Family (Insanity Book 7)

by Cameron Jace

  “The smoke from my hookah plays games with the mind, so when you enter the cell while I’m away, your mind plays tricks on you and you don’t see it,” the Pillar says. “In fact, the hole is right there but we don’t see it, including me, unless I perform my magic.”

  “Then do it!” Tom demands. “Can’t you see the police will be here in six hours?” Though the banner on the news had read that the queen had issued an order, the time clock still hadn’t changed so they assumed that the timeline still stood.

  The whole time the Pillar performs his magic, I’m not looking. I leave the cell on my own, feeling like I am about to vomit. Flashes of memories attack me, but they’re all in silhouette and blurry. I can’t actually remember my family.

  Walking in a haze through the corridor, I wonder if any of this is really happening. What if I’m totally bonkers? What if the only true memory is of when I sat on the couch and that psychiatrist talked to me — whether his real name is Mr. Jay or not?

  In fact, I’d love it if I were crazy. It’d mean none of this is happening. It’d mean I’m not suffering such pain. Suddenly, I understand why someone like Tom Truckle is addicted to the pills. He’s not actually addicted to them. He is addicted to the absence of pain. He is looking for an eternal numbness so the wheel of life would rotate without him, without making a fool out of him.

  I lean against the bars of a cell, waiting for them to open the hole. If this is my reality, then I should escape this place before thinking of other plans. Shooting the Pillar was done on the spur of the moment, because of my rage at him. The wise thing is to escape first.

  Tom arrives, looking for me. He seems even more worried now.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “The hole.”

  “Did you find it?”

  “Yes, but it has shrunk.”

  “Shrunk? Is this a joke?”

  “The Pillar swears it hasn’t been like that before.”

  “This can’t be. What do you mean by shrunk?”

  “It’s a tiny crawl space. None of us will fit in.”

  “How is this even possible?” I ram my hand on the bars.

  “I have no idea, and for the first time, I think the Pillar isn’t playing games. He seems as genuinely shocked as us.”

  “Why would he play games, Tom? He’ll end up trapped and eventually dead in here, like the rest of us.”

  Chapter 39

  The Pillar’s Cell, Radcliffe Asylum, Oxford

  The Pillar is aching, though his wound was taken care of by the March. Instead of smoking hookah or cracking jokes, he is chewing on the March’s healing plants; he looks bitter, like a lamb ready for the slaughter.

  “This stuff sucks,” he mumbles with a mouthful.

  “You have to chew it, so you can take the pain,” Alice says.

  “Thank you very much, princess.” The Pillar limps on his cane, addressing me while checking the small hole in the ground.

  “Don’t call me that,” I retort. “And remember, you’re lucky I only shot your leg.”

  “I’m lucky you’re a terrible shooter,” he says.

  “Don’t piss me off, Pillar, or I’ll really kill you.” Veins pop in my neck. I’m not really sure I should be talking to him.

  “You’ll kill me eventually. That’s what the future predicted, so let’s not act as if it’s a big deal.” He sounds bitter, and when he kneels down, his leg bursts with pain and he utters a suppressed scream. It comes out like a little girl’s scream.

  Normally, I’d laugh at him, but I don’t. I’m starting to toy with the idea of not killing him anymore. What if I can make him suffer in pain for a whole year? What if I take my time with the whole ‘killing him’ thing? Welcome to the dark side of Alice, speaking up now.

  “I don’t understand how the hole shrunk like that,” the Pillar says, briefly glancing at the counter displayed on-screen on TV. Five and half hours to go. Apparently the police admitted the bluff of breaking in earlier. We’re now back to the deadline.

  “Could it be you read the spell wrong?” Tom suggests.

  “I tried it again while you talked to Alice. It didn’t work,” the Pillar thinks out loud. “Someone has really planned this situation meticulously. We should investigate whom our host is, or we’ll never find the answers.”

  “No time for that,” the March says. “We need to get out of this place.”

  “How about calling Fabiola?” the Pillar suggests. “She could send help.”

  “I suppose you don’t know we don’t have signals for phones or WiFi in the asylum,” Tom says.

  “Since when?” I am curious.

  “Just learned about it thirty minutes ago,” Tom says. “It must be Interpol’s doing. It crossed their minds that we’d seek help from outside.”

  “The real question is: why wasn’t Fabiola invited?” the suspicious Alice in me asks.

  “Good point,” the Pillar says.

  “Maybe because she is ill in the hospital and can’t move?” The March’s tone is a bit accusatory. None of us even cared to visit Fabiola.

  “Could we spare the chitchat?” Tom pops down another pill.

  “We could,” the Pillar says bitterly, still chewing like a goat, and pretending the wound doesn’t hurt. “How about you gimme one of those pills?”

  “You want my pills?” Tom’s eyes widen.

  “I know I’d end up dumb like you.” The Pillar is still chewing. “But the pain is unbearable.”

  “Be my guest.” Tom hands one over.

  “Is it bitter?” The Pillar stares at it with distaste.

  “Not like stuff you’re chewing on,” Tom says.

  “Do you have honey maybe? Some cinnamon to sprinkle on it? I hate pills,” the Pillar muses.

  “You’re not really interested in the pill,” Tom says. “You just want to talk. You think we’re going to die in here, right?”

  “Caught me.” The Pillar smirks and stuffs the pill into Tom’s mouth. He turns and flashes that grin of his at me. “Alice, why don’t you just shoot me? I mean, really shoot me?”

  “What?” I tense, feeling both offended and betrayed by his apathy. “Why ask now?”

  “Because whoever invited us here, really thought it through. It’s unlikely any of us will make it out alive. The only choice we have is to push the button and trap ourselves inside forever. Imagine spending the rest of your life in a bunker with all these insane pill-popping individuals. I’d prefer being shot.”

  Chapter 40

  The Queen’s Limousine

  “LOL.” The Queen grinned, sipping her champagne.

  “Please don’t say that,” Margaret said, incredibly annoyed by her company.

  “LOL!” Jack followed, cheering with Lorina.

  “You can’t say LOL, My Queen,” Margaret protested. “This is real life, not Facebook.”

  “What do you want me to say? Laughing Out Loud?” the Queen said.

  “Not even that. Just laugh,” Margaret said.

  “But how would you know I’m laughing out loud? It’s hard to express how much I’m laughing without telling out loud that I’m laughing. Right, Jack?”

  Jack, Lorina, and the Queen clinked glasses and cheered as if they were drunk students on prom night.

  Margaret could not fathom what was really going on, but she had to ask. “Why do you feel you have to laugh out loud now? Is it because Alice is going to die now?”

  “Nah,” the Queen said. “A minute ago I remembered that they may think they’ve found a way out of the asylum.”

  “How so?”

  “The Pillar used some spell which opened a hole that lead to the underground tunnels,” the Queen said. “This was how Pillar escaped the asylum repeatedly.”

  “Really? How do you know that?”

  “I’ll get to that in a minute. The brilliant part of the story is that I can imagine them thinking about using the hole for escape — that’s assuming the Pillar is inside as well.”

 
Since Interpol had announced the Pillar as the head of the terrorist organization, Margaret had already assumed he was inside. Her messenger must have planned that part as well. However, she was curious about the Queen’s story about that hole. “So we should tell your men about this hole, right?”

  “Nah.” The Queen raised her glass. “They’ll discover it’s not working anymore. It’s either totally blocked or too small for anyone to pass through.”

  “Really, how do you know all that?”

  “I found out about the hole two weeks back and arranged for its size to be shrunk. Don’t worry. They can’t leave.”

  “Please Queen, I’m curious.” Margaret leaned forward. “How could you have known? The Pillar is usually meticulous and careful enough you wouldn’t be able to fool him so easily.”

  “Not when time travel is involved.” The Queen winked.

  “Time travel?”

  “Mr. Tick and Mrs. Tock had traveled back in time for a mission of their own and told me about the Pillar’s trick when they came back.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “I promised them a few favors in exchange for a little tweak in the timeline.”

  “You mean you sent them back again to change the tunnel?”

  “Sometimes you’re smarter than I think you are, Duchess.” The Queen clinked glasses with Jack and Lorina again. “Last week I sent them to shrink the hole, and now the Inklings can’t leave.”

  “But wait a minute. This means…” Margaret was furious. She’d suddenly discovered she’d been played and manipulated by the shortest and most obnoxious ogre in the world. The Queen of Hearts.

  “Yes, dear Margaret.” The Queen nodded. “I knew about the invitation. I knew about the message you received.”

  “And you acted as if you didn’t know about the message? Why?”

  “You’ll understand soon enough.” The Queen stuck out her tongue like child.

  “But you’re not the messenger,” Margaret contemplated.

  “No, I’m not. I’m just a helping hand. Don’t worry, Duchess,” the Queen said. “Something horribly beautiful is going to happen today. Just remember, I’m smarter than you. In fact, I’m smarter than all of you! And by the way, I was just bluffing when I told the police we’re going to barge in. I just wanted Alice to come out and get shot!”

  Chapter 41

  The Radcliffe Asylum

  “I’m going to face them outside and tell them we’ve been framed!” I say, turning around, ready to face death itself.

  “No one’s going to believe you, Alice,” the Pillar says behind me.

  I dismiss his words and walk on through the corridor.

  “He is right,” Tom says. “No one’s going to believe you.”

  “We have to stand up and face them.” I stop and turn back. Tom, the Pillar, the March, and the Mushroomers are staring back at me. A variation of different stares. But one thing is similar. They look up to me as if I’m the leader who has to find a solution. “We can’t let Black Chess rule the world, posing as if they’re the world’s savior.”

  “It’s too late for that,” the Pillar says. “This isn’t a yesterday’s plan. This has been going on for two hundred years. Black Chess is everywhere. In every industry. In every authority. The masses are brain washed. No argument can change that.”

  “You’re the last one to tell me this,” I say. “You’ve convinced me we can do it. You made me believe I can save lives. So stop the hypocrisy.”

  “I meant every word I said,” he says. “But just be real about it. The world has been suffering from so many terrorist attacks in the past few years. The public is hungry to find who is responsible. Hungry for justice. We’re the scapegoats now.”

  “Then what should we do?” the March asks, worried like a four-year-old.

  “Anything but go outside and talk to them,” the Pillar says, but then falls into a thinking silence for a moment.

  I let the silence fill the room. Let it slow down the anger. When in anger everything is confusion. All actions executed in confusion end up being mistakes. The silence stops time. Time heals — partially. But it helps make us think. The Pillar is a master of such moments. I swear I will kill him eventually, but it’s a good idea to have his deception on my side for now.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask him.

  “It has just occurred to me that part of their plan is to lure us outside,” he explains. “The fake threat, claiming they’d barge in, was a game. They wanted us to give in and go out.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s hard to tell. This whole situation is bonkers, but maybe they want to shoot us in public and pose as heroes in the public eye. Maybe something else.”

  “Then my idea of confronting them wasn’t that bad.”

  “You could be right, Alice. But…”

  “What is it, Pillar? We only have five hours left.”

  “I think I have a better idea.”

  “You think?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Okay. I have a better idea.”

  “Speak up. And it better be good.”

  “I know someone who can crawl into the small space of the hole.”

  “That’s hard to believe. The hole is too small. Besides, what good will come out of it? We can’t fit anyways.”

  “I’m sure the asylum is full of secret tunnels none of us, or anyone else, have discovered. Somewhere in these tunnels there must be a wall leading to a usable tunnel. All we have to do is bring the wall down.”

  “Why are you so sure?”

  “History. It’s a given fact that the Radcliffe Asylum was surrounded with tunnels in the time of war. Escape tunnels, now buried in the rubble of time and neglect.”

  “We could punch through every wall, starting now,” a Mushroomer suggests.

  “That would take forever,” Mr. Tom Pessimistic Truckle comments.

  “If we get someone with a tiny figure to crawl through, they could find a way and guide us. We could use Tom’s walk talkies to communicate.”

  “How do you know I have walk talkies?” Tom says.

  “You’re an eighties guy. I searched your office, but that’s not the point,” the Pillar says.

  “It’s not the point indeed.” I step forward. “The point is, who do you think can crawl in that small space?”

  The Pillar shrugs. “Someone I should not introduce, but I have no choice.”

  “Who?”

  “A girl.”

  “A girl?”

  “A little girl who once was the sixth member of the Inklings.”

  Chapter 42

  Outside the Asylum

  The Queen’s gloating had been spoiled with a knock on her window. She rolled it down a fraction of an inch. An Interpol officer bobbed his head and informed her through the tiny opening that they needed her to kindly step outside. Rolling down the window further, the Queen spat on him and humiliated him for a while, but finally gave in, realizing that something unexpected had happened.

  Something that seemed like a devious twist in a well-planned script.

  “What?” She burped in the face of the officer standing in front of the asylum. “Who wants to talk to us?”

  “Carter Pillar.”

  “Why? He is a terrorist and will die in a few hours.”

  “He is offering a solution out of this situation.”

  “Solution?” she roared. “As if we’re not the ones with the upper hand now.”

  The officer leaned closer, whispering. “In the public’s eye we can’t deny him that, or we’d be crucified.”

  The Queen fidgeted in her place. “What does the Pillar want?”

  “He sent us a Mushroomer asking for a phone with a signal and a camera. We sent him one. He is going to appear on national TV in a moment.”

  The Queen sighed and crossed her arms, watching the Pillar show up on TV. He sat on Tom Truckle’s desk in the asylum with a paper in his hand. He looked tired, with a few blood stains on his blue suit.

>   “Do I look good?” the Pillar asked the camera man.

  “Good.”

  “Does my hat look good?”

  “Good.”

  “Do you look good, camera man?”

  A few Mushroomers laughed. The Queen was getting impatient.

  “People of Britain,” the Pillar began. “People of the world.”

  “Who does he think he is?” the Queen mumbled. “A king or a queen?”

  “My name is Carter Pillar,” he said, facing the camera. “I’m the leader of the most organized terrorist group in the world.”

  The Queen grinned with satisfaction.

  “I’ve done really bad things.”

  Her grin widened.

  “But you will not catch me. Not because I will escape justice, but because I’m mad. I flew over the cuckoo’s nest a long time ago and my mind never came back. According to the law, you can’t punish a mad person.”

  The Queen scratched her temples, wondering what the Pillar was up to.

  “However, this isn’t the purpose of my speech,” the Pillar said. “I’m offering to turn myself in. I mean, if the police shot me, it would be unfair, because I have answers to all of your questions. The reason for our atrocious and inhumane attacks in the past years that you, the public, will want to hear.”

  “This doesn’t look good,” the Queen commented. “What are you up to, Pillar?”

  “But I will only turn myself in in exchange for a little girl who is also a terrorist,” the Pillar said. “I will hand her information to your messengers. Hand her over and I will be yours. This is the Pillar, the most wanted saxophonist — I mean terrorist — in the world. Over and out, happy days, chocolate and madness to y’all.”

  Chapter 43

  The Queen of Hearts was contemplating the Pillar’s offer when the call came in. Checking her personal phone, she saw it was Mr. Jay. She had to pretend it was her mum and that she needed privacy. No one even wondered how old the Queen of England’s mum would be, and if she could possibly be still alive.