by Cameron Jace
16
The Radcliffe Asylum
The drop to my knees awakens me instead of bringing me down. Sometimes life is like that. Sometimes all you need to get your will and energy back is a knock on the head. And boy, am I fueled right now.
“We need to fix this fast.” I stand up, addressing Tom Truckle. “We need to escape the Asylum. Now!”
“I can do that,” Tom says. “Follow me.”
I stop in my place. “What about the Mushroomers?”
“What are you, nuts?” Tom spatters spit into the air.
“I wouldn’t have been admitted here if I weren’t,” I say. The Mushroomers grin next to me.
“They’re a burden, Alice,” Tom says. “I only know of a little trick to get you and I out of here. Don’t risk your life for them.”
“They’ve always risked their lives for me,” I say. “Besides, we’re one. We’re insane. We’re supposed to be Lewis’ army.”
“It’s not going to work.” Tom grits his teeth. “The police are all over the place. I was going to dress you up and get the guards to protect us while we ducked out from one of the back doors and escaped.”
“So there isn’t really a way out of here,” I comment. “We’re practically trapped. How come this asylum isn’t designed for such an emergency?”
“It is, but not the way you think it is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tom sighed. It’s a long sigh, and his breath smells like a medicine cabinet. “It’s a protective system. I was going to use it once when Fabiola was here.”
“What kind of protective system?”
“I push a button and we’re locked inside with bulletproof walls until the enemy gives up.”
“That’s absurd.”
“It’s how Lewis designed it. We have a year of food and supplies and air inside, and we spend the time waiting in here until our enemy backs off.”
“Are the walls that strong?”
“They weren’t in the past, but I’ve upgraded them through the years. They’re a fortress now. No one gets in or out if I press the button.”
I think it over. It’s a stupid solution. I can’t believe we’re going to die in here.
“You want me to push that button?”
“Of course not. It’d be our last resort. I hope things don’t get that hard.”
“I wouldn’t be as optimistic as you are.” He points at the TV screen and raises the volume.
A man in a police uniform speaks through a loud speaker. He addresses us as the Inklings, then as Mushroomers. He isn’t quite sure what or who we are, but is following orders. Non-negotiable orders. He says we should step out of the asylum and turn ourselves in for crimes against humanity.
“I feel like I’m Hitler,” Tom mumbled. “Crimes against humanity, really?”
The police man waits for a reply, but we’re too shocked and confused to even consider responding. After an agonizing minute of silence, the policeman gives the alternative, in plain English: “You have twelve hours to turn yourself in, or we’ll break into the asylum and shoot every living thing.”
“I don’t think that’s legal,” The March Hare comments.
“I don’t think he can say this with all the cameras broadcasting everywhere,” Tom adds.
I end the conversation with the only words that come to mind. “In an insane world like the one outside the asylum, the police can do whatever they want, as long as they have a warrant.”
17
Buckingham Palace, London
“What are you doing, My Queen?” Margaret asks.
“Getting dressed up. We’re going to Oxford.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to miss the show.”
“Show?” Margaret grimaces.
“That’s like the best reality TV show I’ve ever seen. Watching terrorists nuked by the police. I love it.”
“We can watch it here on TV.”
“And miss all the helter-skelter of a blood fest? I want to see it with my own eyes. Your messenger is a genius. I want to see the Inklings blown up by the police while the world cheers for them.”
“We’re not really sure what’s going on yet,” Margaret said.
“I don’t care.” The Queen stomped her feet. “I want to watch!”
“You sound like a child.”
“I’m a child. Can’t you see how short I am? This show in Oxford is going to be even better than the Circus back in Wonderland. I’m going to see Alice Wonder splattered in blood and shot by the police. If it happens, I will turn today into an annual holiday in Britain.”
“This is insane.”
“Please stop saying things are insane, as if everything isn’t. Get ready, Margaret, we’re going to watch the greatest execution on earth!”
18
The Radcliffe Asylum
The twelve-hour deadline makes things a bit easier. I feel like I have time to breathe and think. The Mushroomers are thinking too, but I doubt there will be anything good coming out of this. Tom doesn’t do anything but fill us with more pessimism. But it’s the March who has an interesting idea.
“I’m going to search for more writing on the walls with the Mushroomers,” He tells me.
“Now?”
“Yes, Alice. Now. If we’ll end up dead anyways, I’d like to know more about your story with Him, whoever that is. I’d like to know what really happened. Who wrote those things. I want to know about your family and who they are. Don’t you want to know?”
“Of course I want to.” I lower my head, thinking about a family I can’t remember. “You’re right, at least I’d like to know part of the truth in case we can’t figure a way out. But I promise you, March, I’m going to get us out of here.”
“And I promise I will figure out all I can about the writing on the wall. So let’s start working.”
I watch him leave with the Mushroomers toward the other cells, then turn to face Tom. “Are you sure you’re not keeping anything from me?”
“I think I’ve told you everything I remember,” He says. “I’m like the March Hare and you, living a semi-amnesiac life.”
“The March and I don’t remember because of the shock therapy we received. I wonder why you don’t.”
Tom pulls out a new bottle of pills. “Each of us has his own poison, Alice.”
I am not going to comment on that. My head tilts toward the TV again. “Do you think the police will keep their twelve-hour promise?”
“They have to. It’s been broadcast on TV. Besides, they have nothing to lose. We have no way out.”
“So I guess the plan is to do our best for, let’s say, the next eleven hours and then you should be pushing the button.”
“That’s the plan.” Tom nods.
One of the asylum’s guards enters the room and informs us of the following. “There is something you need to see, Dr. Truckle.”
“What now?”
“We received a package earlier, before the matter with the police, but we hadn’t the chance to tell you about it since you were still talking to Ms. Wonder.”
“I don’t want to see any packages.” Tom says. “Can’t you see we’re in trouble here?”
“We think it might interest you,” the guard insisted.
“Why would it?” I interfere, curious about what kind of package gets delivered to asylum right before an ambush. I wonder if it’s some kind of message.
“It’s not really a package,” The guard says.
“Do you think this is the right time to tell jokes?” Tom tenses.
“I’m not joking, doctor,” the guards says. “I called it a package so as not to worry you.”
“What is it?” I say. “Just tell us.”
The guard shrugs, tries to talk, then shrugs again. Then again. Then he says. “It’s a coffin.”
19
The coffin is set on the floor near the entrance door. It’s basically black, but is painted in all kinds of playing cards. W
onderland style.
The first thing that comes to mind is Jack. But why would Jack be dead in a coffin? He is with Lorina now and hates my guts. This coffins seems to be trickier than I can interpret.
“You’re thinking what I’m thinking?” Tom says to me.
“I hate that phrase. How can I ever be thinking what you’re thinking?”
“You’ve got a point,” Tom crosses his arms and places a finger on his lower lip. “If I’m thinking this, how can you possibly think this as well?”
“Exactly. If you’re thinking this, then I must be thinking that. I could never think this.”
“But it’d be cool if you think that while also thinking this. That’s the point of the phrase.”
“It’s impossible. There is always one this and one that. We can’t be thinking the same this or that.”
“You’re right. It explains why only one man discovered electricity, not two.”
“Because he was thinking this, which in this case was electricity.”
“But how about lovers?” Tom says. “Who believe they know each other, thinking the same this or that?”
“STOP IT!” The guard bursts out all of a sudden, though I feel a bit of relief after talking nonsense with Truckle. “Do you want me to open the coffin?”
“I’m afraid we’ll see something we might not now want to see,” Tom says.
“Ah,” I say. “You think it’s Inspector Dormouse in the coffin.”
“Now you’re thinking what I’m thinking.” Tom grins.
“Why would you think it’s Dormouse?”
“I think Inspector Dormouse discovered something about the Pillar we shouldn’t know. So the Pillar killed him and decided to get rid of us all, including you.” Tom completes his theory. “He faked the phone messages and gathered us here while providing fake documents to the police and having them ambush us.”
“And the coffin with Inspector Dormouse’s corpse is like a joke, a big smug grin while the Pillar is smoking his hookah somewhere, laughing at how stupid I was.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t think we have enough time to keep guessing,” I say. “Let’s open the coffin and see.”
The guard breathes impatiently, now that he finally gets to show us who is inside the coffin. The lid is lifted and slowly our new visitor is shown. He is lying on his back, like Dracula, in a deep sleep — or an eternal death.
But he is not Dormouse. In fact, he is someone whose appearance debunks every theory we’ve had about what’s going.
Inside the coffin lies Professor Carter Pillar.
20
The Queen’s Bentley State Limousine
“Are we there yet?” asked the Queen.
“Almost,” Margaret answered impatiently. “I’m still not sure why we’re heading over to a place where a great massacre might occur.”
“The Queen of England has to be there while the police catch the terrorists. They need to see me in control. I’m contemplating if I should declare having discovered the terrorists myself.”
“And what about my messenger?” Margaret looked miffed.
The Queen turned and eyed the Duchess with a suspicious gleam. “Is there really a messenger, Margaret?”
“What? You think I made this up?”
“I don’t know.” The Queen shrugged her shoulders and looked out the window.
“Why would I do something like that?”
“Come on, darling,” she said without looking back at Margaret. “We all know that everyone of us is into this whole thing for personal reasons.”
Margaret shrugged, and even looked out her own window. She wouldn’t want the Queen’s piercing eyes exposing her true intentions.
“It’s okay,” the Queen said. “As long as you’re not planning to kill me. I know what you want, and I promise to give it to you when I get what I want.”
“Your promises are nothing but a castle of sand.” Margaret sighed.
“Unless you give me what I want.”
Margaret turned to look at the Queen still facing her window. “And what would that be?”
“The main reason why I am into this.”
“I thought you were on Mr. Jay’s side, only wanting to serve and win the Wonderland War.”
“Partially, yes. If Black Chess wins, I want a piece of the cake.”
“But there is another reason?”
“Of course there is. And you know it.”
“Ah.” Margaret mopped her forehead. “Your sister.”
The Queen nodded silently.
“You want revenge.”
“Aye.”
“For what she did to you in your childhood?”
“Aye.”
“You could have done this long ago. Why tell me now?”
“Consider it just a reminder. I promise to find your son if you help me kill my sister.”
“When do you want me to do that?”
“Not now, of course. I still need her. Just be ready.” The Queen turned and faced Margaret. “And be honest with me.”
“But I’m always honest with you.”
“So the messenger is real?”
“I’m not going to repeat myself,” Margaret said. “I told you he is real.”
“Then who is doing this?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s a brilliant plan. I assume this is why we’re driving to the asylum. You think whoever planned this might be there?”
“Could be, but I actually have another reason.” The Queen flashed a broad grin, pulling out a playing card from her pocket. An Ace.
“I’m not sure I understand,” Margaret said.
“Jack Diamonds.”
“What about him?”
“I’ve invited him and his girlfriend, Lorina, to come along. He is in the limo behind us.”
“Okay?” Margaret cocked her head with anticipation. She wondered what devious plan the Queen of Hearts had in mind.
“I want you to talk him into something when we arrive,” the Queen said.
“Me? What do you want me to tell him?”
“I was thinking, if Alice dies in the asylum today, it’d make it a bit more cinematic, theatrical; something tense like the ending of Scarface.”
“That’s a pretty old movie,” Margaret said. “I’m not sure I remember it.”
“Think of it as a messed up version of Romeo and Juliet.”
“Now I’m really confused.” But Margaret wasn’t. She instantly caught the connection. The Queen was asking for the most brutal of endings. “You don’t really want me to ask Jack to…”
“Kill Alice? Yes.” The Queen grinned, clapped her hands, then her feet, tried to jump off the backseat but failed due to her weight. If she could somersault to celebrate her ingenious idea, she would have. “I want Alice not only to die, but by the hands of the boy she loves the most. That’d be so Wondertastic.”
21
The Radcliffe Asylum
Tom Truckle and I take our time staring at the Pillar’s corpse in the coffin. There is little or nothing that I can say. This must be the second strangest day in my life since I went to Mushroomland. I wonder what’s really going on. Nothing makes the slightest sense.
“I didn’t expect that,” Tom says. “So the Pillar is dead?”
I kneel down and check his pulse. “No,” I say. “He is either sleeping or someone sedated him.”
“Why would someone sedate him and send him over?”
“That’s the million-mushroom question. If it proves anything, we’re now sure the Pillar didn’t invite us here.”
Tom scratches his temples. “Then who did?”
“I say we wake the Pillar and ask him.”
The guards are taking care of this part, lifting the professor’s body and transporting it to his VIP cell. We follow their footsteps in silence, still thinking. No conclusions come to mind.
Once he is lying on his couch, I rummage through his pockets and pull out his phone.
“Checking sen
t messages?” Tom asks.
“Yes. Actually, I can’t find it.”
“So he didn’t send it. Someone managed to convince you it was his phone through some technology.”
“Why use the Pillar as bait?” I’m wondering.
“Because, as ironic as it sounds, you trust him the most,” Tom says bluntly.
“You’re right. I trust him, as puzzling at it seems,” I say. “I trust the man whom I joined to kill or something. I’m so confused.”
“Don’t be,” Tom suggests. “If he is your father, it’s understandable. Emotions rule over logic.”
I take one long inquisitive look at the Pillar. Could he really be my father? We don’t even look anything alike.
I distract myself by scrolling through his phone for any clues. “Here,” I tell Truckle. “Proof the Pillar didn’t arrange this meeting.”
Truckle takes a look. “Wow. The Pillar received a message from you, Alice, to meet him at the Inklings Bar?”
“Our mysterious host must have invited him there and then sedated him.”
“It’s hard to believe the Pillar being so foolish.”
“Unless this mysterious host is someone he knows very well.”
“You’re suggesting our host is someone we know?” Truckle says. “One of us, to be precise.”
“Or how would he have sedated the Pillar?”
“Point taken,” Truckle says and points at the TV again. “Look, here is an explanation why the Pillar has been sent to join us.”
I raise my head and stare. This can’t be happening.
22
The Radcliffe Asylum
Titling my head, I watch the host announce the March Hare being the mastermind behind the terrorist organization. Professor Carter Pillar, also known as Pilla da Killa, with twelve — or fourteen — people killed, proves to be an easy target. It’s really easy to fake a story about him being a terrorist.
