by Cameron Jace
End of Wire Release
Stay tuned for more mad news: The Vatican’s new pope is encouraging people to dance in St Peters piazza to the tune of James Brown’s I Feel Good.
Chapter 63
The Radcliffe Asylum
I’m losing my mind — and my faith.
Constance hasn’t been answering her walkie talkie for a while. I’d die blaming myself if something happens to her, now that she is stuck in a place where none of us can reach her. Next to me, the March is trying to solve the puzzle.
I’ve hidden the Keys in plain sight. A place so bright in the dark of the night. Are you the one to get it right? I’ve hidden the Keys in the a … of light.
“Anything yet?” I ask him.
“No clue what it’s supposed to mean,” he says. “But something keeps happening whenever I read it.”
“Like what?”
“I’m having a headache.”
“That’s because your eyes are glued to the message on the wall. You should get glasses.”
“I’m a kid, Alice. Too soon for glasses.”
I tilt my head, not commenting. I even wait to see if he realizes what he’s just said. The March is an old man living inside a child, but he knows it. Sure, he doesn’t act like an adult sometimes, but never before have I seen him so buried in the act. I should have noticed earlier that he wasn’t all right. Since he has been talking to Constance his inner child has been floating like an adventurous kite in the sky.
It explains why he is really into the puzzle. It’s a game to him. I doubt that he understands the grave situation we’re in.
“So kids don’t need glasses?” I play along.
“Some kids do,” he says, eyes still glued to the wall. He talks to me the way kids talk to their mother while glued to a cartoon on TV. He just wants me to stop bothering him. “I don’t. My eyes have been pretty good.”
“But you are wearing glasses, March.” I say the words with cautiousness. I need to know what’s going on.
The March’s shoulders tighten. His hand crawls up to his face, investigating the authenticity of what I’ve just said. He seems surprised. I’m not sure what’s going on.
“Ah,” he chuckles uncomfortably. “I think I forgot.”
I near him, slowly. “March? What’s just happened?”
“I think I got carried away.”
“How?”
“I think I let myself get transported back to yesterday, when I was someone else then?”
“When you were a kid you mean?”
“I believe so.”
I kneel down and stand on all fours, like an adult trying to gain’s a child’s trust. “How did it feel?”
The March’s eyes moisten. “It feels like yesterday.”
“No, really. How did it feel?”
“So…” The old man before me wipes a single tear, trickling down from his right eye. He removes the glasses and feels embarrassed about it. “Awesome?”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
“A statement.” He nods. “I’m just afraid to admit I cherished the feeling of being transported back to my childhood, so much so I forgot that I’m an adult.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s frabjous.” I pat him. “Try not to lose that feeling of being a child.”
“Really?” His eyes widen, ears prick up.
“Really,” I say. “It’s a beautiful feeling and I want you to hang onto it. Does looking at the puzzle on the wall intensify the feeling?”
“Oh, yes!” The child in him is talking to me. It’s a silly scene, but it’s also beautiful. An aging man with white long hair, allowing the soft light from his childhood to shine upon his old wrinkled skin. “See? If I repeat the phrase I start getting those headaches…”
I am thinking migraines.
“…and then, when I get the headaches, I start to feel dizzy and blurry, but then I feel… happy.”
“Happy? That’s brilliant.”
“But I feel happy without a reason to be happy.”
“Don’t be embarrassed about it. Only adults are so messed up that they rationalize the need to have a reason for being happy,” I say. “What happens next?”
“Nothing,” he says. “I’m just here with you, Alice. We’re having fun, playing, and doing nonsense. Like every other day in Wonderland.”
“Ah.” I nod agreeably. He thinks he is in Wonderland. “Another happy day in Wonderland.”
“Though, you look a bit too old today,” he laughs.
“I haven’t slept for some time.” I have to play along. The writing has an effect on him, and it’s important to keep up with him.
“Do you think we can go visit the Hatter?” the March asks eagerly.
“Hatter?” I say. “You know where he lives?”
The March laughs uncontrollably. “You’re funny, Alice.”
“I am. Aren’t I?” I try to act like the Alice he has in mind. From the books, maybe. His mind is now in Wonderland. I don’t want to lose this connection, because it means, if I play along smoothly, he will remember the things he’d forgotten with the shock therapy in The Hole. The March is free right now. He doesn’t give two craps about the light bulb in his head.
“Of course you are. Silly, too,” the March says. “You know the Hatter has no house. He lives everywhere and anywhere.”
“Then how can we find him?” Please stay where you are March. Don’t break the connection. This might be the chance to know everything I need to know.
“Alice!” He nudges me. “Stop teasing me. We’ve been through this before. To find the Hatter you have to look for a tea party. That’s the trick.”
“Of course.” I nudge him back. “Was just teasing you, fool. So why not go look for the tea party?”
“Really?” The heartbreaking glimmer shines on his old face again.
“What else do we have to do? Let’s go.”
The March is ready to stand up but stops half way, his face paling all of a sudden.
“What’s wrong?”
He starts shaking violently. “Can’t you see, Alice?”
“See what?” I follow his gaze, but only see the cell’s wall. How I wish I could see through his eyes.
“It’s…” He points at someone coming. Someone who isn’t there now. Someone from a very old memory. “It’s…”
“Who? March? Who do you see?”
“The one I fear the most. I have to hide.” He buries his head in his hands. “You need to hide as well, Alice. Hide!”
“Hide from whom?” I shake him, fearing what I can’t see. Fearing a terrible memory. One I should not have forgotten.
“Hide, Alice, hide. Or he will hurt us. Hurt your family. Hurt the children.”
“Children?” I say. “Who are you so afraid of, March?”
“Him, Alice. HIM. Who else?”
Chapter 64
The Vatican
“I really dig him,” a teenager in a skirt, taking selfies of Angelo Cardone, told her friends. “I mean this is the coolest pope ever.”
“I’m glad we missed the Lady Gaga concert to come see him,” her friend chirped.
The masses in the piazza weren’t praying or visiting. They weren’t even witnessing an honorable ceremony and welcoming the new pope. They were dancing to James Brown’s music. And on the balcony above, the new pope was the star of the show.
“Stop!” Angelo said, taking a breath, looking more like Mick Jagger for a second. “Enough with the dancing.”
The crowd dived into a haze of silence.
“We can always dance more later,” Angelo said as the music stopped. “Now, we have work to do.”
The crowd listened.
“I’m sure you all have heard about the Queen’s assassination.” He cruised the balcony like a preacher selling used bibles. “The world is sucked into madness.”
The crowd agreed.
“Since the arrival of those Wonderland Monsters, we can no longer live our dail
y lives in peace.”
“Yeah!”
“We can no longer sleep in peace.”
“Yeah!”
“We can no longer feel safe with our kids in school.”
“Yeah!”
“We can no longer trust our neighbors; in case they are a terrorist thinking they are from Wonderland. I mean, to hell with Wonderland!”
“Yeah!”
“Who are they to judge the world we live in? It’s all a scam. They aren’t from Wonderland. They have no message to pass across. They’re just killers. Psychos. They’re just mad!”
“Mad! Mad! Mad!”
“We want to get our lives back!”
“Yeah!”
“We want to have our peace back!”
“We want to party!”
“Yeah!”
“We want to have fun!”
“Yeah!”
“We want to drink all night!”
The crowd was a bit reluctant. They exchanged looks. Were they supposed to admit that out loud? A conservative woman shouted, “Nah!” But the crowd heard a ‘Yeah’. People always heard what they wanted to hear.
“Yeah!” They finally hailed.
“We want to play games all night!”
“Yeah!”
“We want to be rich!”
“Yeah!”
“We don’t want to pay taxes!”
“Yeah.”
“In fact, we prefer not to work!”
“Yeah.”
“We’d love it if the governments just pay us for being there!”
“Yeah.”
Angelo stopped and stared his fans in the eyes. “And what’s stopping us.”
“The terrorists!”
“Here you are.” He raised his hands sideways. “Wanting so much but doing so little.”
The crowd seemed confused.
“But how about if I offer you a new solution?” Angelo said. “How about if I offer you a way out of your miserable lives?”
The crowd was all ears now.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Angelo said. “I have the solution against madness. All I ask of you is to listen with an open heart.”
Chapter 65
The Radcliffe Asylum
I’m about to lose the March for good, even before the police decide to barge in and kill us in less than two hours.
He is lying on his back, shivering and kicking like a mad child. He cups his ears, trying not to listen to His voice. Then shuts his eyes tight, hoping it will snap him out of his scary Wonderland memories.
In spite of my demanding need to enter his head and learn about my past through his memories, I end up doing the total opposite. I realize I cherish the March’s friendship too much to sacrifice anything else.
“Calm down, March.” I grip his hand tight. “You don’t have to continue the memory. Just snap out of it.”
“I can’t,” he screams. “It won’t leave me alone. It won’t.”
At least he is now aware of the situation. Earlier, he’d been so immersed in it he thought it was real. “You can.” I insist. “Just open your eyes and look at me.”
“I’m afraid to.”
“Think of it. If Him, I mean the Pillar, is scaring you in the memory then he isn’t here in the room. In real life.”
“What did you say?” His hands cup his ears again. It seems as if he’s affected by a loud noise from the memory.
I pull his hands away. “Listen to me! It’s just hallucinations. You’re safe here with me.”
“It’s a memory, not hallucinations, Alice. I’m trying to remember as much as I can.” The March tilts his head and glares at me. “And I’m not really safe with you here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” He shrugs. “You’ve done terrible things with Him.”
“I know.” How many times do I have to apologize for my past? “But I’m not that Alice anymore. I will take care of you. Want me to hide the writing on the wall? I think it’s what’s influencing your pain.”
The March relaxes a little. He props himself up and combs his white hair back with his hands. “Alice?”
“Yes, March?”
“How much time do we have left?”
“Not sure, but it’s less than two hours.”
“How about Constance?”
I look at the floor. “We’ve lost contact.”
“Poor Constance.”
“It’s my fault. But I won’t lose hope. Maybe she’s still alive.”
“I hope so, too,” he says. “But now that we have a little time left, I’ll have to ask you to do something terrible.”
“What?” I grimace.
“Listen to me.” He sounds like a child, but a saner one, full of wisdom. It’s strange. “I’m free of my memory’s influence now.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“And I haven’t seen enough.”
“It’s okay. I was selfish asking you to remember more.”
“No, you weren’t, because it helped me realize something. Actually, remember something, from my days in The Hole.”
“Like what?”
“I never lost my memories due to the shock therapy,” he says.
My heart slows down. I have a feeling he is going to drop a bomb on me. “Then what was it?”
“Lullaby pills,” the March says. “They fed them to me. Countless amounts. I remember thinking they were M&M’s or something. Sweetened lullaby pills.”
“Who gave them to you?”
“No one.”
“You lost me. I’m not following.”
“I gave them to me. It’s not clear why or what happened. But the memory of feeding myself the pills in The Hole attacked me while remembering Wonderland as a child. It all meshed together.”
“I wish you knew why.”
“I think I have an idea.” The March’s eyes show my reflection in them. Seeing myself, I remember his words: I will ask you to do something terrible.
“What is it?”
“I think I swallowed the pills after Black Chess installed the light bulb in my head.”
I’m not sure how to process that. I’ve never actually considered the light bulb to be real. “What are you trying to tell me, March?”
“I want you to access the memories in my head, Alice.” He pulls my hands near and pats them. “Please.”
“I’m not going to allow you to read the writing on the wall again.”
“Actually you will have to do worse,” he says. “Time is running out. I need you to dig into my head.”
“Worse like what?”
“Forget about the writing. I know how to get my memories back.”
Suddenly, I think I know what he is asking me. “No,” I say firmly, without even listening.
“Yes.” He squeezes my hands. “I may be a child inside, but my physical body is that of an old man. I don’t think I can handle the escape or whatever the police do when they enter.”
“We could always still push the button and lock ourselves in here.”
“Forever?” the March says. I feel like he is the adult, and I’m the child who needs convincing now. “You know you’re destined for much bigger things than a bunker for the rest of your life, Alice.”
I’m fighting the tears. Shaking my head. “No, I won’t do it.”
“It’s the only way. The shock therapy didn’t make me forget. It’s the opposite, if used on me, I’d remember things. That’s why they’ve used on you too. They wanted you to remember the things they were looking for.” He stops for a breath. “If you want me to remember, Alice, you have to send me to the Mush Room and do to me what Waltraud did to you.”
Chapter 66
The Tunnels
“Do you trust this map?” Constance asked the Dude. As much as she was risking her life, and others, by trust this stranger, she had no other choice. He’d shown her tunnels she could finally walk through instead of crawl. Besides, his red cloak showed bright enough to light the way
ahead.
“It’s an old map,” he said. “When the asylum was designed for war. The tunnels were meant for its inhabitants to escape. I’m not sure how much they’ve changed through the years.”
“So we’re like the blind following the blind?”
“Pretty much,” he said and seemed determined to keep on walking.
“I’m Constance,” she called out behind him. “But you know that already. How do you know me?”
“That’s a long story, kiddo.” He stopped at puddle of water and knelt down.
“Don’t call me kiddo.” She knelt beside him. “I’m tens of girls in one body.”
“That’s true. You’re brave,” he said, reaching for the water.
Constance wished she could see his face. She was so curious about him.
“But there is one thing wrong about you, brave girl,” he said.
“Nothing is wrong about me?” She had her hands on her waist.
“There is.” He scooped up the water and splashed it on her face.
Constance froze, not from the water, but from how she considered it an insult.
The Dude splashed her again. This time, her clothes. Again and again.
“Stop!”
“You smell like shit,” he said. “Of actual shit.”
Constance’s mouth was full of water. She was soaking wet, and could not do anything before he was finished. But he was right, she’d smelled of shit from crawling into the tunnels.
“See?” he said with a smirking voice. “You’re a pretty little mermaid now.” He stood up and walked away again, following the map.
“I’m not little!” Constance stomped after him. “And I’m not a mermaid.”
“From what I see, I have to kneel down to talk to you,” the Dude said, still examining his map on the walk.
Constance had no come back for that. She was much shorter. But then she’d decided to play stubborn. “Maybe it’s you who is too tall. Pathetic.”
She heard the Dude chuckle but couldn’t see his face. She gripped the edge of his cloak and he stopped.
“What now?” he sighed.
“If we’re going to be a team, I demand respect.”
“But of course, Nancy Drew.”