm that.

  "My assumption is the Queen punished him, galumphed him, and sent him to work with the Duchess, who had always been Queen's favorite. But I'm not sure. I never visited the Duchess in Wonderland. I had always been friends with my mushrooms and hookah more than anything. Whatever the Muffin Man's story is, I believe Lewis knows it better."

  "Do you at least know why he was obsessed with pepper, like it was mentioned in the book?"

  "I have no idea," he says. "But what I'm about to tell you is a complicated story, so you have to bear with me and listen carefully." He stands up, stretches his arms, and enjoys the drizzle on his face. "Let's take a walk outside the university. I'd hate for you to spend your time out of the asylum sitting."

  I comply. He reaches for my hand. I don't comply.

  We walk slowly outside on St. Aldate's, saying nothing. It's as if he wants to enjoy the simple things in life for a few seconds. It does help me feel at ease.

  The Pillar stops by some kids eating chocolate bars and asks for one. I notice most of these children are overweight, like the ones who died and the ones I saw in Richmond Elementary School. I look up at other kids walking by. Most of them are a little overweight for their ages as well.

  A young girl gives the Pillar a chocolate bar, but he returns it and asks for the double bar. "I want the Snicker-Snackers double bar. One for me, and one for my friend." He points at me and ruffles her curly hair.

  We keep walking.

  "You see this chocolate bar?" he asks. "This is a Snicker Snackers bar, just like Happy Tart Bars, Bojoom Bars, and all the other Alice in Wonderland candy products infesting the world lately."

  "The Meow Muffin among the list," I remind him. "What about them?"

  "Don't you think this bar is a little too big in both size and portion?"

  "You're answering a question with a question. I'm not following."

  "Right answers are found if you ask the right questions," he says, unhappy with me interrupting him. "Did you ever stop in front of a junk food store and wonder how many disadvantages this kind of food has?" He is dead serious. "All the exaggerated carbs, the saturated fat, and the oil used over and over again until it has lost its elasticity and natural color? Did you ever think this kind of food isn't much different from slow-poisoning yourself?"

  "So?"

  "So?" He asks this as if I am a dumb student, unable to understand the professor's lecture. "Did you ever research the ingredients of the hamburger you just ate, or ask what they inject into chickens to make them look so fat and delicious? Why the meat you bought feels so plastic you can't bite through it?"

  Having known the Pillar for a while, I'm aware that he never talks in straight and clear sentences. I need to focus and read the truth between the lines. I am hoping this is leading somewhere.

  "Actually, I did," I say. "Waltraud Wagner, the asylum's warden, gorges on such stuff all the time. Snacks, sweets, and stuff. She rarely eats a real meal of fruits or vegetables."

  "I'm glad you did." He waves his cane higher and walks on. He glances at people as if he was sent down from heaven to inspect human stupidity. "Did any of the questions I just posed ever make you wonder about the government's role in all of this? How is it allowed to sell unhealthy food to a youth whose body desperately needs vitamins, healthy fat, and proteins, not an endless source of glucose and corn syrup?"

  "I never thought of it, but now that you've mentioned it..."

  "How about why there are only few commercials about vegetables, fruits, or natural foods?" He is like a train of unstoppable questions. "Why mostly chocolate, crackers, and fizzy drinks?"

  I pull him by the hand and stop him. He complies. "What has any of this to do with the Muffin Man? What are you saying exactly?"

  "This bar in my hand. Why is two pieces, Alice?" He taps it on his hand, a bit violently.

  I read the cover. "Because it's for two people, not one."

  "When was the last time you shared your Twinkie, Alice?" It's a rhetorical question, just like all the others. "The answer is 'almost never.'"

  "Are you saying the Muffin Man is punishing us for allowing our children to grow fat at a young age, for letting them eat food that hurts them more than it helps them grow health
ier?" I try to skip the lecture and get to the point.

  "If you want to know the Muffin Man better, you need to study his surroundings." He holds me by the arms as if wanting to wake me up from sleepwalking. "Every killer, terrorist, and corrupted person you meet is a reflection of society. Look into the world around us and you will understand his insanity," he says. "You know why most terrorists and those who cause human destruction are never caught, Alice?"

  For the first time, this isn't a rhetorical question. The Pillar expects me to answer it. It explains why the Wonderland Wars are beyond the reach of the police—the police who only follow physical evidence and logical procedure, dismissing the core method of catching a lunatic: knowing who he really is.

  "Because in order to catch those madmen, we have to..." I look the Pillar in the eyes. It's a moment of epiphany to me. "We have to step into their shoes and live their insanity to know how they think."

  The Pillar lets go of my arms and smiles. I am his smart and dedicated student now. He is a satisfied professor. He adds, "And be willing to live with the consequences of being exposed to such horrible minds."

  "Are we done with the lecture now? Are you going to get to the point?"

  He nods with closed eyes.

  "Then tell me something," I say. "Tell me something that is an actual lead in this case."

  "Gorgon Ramstein." The Pillar opens his eyes.

  "What?"

  "Professor Gorgon H. Ramstein."

  Chapter 47

  "Isn't that the man who owns the Fat Duck restaurants that are most famous for the mock turtle soup?" I ask, remembering Dr. Tom Truckle's obsession I with that soup?

  "Yes, but he is much more than that," The Pillar says. "Gorgon Ramstein is an Oxford University professor who challenged a Fortune 500 company a few years ago, one of the world's biggest food manufacturers, to be precise."

  "Go on."

  "Years ago, trying to quadruple their profits, this high-profile company released this double chocolate bar," he says, pointing at the one in his hand. "One huge piece of hard candy, double its previous size, which had been big enough already that doctors advised against eating it a few time before."

  "And?"

  "Gorgon, specializing in Global Health and Development, scientifically proved this bar's drawbacks. Gorgon's proved that eating this bar for a whole year, say a bar per week, is nothing less than slow-poisoning yourself, and a strong reason for obesity for children. Thus, a slow death for the youth of Britain."

  "I'm not getting—"

  "Gorgon also proved that this bar messes with kids' brain cells and gets them to want more; they're addicted to the high amounts of sugar in it. These kids are just growing up; they are sensitive to everything."

  "Did any one specialized authority look into Professor Ramstein's research?" This begins to interest me.

  "Academically, everyone found his research plausible. The government, on the other hand, treated him as if he were the invisible man," he says. "Professor Ramstein filed a case against the food companies, based on his academically approved results."

  "What was the verdict?"

  "The court was persuaded by scientific research, and ordered the production of the huge bar to be stopped. They also fined the major company a hefty amount of millions of pounds," the Pillar replies.

  "Fair enough."

  "A year later, the tycoon company tricked the court and re-released the sugar-infested bars as a double bar, half for each person," the Pillar says. "It was a clever way out, and legal. There was no conclusive evidence that half of the bar did any immediate damage. But we all know that once a kid gets his hands on that bar, he will eat it from head to toe. The double was only a hoax."

  "And the older verdict?"

  "It meant nothing," the Pillar says. "We were practically talking about a new product."

  "What happened to Professor Ramstein?" I suppose all his should tie together in the end.

  "He didn't give up. He filed a few other cases, but they were all useless because the older court's members had been replaced. The newer ones seemed to favor the food company all the way. The case was lost."

  "Even though Britain scientifically backed up the dangers of the portion of the bar?"

  "Of course not," the Pillar says. "Ramstein’s research was noble, and most probably accurate, but in the insane world we live in you can't even prohibit smoking. Hell, there are countries in the world were killing hasn't been prohibited yet."

  I can't seem to connect all of this to the Muffin Man, but I am sure the Pillar will eventually. Also, I find myself genuinely interested in the story. "Where is Professor Gorgon Ramstein now?" I ask.

  "Where do you think, Alice?" The Pillar tilts his head and imitates the Cheshire's grin.

  "Dead?" I resist clapping my hands on my mouth. "Assassinated by the Cheshire Cat?"

  "They killed Ramstein's lawyer in a fabricated car accident first," the Pillar says. "You know who ordered the assassination?"

  "Margaret Kent." The words force themselves out of my mouth. The Pillar nods and I let out a long sigh, connecting the dots. Every awful thing is always threaded to the ugly Duchess somehow. "But why? Who is Margaret Kent protecting?"

  "The same people who hired the Reds to chase us in the Vatican. The same people who protect and stand behind corruption in the world. The same people who profit from wars, famine, and poverty," he says. "I don't have a name for them, but The White Queen likes to call them 'those who walk the black tiles in the chessboard of life.' 'Black Chess' for short."

  I take a moment to digest all of this. Is this really how the world outside works? Are all the bad guys connected and intertwined in a spider web of cruelty and deception? Are the few good ones who try to oppose them—I imagine Fabiola leading them—helpless and weakened?

  Of course, whose side the Pillar is on will always baffle me, but it seems irrelevant now.

  "I have another question," I say. The sun is sinking to the weight of the Pillar's revelations. "Before I ask you what all of this has to do with the Muffin Man, I want to know the name of the company that sold the bar."

  "Who else?" The Pillar straightens his back and rolls his cane a full vertical circle around his hand. "Muffit N Puffit, the same company that produced the Queen of Hearts Tarts and Meow Muffins."

  "That's a lame name for an evil corporation that is almost secretly ruling the world."

  "Of course," he agrees. "Muffit N Puffit are only a branch of the mother company, which is rarely mentioned and I think is operated by the most evil Wonderland Monsters, but that's way too soon to get into."

  "Does the major corporation have a name?"

  "What else, Alice?" he says. "Black Chess."

  Chapter 48

  "So, how is the Muffin Man related to all of this?" I manage to ask, finally.

  "The Muffin Man thinks he is doing the world a favor," the Pillar says. "Like I said, I don't know his full background, but he is persuaded by the Cheshire to do this, so they expose us."

  "Expose us?" I laugh.

  "By us, I mean humans," the Pillar says. "The Cheshire wants to expose us to ourselves. Never heard of serial killers trying to wake up the world against committing the seven sins? A man bombing innocent civilians to prove a point? The world is full of this kind of madness."

  "But the Cheshire didn't say anything about that—nor did the Muffin Man."

  "I'm sure we will hear from them soon," the Pillar says. "Somehow they will explain the crimes and maybe ask humanity to repent or something. Who knows what goes on in this cat's head?"

  Replaying this conversation in my head, I wonder about some of the Pillar's behavior. "Frankly, I don't trust you, Professor Pillar," I say as it starts to rain heavily. "You have been eating like crazy the past two days, doing crazy things related to food, and now you tell me the Muffin Man is punishing the world for letting their children eat deadly food." I spit some rain out. "Then you tell me all you know about Gorgon Ramstein, and I have no id
ea how you knew about it. You sound like you care about humanity while I know you don't give a damn. Are you expecting me to believe that you care about people?"

  "Not at all," he says. "I don't give a Jub Jub about the world." He summons a buff man walking by, trying to shade himself from the rain. "Do I look like I give a Jub Jub about the world?"

  "Jub Jub this." The man shows him the finger and walks.

  "You asked me about the Muffin Man and why he kills. I am just telling you, Alice." The Pillar turns to me, his eyes catching too many people staring at their phones at the same time. The activity makes me suspicious as well. But I have a conversation to finish.

  "Prove it, then." I step forward. "Prove that all you just told me is true!"

  "I don't need to," the Pillar says as he pulls his phone from his pocket. At the same time, my phone buzzes.

  What's going on?

  I click a link sent to me in a message. I am transferred to a video. I click it to open it. It's a live-stream, the same one everyone else, including the Pillar, is watching now.

  It's the Muffin Man, aka the cook, aka the watermelon killer is live online, talking to the world.

  Chapter 49

  The Muffin Man's presence on TV puts everyone to silence. The people on the street are watching their phone screens with the utmost attention.

  The Muffin Man heartlessly streams a photo montage of the killings: the head in the football in Stamford Bridge, children's heads discovered by the police inside watermelons, the sneezing crowd in the Theatre Royal. The carnage is streamed worldwide.

  The camera then shows a headshot of the Muffin Man. He is sitting in what looks like a huge Victorian kitchen with an oversized fireplace behind him. The scene is surreal. The uniqueness of the kitchen suggests he is almost broadcasting from the past. It can't be. There must be another explanation.

  The Muffin Man still wears the cook's uniform; his double-breasted coat is turned to show the straitjacket's side. On his head, he wears a French toque. His hair, like strands of a bending palm tree, covers his face, all but his scarred lips. Next to him, two glinting kitchen knives are visible.