The Complete Alice Wonder Series - Insanity - Books 1 - 9

by Cameron Jace

  73

  I decide that I have no choice but to look in the mirror. I'm not mad. I know I'm not mad.

  At first, I don't see anything in the mirror. I discover it's covered with dust, so I wipe it clean. I hold it in my hand, thinking I could just crack it if the rabbit shows up.

  The mirror shows me standing at a bus stop, waiting for a friend. I am about seventeen, and I am holding a boy's hand. It's Adam again, still wearing his hood. Friends arrive and start to behave just like in my older dream of killing them all in the end.

  I don't know why I am seeing this, but I keep watching.

  We get on the bus, everyone jokes, and I am suspicious of the driver. It's the rabbit again. I can't help it and go grab the wheel, trying to save the bus.

  "No, Alice," Adam screams from under the hood. "Don't do it." He still thinks it's me who kills everyone on the bus. Well, maybe it was me. I am not sure.

  Suddenly, Adam pulls his hood back.

  It's a heart-shattering moment. It's that moment when I see his face. I let go of the wheel, not knowing what to think. The boy under the hood is Jack Diamonds.

  If you switch the letters in Jack Diamonds, you get Adam J. Dixon, bearing in mind that the X in "Dixon" is translated as the letters C, K, and S in "Jack Diamonds." My mind must have come up with this trick to escape the horrible truth that I killed Adam in the school bus.

  At the end of the memory, the rabbit in the mirror appears. He parts the hair dangling in front of him, and I discover it's me underneath. It's always been me.

  I sink to my knees and let the mirror fall, splintering into pieces. I don't know what's real and what's not. I don't know why I killed those people on the bus. Did I make up Jack's personality? Was it all in my mind? But how is that possible? How did he save me so many times? Or is it like Waltraud said, that I have never left the ward underground and that it was all in my head?

  I stand up and hold the bars in the door's window and start screaming. "I'm not mad," I plead. I pound on the door, but no one answers me. Why would they? I am just a mad girl in an asylum underground. "Who in the world am I?" I mumble, staring at the long ward. It seems endless from where I stand. I need to get out to prove I am not mad. I need to go meet the Pillar. He can't be an illusion of my mind. I don't know how long I can't wait. I am dying here.

  Ogier approaches my cell slowly when I don't stop screaming. The hallway is dark, but I recognize him from his shaved white head. "I told you we're all mad here, Alice," he says, and my confusion peaks. Why would Ogier say that?

  I only get it when his face shines through the dim light coming from my cell. He stands behind the barred window in my door, and it all makes sense now. He is the Cheshire. I recognize him from his grin. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have the world to apocalypse." He looks at me for a moment and turns around, whistling as he leaves the ward. As he leaves, I hear him hum a nursery rhyme:

  When she was sane, she was very, very sane. And when she was mad, she was Alice.

  The END…

  Alice Wonder will return in Figment (Alice Wonder #2)

  Get it HERE now

  Fresh Thoughts

  Once I finish a book I just read, I feel it hasn’t left me yet — at least for a day or two after reading. And since I know you read a lot of books, I’d fully appreciate you writing your FRESH THOUGHTS down.

  WHAT BETTER WAY THAN AN HONEST REVIEW?

  Here is the link Review Insanity

  Don’t hold back. I don’t care about the five stars. I care about communicating with you. I’m a reader like you after all. Just don’t treat the book as a Shakespearean Masterpiece. I wrote this for entertainment, and nothing would make me happier than having succeeded in that—even partially is good. Be proactive and write down your thoughts on paper on amazon and let others know whether you liked the book or not, and the reason for that.

  Afterword

  Many of my readers know how much I like to share the details of my research for my books. I would love to share Lewis Carroll's secrets, the whole Grote Markt history and more. But it would spoil the upcoming revelations in this series. So there will not be a detailed ‘Author's Notes’ until the next book, Figment.

  However, as promised, I’ve created a special Pinterest page for you where you can take a visual tour to the places and riddles Alice visited in this book—and will visit in the future. I’d prefer if you scroll down and start watching the images from bottom up, as some of the upper ones — the newer ones — may spoil a few details about the rest of the series.

  You can access it on Pinterest HERE

  Instagram HERE

  If you want to chat with me personally, I’m most active on Facebook. I love connecting with all of my readers, because without you, none of this would’ve been possible.

  Visit mm eat my official Facebook Group HERE

  OR

  Join my Storykiller private group HERE

  Thank you for everything.

  Or you can simply subscribe to my mailing List below to get all the above.

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  About the Author

  Cameron Jace lies for a living, but in his mind all he wants to do is to escape to a time a place that’s familiar yet different—and mess a little with your head.

  He calls that being a Storykiller. The act of killing your prior perception of everything you previously knew about history, folklore, vampires, witches, wolves, famous writers, and traditions.

  Don’t worry, he is not sick—well, kinda.

  He just happens to travel a lot and come across original and vintage books about folklore from the backyards in churches and old libraries and sometimes villagers in Europe.

  Ah, and if it matters, Cameron is a Top 100 bestseller of more than 12 books. He was on Amazon’s Top 100 Reader’s Favorite for a couple of years. He lives in San Fransisco (barely, as he still travels) and studied architecture for many years.

  But none of that really matters, because readers make you who you are. Cameron is just grateful to have gotten a chance to express himself while most don’t.

  - Storykiller, Cameron Jace

  Books by Cameron Jace

  Books in the INSANITY VERSE

  (each series needs to be read in ORDER of the series, but each series is separate in itself. You can start Carter Pillar Series without having read Alice Wonder Series and so on)

  ALICE WONDER SERIES

  Insanity

  Figment

  Circus

  Hookah

  Wonder

  Checkmate

  Family

  Mushrooms

  Looking Glass

  CARTER PILLAR SERIES

  Holy Smoke (coming soon)

  LILY WONDER

  Rabbit Hole (coming soon)

  THE GRIMM DIARIES SERIES

  Snow White Sorrow

  Cinderella Dressed in Ashes

  Blood, Milk. and Chocolate Pt 1

  Blood, Milk, $ Chocolates Pt 2

  Heartless (coming soon)

  I AM ALIVE

  I Am Alive book 1

  I Am Alive book 2

  AS NICK TWIST

  (gritty real-life thriller - no fantasy)

  The Last Girl

  AS R.R.KING

  (high/speculative fantasy)

  The Shadow of the Blade

  Book 2 : FIGMENT

  Prologue

  FOOTBALL MATCH, STAMFORD BRIDGE STADIUM, FULHAM, LONDON, PRESENT DAY

  The players at Stamford Bridge stadium had no idea of the bloody horrors awaiting them.

  The two opposing teams, Manchester United and Chelsea FC, were fighting for the title in the final game of the season. The winner's prize would be a huge silver grail with ridiculously large handles popping out like rabbit ears from both sides. Although it was no holy grail, it was to be handed out, along with a few medals, by the Queen of England herself.

  Unfortunately, Her Majesty couldn't come. One of her Welsh dogs had been
suddenly sick. The poor dog, whose name was Maddog, had gorged on a sizable portion of the Queen's Brazilian nuts last night, eventually fated with a terrible case of chronic constipation. The Queen demanded she would not attend the game until Maddog pooped, which apparently never happened.

  Renowned Parliament member Margaret Kent was sent on behalf of the Queen, excited to watch the game.

  The watching spectators didn't care about the Queen, her dog, or the pretentious Parliament woman. The crowd's only concern was the long-awaited game. They looked as enthusiastic as Wonderland rabbits, checking their watches and knuckling their fingers, ready for an afternoon of a brilliant football match—soccer game, if you're American.

  After a hard-working week, licking the dust off their bosses' shoes, and paying their taxes, all they wanted was pure, mindless entertainment. They watched the players in the field kick-start the match, frantically chasing after the helpless ball as if their lives depended on it. Some would wonder why they kicked the ball away if they liked it that much, but that was a nonsensical argument for another time.

  "I can't see anything, Mommy." A chubby kid among the spectators pulled his mother's coat. The kid didn't really like football. He was here because his mother had promised him an insane surprise.

  "Shhh," the mother said. The woman wore an absurd red fur coat and big black glasses. "Patience, my dear," she said. "Madness comes to those who wait."

  The boy rubbed his eyes with his fatty hands and then sighed. He rummaged through his snack box and contemplated whether he should eat one of those Snicker Snackers twin-bars, or maybe have a fizzy Tumtum drink. He settled for a rainbow-colored Lollipop Lane as he waited for the insane surprise.

  Down in the field, a player kicked the ball so high it landed on top of the banks of the opponent's fans. A man with a silver front tooth, wearing the club's shirt, hugged the ball as if it were his newborn baby. A few other fans went bonkers and began kicking him to give the ball back and resume the game.

  In such cases, the chubby kid was told, another ball was provided to continue the game.

  And so it happened.

  One of Manchester's players was given a substitute ball, which they kicked and chased again. That was when the Wonderland madness began...

  A few kicks in, the players felt something unordinary about the new ball. The game was halted as the referee approached to check it himself.

  "The ball is a bit heavy," player number fourteen said.

  "Yes, it is!" another agreed. "That's unusual."

  "What's wrong with this bloody ball?" a sweating player asked impatiently.

  The referee weighed the ball in his hand. It certainly was significantly heavier than the standard ball.

  Which was impossible.

  All balls had to be previously inspected by FIFA, the international federation of football. Each ball's design followed a set of standard manufacturing rules.

  "I think there is something inside the ball." The referee brought it to his ear. "Listen."

  The players passed the ball one to another, as they listened to something bumping inside it.

  "It's pregnant," a player chuckled before another snatched the ball from him.

  "Get me a knife!" The referee’s curiosity ruled over any logic. "I have to slice it open. It could be a bomb!"

  Back in the crowd, the chubby kid had his eyes glazed to the scene, licking his lollipop at a faster pace. A surge of excitement ran through his veins as the soundtrack of the movie Jaws growled inside his head: Dum Dum, Dum Dum. Tarararaaaa!

  Something wicked was coming his way. And he loved it. "Is this the surprise, Mommy?" the boy asked.

  Mommy, looking like a widow at a funeral with her dark glasses, said nothing.

  "What's in the ball, Mommy!" the boy insisted.

  She only squeezed her son's chubby hands for assurance and continued watching the incident in the field.

  Somehow, right after slicing the ball in two, players began to run away in all directions. The referee who had the ball cut open was the first to run. He ran like a mad chicken, panicked by the egg it had just laid. Then the players followed. They couldn't stand witnessing the horrible thing inside the ball. Most of the players ran aimlessly in the field, too panicked to look for an exit, going nowhere as if they were in the Caucus Race.

  Shivers of panic waved like a storm through the stadium—more excitement for the lollipop-licking boy and his mysterious mother, though.

  "What's in the ball?" the crowd moaned, sweet horror on the tips of their tongues, kaleidoscopic panic in their eyes.

  "This is the surprise, right?" The boy was about to faint from excitement.

  Mommy nodded. A thin, almost unnoticeable hint of a smile curved on her lips.

  There was one last standing player in the field — player number fourteen. The player seemed paralyzed by fear. He bent down and picked up the thing that had been bouncing inside the ball. Holding it, he had to stare at it for a while. He craned his head back and forth, inspecting what he was really looking at. It didn't make sense to him why such a thing was stuffed inside a ball. Who would do such a horrible thing?

  The cameraman, although scared, approached the player slowly, trying to broadcast this terrible incident that would cling to the memory of the world later. Player number fourteen held up the thing to the camera.

  "It's a..." the player said.

  Whatever it was, it was trickling fresh blood.

  The chubby boy in the crowd couldn’t hear what the player said. His mother handed him a binocular. The boy focused the binoculars on the player with the horrible thing in his hands.

  Finally, he saw it. He saw what was in the ball.

  A head.

  A human head which had been stuffed inside the ball a few minutes ago.

  "It's a kid's head!" the boy hailed.

  Some of the crowd began to faint. The rest ran away like ducks, stepping on each other toward the exit door.

  "Good boy." His mother patted him as she stood fixed in her place. It seemed as if people avoided them while they panicked and ran around them. "Now be an even goody-dooder and tell the crowd what's written on the head's forehead," she instructed her boy.

  Shifting his angle, the boy saw the player, now shivering with his hands glued to the ball, showing it to the camera, eyes shaded with terror.

  At this moment, the panic had reached an apocalyptic level, where the crowd stepped over each other out of fear and need to escape the stadium. Still, the player held the ball with trembling hands, showing the world on camera the written words on the head.

  The boy smiled from ear to ear as he read it. To him, the scene was all beauty, and he was glad. After witnessing the dead girl with a grin in Oxford University last week, this was starting to become exciting. The boy's eyes glittered as they met his mother's nodding glasses. He hurled the binocular away, licked the lollipop one last time, and screamed from the top his fatty lungs, "You want to know what’s written on the forehead of the dead kid’s head?” he shouted while everyone was already escaping the place. “'Off with their heads'!'”

  1

  ALICE'S CELL, RADCLIFFE LUNATIC ASYLUM, OXFORD

  It's been six days since I last saw Professor Pillar. Six days since Fabiola, the White Queen, visited me in my cell and showed me that Jack Diamonds was actually Adam J. Dixon. Six days since the Cheshire Cat, possessing Ogier's soul, visited me in my cell and then pranced away, whistling a mad song about me.

  Six impossible days of isolation, pretending none of last week's events ever happened.

  When Waltraud asks me about Wonderland, I raise an eyebrow and tell her I don't know what she is talking about. When she mentions I wanted to save lives in the world outside, I reply, "How can I save lives when my own life needs saving?"

  I don't need to wake up with amnesia to pretend I am insane. I don't need evidence to know that the Pillar, Cheshire, White Queen, the Duchess, and the whole Wonderland War are figments of a lonely girl's imagination
. After the Cheshire's visit, the sanest thing to do is to admit insanity and give in to its consequences.

  Even if I am not insane, and all of this did happen, I am better off believing it didn't. At least I am not giving Waltraud excuses to send me back to the torturous Mush Room anymore. Believe me, life without shock therapy is less painful.

  I've marked each of the six days on the wall, among the dried blood of whoever suffered in this cell before me. Six perpendicular strokes, carved with my short nails as if I am the female version of Count of Monte Cristo, feeling clueless, betrayed and imprisoned in a dungeon in a faraway island.

  A shattered laugh escapes my lips when I stare at the tattoo on my arms:

  I can't go back to yesterday because I was someone else then.

  It leaves me wondering which yesterday the tattoo is talking about: me before my hallucinations of Pillar with a hookah in a VIP cell, or me before I killed my friends in a bus accident?

  Occasionally, I run the tips of my fingers upon the tattoo. I do it gently and with care. I am afraid if I rub it too hard, a Wonderland Monster would answer my call.

  I don't think you know what a Wonderland Monster can do to you. With all my pretending that none of last week's madness ever happened, one thing persists that feels so real to me; one thing never fails to scare me and give me nightmares.