by Cameron Jace
“Alice!” Constance calls back.
“Yes?”
“I’m afraid I have bad news. The yellow light is my mind playing games on me. It’s nothing.”
“That’s okay, Constance. You did your best.”
“Also, I’ve reached a dead end. The tunnel widens a little, but it’s a dead end.”
I want to tell her she did good again, but I’m frustrated, feeling the walls close in on me.
“Listen,” the brave Constance says. “I will crawl back a little and try the side tunnels. Don’t worry guys. I will save you.”
And before I can answer back, she cuts the connection. I feel so embarrassed not being in the tunnel doing what she is doing. I wish I could go back to yesterday and shrink to the size of a child and do it instead of her. Where is that Alice in Wonderland shrinking drink when you need one?
59
The Tunnels underneath the Radcliffe Asylum
Constance was about to crawl back when she heard a faint sound behind the wall. She stopped and listened carefully.
“Who’s there?” she demanded.
Someone was knocking on the wall from the other side.
“Who is there?” she demanded again.
She listened to a muffled voice talking back, but she couldn’t make out the words.
“What are you saying? Speak louder.” Her heart was beating fast. Whether this was a friend or a foe, it meant the tunnels ran deeper than she thought. Maybe there was a way out of this dungeon.
“Help,” the voice on the other side said.
Constance felt disappointed for a moment. She’d thought she’d found someone to help her, not the other way around. But she wouldn’t back away from someone who needed help.
“Who are you?” she inquired. “Why are you in the tunnels? Where are you in the tunnels?”
“Help…”
“I know you need help. I don’t know how to reach you. I could if you tell me something useful.”
“Help…”
This time, she thought the word help preceded another word, one she couldn’t hear. What did the person on the other side want to say?
“Help…”
Constance realized this was going to take too long. Suddenly, she had to choose between saving someone stuck behind the wall and saving the Inklings.
60
St Peters Piazza, The Vatican
After waiting for so many hours, the masses were shocked to see the new pope. Why so young? Why so neat? Why wearing white? Who was this guy?
Silence fell upon the piazza, all but the sound of clicking cameras. Soon, the image of the new pope standing on the balcony would spread on social networks. Soon, people would make fun of him. That young man called Angelo.
“Cheers!” Angelo said, waving a bottle in the air.
Was that scotch?
All over the world, people couldn't believe their eyes. The masses down there in the piazza continued taking pictures, mouths gaped, offended, and rubbing their eyes in case they were imagining this.
Did the new pope just say cheers?
“You know what this is?” Angelo pointed at the bottle, swaying a little to the right.
No one answered him. Even those who’d end up booing couldn’t speak. This couldn't be happening.
“This is scotch.” He pointed at the bottle, then he began talking to the bottle as if it were a person. “Scotch, meet my fans.”
Murmurs slowly passed through the crowd.
“And this?” Angelo pulled out an iPhone. “Is my Facebook Page. Click like, people, in the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost.”
The murmurs escalated, a tinge of anger, a tinge of unspoken tension.
“Got Instagram, too,” Angelo said. “But Facebook bought Instagram, so there is no point in liking it too.”
An offended man burst out in anger from the crowd. “Who are you?”
“Where is the new pope?” an old woman shouted.
“My name is Angelo Cardone,” Angelo spoke, resting both hands on the balcony’s edge, allowing the scotch bottle to drop and smash. “It’s more of mobster’s name, but I’m your new pope.”
Muffled shrieks scattered across the piazza.
“I’m not here by choice. I’m the chosen one,” he said.
“Who the hell chose you? Get off the podium!”
Angelo’s beady eyes blinked, his body swayed, and he almost fell over upon the crowd. “Let’s not talk about hell, not so soon.”
Though most people insisted on him leaving, a few actually laughed at his remark.
“Listen people,” Angelo said. “I’m not drunk.”
The crowd began to boo louder.
“Seriously, I’m not. I was just fooling you.” Angelo straightened up. “I was just testing you.”
The voices lowered. More people got curious.
“But imagine that terrorism in the world had spread so much, that a day came when a drunk terrorist stepped up and stood in the pope’s place,” Angelo said.
The crowd began to actually listen.
“Imagine we keep on flying white doves and answering bullets with prayers and peaceful statements,” Angelo said, his voice playful but authoritative. “Imagine we keep on forgiving the sins committed against us, and never shout back. You know what happens then?”
Angelo suddenly had the crowd’s full attention — and the man in black standing behind him.
“You will end up with a stranger on this balcony, probably a terrorist, imposing their ideology on us,” Angelo said, and the crowd listened. “And now, my beloved citizens, do I have your attention?”
A low sound began to escalate into a rocking cheer that shook the earth.
“Forget about the weaker pope before me. Forget about a pope who’d end up killed in the hands of the Chessmaster.” Angelo raised both hands in the air, like a magician with a spell that’d bind the world together. “I’m here to change that.”
“Yeah!”
“I’m here to stop terrorism.”
“Yeah!”
“I’m here to tell you how to end this mess, once and for all.”
Riotous cheers from the crowd.
“I’m here to kick ass!”
This last word took the crowd by surprise. Only a few cheered back. They weren’t used to such words. To such bluntness. But it’d also touched a suppressed part in them. And ever so slowly, the crescendo of voices gathered and cheered. Like a disease, the enthusiasm for fighting fire with fire spread. All it needed was a new man, a supposed idol, to speak it out loud.
Angelo smirked at the crowd. The man in black ferociously clapped his hands behind him. It was only a matter of hours before the world would witness a day unlike any other in the history of mankind. A day where madness would reach its zenith.
Angelo began his speech…
61
The Tunnels
“Help…”
Constance couldn’t leave the man behind the wall all alone. Her soft and caring heart just couldn't do it. She’d tried her best to interpret the words but couldn’t. Finally, she’d picked up a rock and begun carving into the wall, hoping she could create a small tunnel through to the man.
“Help…”
“I know. I know,” she said. “You need help. I’m trying to get through to you. Be patient.”
“Help…”
She didn’t reply this time. This guy was insistent and borderline stupid. She still wouldn't leave without helping him.
“Help…” The words came again but this time the second word made sense. “You.”
Constance stopped carving. “What did you say?”
“Help you!”
“How? What is that supposed to mean…?” Then her eyes widened against the semi-darkness. “You want to help me?”
“Yes!”
“Who are you?”
“Ude.”
“Ude?”
“Ude!”
“Your name is Ude?”
�
��Ude!”
“Not again,” Constance said. “Please focus, how can you help me?”
“Ude.”
“I get it. Your name is Ude. I need a better description of you.”
“Ude!”
“Really? Okay, tell me how you plan to help me.”
A silence came then she could make out a few words. “The opening.”
“Which opening.”
“Opening before…”
She cocked her head, glimpsing a side tunnel a few meters behind her. “You want to meet me in one of the side tunnels?”
A powerful knock came on the wall.
“Does that knock mean yes?”
“Yes!”
“All right.” Constance crawled back. It was exhausting, almost impossible, but the opening wasn’t that far away. “I’m coming.”
“Ude!”
“Not again. Just wait for me. Could you please not say Ude again? It’s getting on my…”
Suddenly, she found herself at the opening. Aiming the flashlight deeper in, she realized the opening widened a great deal in the distance. “How did I miss that?” She thumped her head with her fist. Constance didn’t like stupid people, and she was stupid not using the side tunnels.
On all fours, she crawled, fast enough to risk inuring her knees and palms.
The tunnel widened all of a sudden, and to her surprise, she could stand. It wasn't easy, as her stiff body had gotten used to her previous position. But she was curious to meet Ude.
In the distance she saw someone in a red cloak. She couldn't see his face.
“Ude?” She squinted.
“Dude!” The voice came. It was from a young man, much older than her, of course.
“Your name is Dude.” She laughed.
“Yes.”
“Why are you here?”
“To help you.”
“Why do you want to help me? How did you know about me being in the tunnels?”
“You talk too much, Constance.”
“And you know my name.”
“I will tell you all about me when we find a way out for you and your friends.”
“They’ll be happy to know that the tunnel widens here, but how are they supposed to reach this place with the narrower tunnel before?”
“I will help you. Just stop asking questions.”
“And how can you help me, Dude?”
This time the Dude said nothing. He pulled out an old map, showing the architecture of the tunnels, only it was two hundred years old.
62
The BBC Report - Wire Release
The World Has Gone Mad! Terror attack kills the Queen. A new Bin Laden threatens the world. An irresponsible new pope encouraging war on terror!
Breaking News Update:
The world is devastated by the Queen of England’s assassination by Pilla da Killa. Since her death, the world governments are on standby and in conferences all over the world. The Queen’s death, and the massacre outside the Radcliffe Asylum, leaves the world reader no choice but to take action. Terrorism has taken over our world since the appearance of the Cheshire Cat a few months back.
What had been thought of as a serial killer who sewed girl’s mouths into grins turned out to be a prelude to the madness of terrorism we’re about to face.
It’s not quite clear whether the Cheshire, the Muffin Man, or the Chessmaster were part of the Inklings terrorist organization, and it’s still under investigation. What the BBC has learned for sure is that the new Osama Bin Laden is called Pilla da Killa, a ruthless assassin and murderer who has brutally killed the Queen of England in plain sight.
Attempts to catch the Pillar are being discussed. However, he has not been caught yet.
In a wire release from an insider spy, Al Jazeera News discovered the connection to ISIS, who is only working for the Inklings. An ISIS captive has just confessed to the Pentagon that the top terrorists in the mother organization, the Inklings, are called Mushroomers.
Mushroomers are sleeper cells who, instead of infiltrating nations under the guise of being citizens, infiltrated asylums all over the world. The plan is said to be years old. A few governments have already declared their war on madness; suggesting the destruction of every asylum on Earth.
Tom Truckle, head operations director of the Inklings, runs the Radcliffe Asylum, which is under siege at the moment. The Radcliffe Asylum protects the highest caliber terrorists at the moment, including the infamous Professor Jittery, who’s been confined to The Hole, an underground asylum for the most dangerous terrorists in the world. Jittery, also known as the March Hare and pretending he has the mind of a child, has helped the organization hide their weapons of destruction in every landscape he has designed all over the world. He is a genius landscaper, and a prominent member of the organization.
The British police have announced the confiscation of the Inklings Bar, a proposed meeting place for the organization. It’s being searched now for further evidence.
The second most important member after the Pillar is a troubled nineteen-year-old orphan by the name of Alice Wonder. Two years ago she killed everyone in her class in a bus accident. CCTV has caught Alice’s presence in most of the terrorist attacks in the past months. She’s been reported to have shot poor cats in a festival in Belgium, killed the warden of a morgue in London, stuffed a bomb inside a rabbit in an attempt to execute her foster family, and most recently, helped the Chessmaster destroy the world and then kill him when she had no more use for him.
Alice Wonder and her crew are now trapped inside the Radcliffe Asylum. Interpol has given them a deadline, after which the building will be stormed..
Only two hours are left now — and the public is demanding quick and unapologetic justice after the Queen’s death.
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.
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 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 a child living inside an old man, 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.”
“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.”
