Family (Insanity Book 7)

by Cameron Jace

  I think it’s because of Black Chess. Fabiola made sure they knew about it.

  “You said you knew someone who can help me.” I urge Tom to stop.

  “I did.” He nods, signaling at the Mushroomers.

  “Them? What could they possibly know?”

  “More than any sane person does.” Tom plasters on a fake smile while squeezing a key into a Mushroomer’s cell. When it turns, it squeaks like in a horror house.

  The cell is one of the bigger ones, with more than twenty Mushroomers inside. These are usually the most peaceful, the ones who are mad but keep to themselves. They never harm anyone. Tom adores this type of insanity.

  I follow him inside, face to face with the anticipating Mushroomers.

  It’s hard to tell who’s afraid of who now. But I can relate. These days, we’re all afraid of each other in this world. We wonder which side we’re on: the mad or the truly mad.

  “Tell Alice about the walls, boys,” Tom addresses the introverted Mushroomers. “Don’t be afraid. She will not join Black Chess. She changed her mind. In fact, she came to see you.”

  None of them seems to buy into it — not even me. I don’t know who I really am at this point in my life. I’m trying my best, but it seems subpar, a mere wishy washy endeavor without cutthroat results.

  One of the Mushroomers takes the flashlight Tom offers him and waves it toward the cell’s walls. Rotten and dark substances cover the surface. But following the beam of the light, I realize I’m staring at writings on the wall. Just like in my cell.

  The Mushroomer stops at a certain spot and kneels down. So do I. He wipes the wall with the back of his hand and kills a small spider in the process.

  “Read.” Tom points at the wall. “This will answer your question.”

  Chapter 9

  It’s not easy to do so, but I get used to the scribbling after a couple of attempts. I’m staring at a sentence, one that was carved with a sharp instrument on the wall. It strikes me that it is the same writing style as that on the wall in my cell. Whoever wrote this, also wrote that. Only this one doesn’t mention the number 14 or any of the like. It’s a clear sentence, zigzagged in a sloping curve, diagonal to the wall:

  …and there she walked with HIM, one hand in His, the other holding a knife behind her back…

  I shrug, not sure what’s going on.

  “Show her the other one,” Tom says.

  The Mushroomer does. I follow the beam of light. The new sentence says:

  …and she persuades him she is his apprentice, and he believes her… she kills and spills blood with him… wherever they go, smoke follows them, like a fog, like a sinful mist… he finally trusts her as one of his own, but still she can’t figure out his weakness…

  “More,” Tom requests of the Mushroomer.

  For half an hour I continue reading incomplete sentences scribbled on the wall. Most of them about ‘her’ in small letters and ‘Him’ in capitals. A disjointed story, but one that simply narrates what I suppose is about me and the Pillar, back in Wonderland.

  “So it’s true.” I lean back against the wall, my breath tightening in my chest.

  “I’d say it’s a myth,” Tom suggests. “We don’t know who Him or her are.”

  “But I know.” I sigh. “It all makes sense now. I wanted to hurt the Pillar by joining him and learning of his weakness. We killed and hurt people, and I must have caught Black Chess’s eye in the end — if he doesn’t turn out being Black Chess himself.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense to me,” Tom says.

  “It does.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Why would you have done this?”

  “Revenge.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know.” I let out a painful sigh. “But whatever it is, the Pillar must have hurt me really badly.”

  “How badly?”

  Slowly my eyes face Tom Truckle. I think my stare worries him so much he takes a step forward instead of back. He must be sympathizing. “I think the Pillar is my father.”

  Tom is speechless.

  “An evil father. So evil I was ready to sacrifice my reputation and sanity to kill. I think I figured out his weakness.” I can’t believe the words I’m saying, but it’s my only conclusion. “But then something happened, and he came to gain my trust, playing me around.”

  “For what?”

  “Remember when he made me believe he was the Hatter, only to get to one of the keys?” I’m improvising here.

  Tom nods, though I’m not sure he does remember. His face lights up, though. “Are you saying the Pillar did all that to…”

  “To find the Six Keys? Yes,” I say. “I think the Six Keys are his weakness.”

  Chapter 10

  “Are you telling me the Pillar is the real enemy?” Tom Truckle seems alert all of a sudden.

  I nod, unable to truly utter the words. It’s the only conclusion that makes sense. Tom listens to me as I recite all the events since the Chessmaster told me about my family, all the way to Edith’s story about Him and how I supposedly joined Black Chess to have my revenge.

  Tom takes a moment to let it sink in. He looks like he could use another pill but prefers to sober against the temptation. “So the Pillar, in some major twist, is the evil of all evils, and the whole search for the Six Keys has one purpose: to find his weakness and kill him?”

  “It’s hard to believe but it does explain a few things,” I offer.

  Tom is still processing. “Not everything, though it explains his fake affection for you. You’re simply his only hope to find the keys that could kill him. Once he gets them he will destroy them.”

  I say nothing. It’s hard to fully theorize the Pillar’s motives, but it definitely is somewhere close to Tom’s speculations.

  “The real irony would be that he is using the same technique you used with him in Wonderland.” Tom laughs awkwardly. “You pretended to be his friend to get your revenge. Now he is doing the same to you. What a sneaky, smoke-puffing mastermind.”

  “I’m surprised you believe it,” I tell Tom. “You’re the last one I expected to buy into this theory.”

  “You should thank Inspector Dormouse for that.”

  “Dormouse? Why?”

  “He contacted me a few days ago, seeking help with chasing the Pillar.”

  “I’m not following. What happened?”

  “A long story short, it all has to do with the number 14,” Tom began. “Turns out Professor Pillar didn’t just kill twelve people before arriving to the asylum, but fourteen.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Tom recites his adventures with Inspector Dormouse in detail. How they found out that the Pillar killed fourteen people in a ritual to have fourteen lives, akin to the Cheshire’s nine. He tells me about Dormouse chasing the Pillar in the hospice, and that the Pillar probably killed him.

  “So Dormouse isn’t just asleep somewhere?” I say. “The Pillar killed him?”

  “Most probably,” Tom says. “We’ve been played, dear Alice. Pilla da Killa deserves an all-time Oscar for best performance in a supporting role by the Academy of Lunatics of the World.”

  I blink a couple of times, unable to comprehend the revelation.

  “If he is really your father, then you’re a descendant of evil itself,” Tom says. “No wonder you’re half as evil as him.”

  I ignore the comment and ask the most important question at the moment. “Then why do you think he asked to meet me in here?”

  “That, my dear Alice, is a question that I don’t think even Einstein could answer.”

  But the answer came, faster than expected, in a most brutal way.

  I watch the March Hare suddenly storm into the cell. He is panting, sweating, half of his old-man’s upper torso bending over. He rests his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

  “March.” I pat him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Now that’s what I really need.” Tom rolls his e
yes. “Another lunatic in my asylum.”

  “Shut up.” I elbow him. “March, are you all right?”

  “I am, Alice. I am,” The March says, straightening up. “It’s you who I’m worried about.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you, Alice.” The March pulls out his phone, scrolls down to show me something.

  This is when I begin to have an idea of the Pillar’s new game.

  “You sent me this message, Alice,” The March says. “You said I have to immediately meet you in the Radcliffe Asylum. You said: “It’s happening.”

  Chapter 11

  Buckingham Palace, London

  The Queen and Margaret anxiously awaited the message they had been promised. Nothing came, so they killed time by watching the BBC news. Margaret had assumed that maybe the message would be part of the national news. Again, nothing of importance.

  The BBC was covering the Vatican’s news. After the Chessmaster had brutally killed the pope on live TV a few days back, they were pressured to elect a new one right away. Masses gathered in the piazza outside St. Peter’s, awaited the announcement.

  “What’s so important about this new pope?” The Queen asked, standing close to her bed, making sure Humpty’s head wouldn’t roll out and expose her in front of Margaret.

  “There is a rumor that the people want the new pope to be stronger than the last one,” Margaret said.

  “Stronger? How?” The Queen chuckled. “They want a Kung Fu pope?”

  “Actually, it’s something like that. The people want a kickass pope, one who’d stand up to terrorists like the Chessmaster.”

  “That’s absurd,” The Queen said. “All popes have to be wusses.”

  Margaret’s eyes glimmered with shock. “I can’t believe you just said that. It’s insulting.”

  “But it’s the truth. Popes and religious idols have to play nice all the time,” Said the Queen. “I agree with the people that it’s time to have a cruel pope. Do you think Donald Trump is a good idea?”

  Margaret rolled her eyes, looked away, and resisted spitting back at the person she hated most in the world but ended up working for; which was a common feeling among employees, almost everywhere.

  “So what about your messenger?” The Queen changed the subject.

  “We’ll have to wait.”

  “He couldn’t possibly know about the happening.”

  “We can’t risk dismissing him. I heard Alice was told about her family by the Chessmaster.”

  “She knows?”

  “Not everything, but once she does, it’s going to get bloody.”

  Carolus suddenly burst into the chamber, holding out a note. “Second message has arrived.”

  The Queen snatched it from his hands immediately. “Did you see who sent it?”

  “Couldn’t. Someone slipped it underneath the door by the guards.”

  “What does it say?” Margaret asked the Queen.

  “It’s more of a joke,” The Queen puffed. “This is nonsense.”

  “Just tell me what it says.” Margaret snatched the note from her.

  The Queen watched her ferocious assistant read with disappointment. She waited until she saw Margaret looking back at her, and enjoyed the disappointment in her eyes, too.

  The second message simply said to wait for the third message…

  Chapter 12

  Radcliffe Asylum

  I watch Tom jump up and down in anger after hearing the March speak.

  “I knew it!” He says. “The Pillar would have never asked to meet you here. It’s another one of his games.”

  “Why gather us all here?” The March wonders.

  “He’s got a point,” I say. “The Pillar could have just asked the March to be here as well.”

  “Then who’s invited you two here? And why?” Tom pops down another pill. He seems to really fear the Pillar now. “Who’d want you here in the asylum? And why hasn’t the Pillar shown up yet.”

  I cut the chitchat by dialing the Pillar’s number again. This time it’s out of reach. What’s going on?

  “Could it be a new Wonderland Monster?” The March suggests. “Playing some personal game with us?”

  I say nothing. I have no speculations.

  “I have a bad feeling about this.” Tom dashes out of the cell, walks the halls and climbs up the stairs.

  The March and I follow.

  Inside his office I watch him flip through news channels, looking for a clue. Most channels are covering the new pope’s arrival in the Vatican. None of it has anything to do with us in the asylum.

  “Maybe we’re reading too much into this,” I suggest. “Let’s wait for the Pillar.”

  “As if he is coming,” Tom says.

  “If he is really after the Six Keys, then he will still want to meet with me,” I say. “Since when does the Pillar disappear for long?”

  “Alice,” The March shoots me a worried look. “Are we going to be all right?”

  I pull him closer and pat him again. “We will. Don’t worry.”

  “Because I should be looking after Fabiola if I’m of no use here.”

  “How is she?” My question is sucked away by the sudden noise outside Tom’s office. It seems like many wardens want in.

  “What’s going on?” Tom shouts behind the closed door.

  “Something is wrong. Really wrong.”

  “What is it?” Tom tenses, even more.

  “Check out the outside surveillance cameras,” someone says behind the door. “They’re all over the asylum.”

  “Who is?” Tom mumbles, switching his TV channel to surveillance.

  And there we see it. It doesn’t make sense — as if anything does anymore. The March, Tom, and I are staring at the police force in every shape and form surrounding the asylum’s four corners. Some of them are ready with their guns and rifles pointed at the building.

  “What in madness’ name is happening here?” Tom gapes at the screen, staring at it.

  “Whatever it is, the message was right,” I say. “It’s happening.”

  Chapter 13

  Buckingham Palace, London

  “…on the back!” Margaret told the Queen. “It’s an absurd joke. The messenger is telling us to find the third message on the back of the note.”

  Furious, the Queen snatched the note back and read:

  Switch your TV channels until you find news about what’s happening at the Radcliffe Asylum. Enjoy.

  “Nothing’s happening in the asylum,” Margaret said, switching channels. But then one channel showed it.

  The Queen glued herself to the screen, not quite comprehending what was going on. The news line at the bottom explained very little.

  Margaret said, “It says the British police and Interpol are about to catch the most threatening terrorist organization in the world.”

  “What kind of bonkers is that?” The Queen said. “How did I not know about this? What am I, the Queen of Bed and Breakfast?”

  “That’s not the point,” Margaret said, raising the volume. “Why would our police think the terrorists are in the Radcliffe Asylum? I’m not quite sure what’s going on.”

  The Queen said, “The real question is: who is your messenger, and how did he know about this?”

  Chapter 14

  The Radcliffe Asylum

  Eyes wide, I watch the police about to attack the asylum from Tom’s surveillance cameras. It all feels like judgment day or something. Not one reasonable explanation crosses my mind. All I know is that I’m terribly scared.

  “Look!” Tom points at the news channel, covering our situation. “They think we’re terrorists.”

  “Wonderland Monsters, to be precise,” I say, listening to the host.

  It seems that, in some ironic twist, Interpol is convinced that the Mushroomers – including me and the March – in the asylum are responsible for every terrorist attack in the last few months. They claim that Wonderland Monsters is a codename for terrorists. That every mons
ter in the past weeks worked for one organization, which is based in the asylum.

  Dazed and confused, I’m listening to the host.

  “After Inspector Dormouse’s mysterious disappearance, the British police discovered the inspector’s detailed notes,” Xhe says. “Inspector Dormouse was chasing after the greatest terrorist organization in the world. An Interpol trusted source said, ‘We’re not talking ISIS; we’re talking those whom ISIS works for.’ This is a lunatic organization who call themselves Wonderlanders. They think this world needs to be corrected, and are not only determined to hurt us, but to execute their mission in comical matters that would make them laugh at us.”

  I’m exchanging unbelievable glances with Tom Truckle, who just spilled his stash of pills on the floor.

  “ISIS works for us?” He says with a raised eyebrow. “I mean they’re loons, but work for us?”

  “It’s nonsense, but what about Dormouse thinking we’re terrorists. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Of course he didn’t,” Tom says. “He’s been after the Pillar. I wonder why no one’s mentioned this.”

  “So whoever sent me the message, collaborated with Interpol, thinking we’re terrorists?”

  “We’ve been ambushed, dear Alice,” Tom says. “And I bet it’s the Pillar. He’s decided to sell us out.”

  “Why would he do that if he is after the Six Keys?”

  “Maybe he found them already. Who cares?” Tom continues listening to the host. So do I.

  “The terrorists are an organization two centuries old,” She says. “They call themselves Mushroomers, and they hide in asylums all over the world, pretending they’re mad. Interpol’s representative says it’s been a brilliant plan. He has also confirmed their responsibility for at least six terrorist attacks, including the murdered girls with grins sewn to their faces, the so called Muffin Man almost poisoning us, the Hatter who’d implanted a bomb in a rabbit, the hookahs sold which were about to kill everyone, and the Chessmaster’s mass murders last week. Those, among many other small incidents here and there.”