Checkmate (Insanity Book 6)

by Cameron Jace

  "No need to tell me your real name," Lewis raised a hand. "I’ve known your name since the days of Wonderland."

  It was sentences like these that made me doubt my brother's sanity. He had lost his grip on reality thinking Wonderland was real. But the guest didn't seem to object.

  "If only I had enough time in Wonderland," said the guest. "I'd have killed so many."

  "But it still wouldn't be enough," Lewis remarked. "Because your sickness of killing is unquenchable. Blood will never taste like wine from Eden, no matter how much you spill."

  "You know I have the right to do what I do."

  "I sympathized with you in the beginning, but no more."

  "Why? Because you know it's her who made me what I am?"

  "Leave her out of it,” Lewis said and made his first chess move. That's when I noticed the small cups of liquor on both sides of the board. With each move they had to follow up with one drink.

  At some point I was going to enter the room, but then Lewis discreetly waved me off. I respected his wishes and stood watching, still wondering about the guest cloaked in red.

  Later it was clear that Lewis was losing. What troubled me was the fear showing on his face with every move. It was unreasonable, not the kind of fear that shows in a game of chess, no matter what the price.

  But the cloaked guest had another opinion. Closer to Lewis' seventh move the guest was laughing. "Tell me Lewis, what’s the most you’ve lost in a game of chess."

  Lewis preferred not to answer. He looked certain to lose, but wanted to make the best of his last move.

  "Say my name, Lewis." Said the guest in a mocking tone of voice.

  Lewis said nothing, making his last move, which seemed to make things worse. Instantly, the guest moved his knight and said, "Checkmate."

  Lewis shrieked in a silent way, unable to breathe properly. I wanted in again, but he waved me off again, nervously – I gathered I had to stay away, or I won’t be safe from the cloaked man.

  Lewis pulled up the last drink to his mouth, which I later learned was poisonous – the kind of poison that strangely worked after the seventh sip – and gulped, glaring at the guest with a challenging stare.

  "Don't worry," the guest says. "It won’t hurt. You will be dead in seconds."

  Lewis' face was reddening and he appeared to be choking when he said, "I am sorry Wonderlanders. I failed you."

  "Don't be hard on yourself," the guest stood up and patted him. "You were killed by Death himself. Like I said, I never lost a game of chess, not when my opponents played for their lives," his laughter escalated. "Of all those whom I appeared to and challenged with the game of chess, no one ever beat me; and I doubt anyone will. But to tell the truth, nothing feels as good as killing you."

  "But you won't be able to kill her," Lewis clung to the edge of the table while on his knees, chess pieces rolling left and right on the floor. "I hid the pieces from my bones."

  I shivered in place, watching my brother die, and listening to a man claiming to be Death itself.

  And then the cloaked man turned and faced me.

  In my mind I wanted to run, but my limbs were frozen. Even though he was an old man with a silly moustache, something inside me assured me that I was looking Death in the eyes.

  “Don’t worry,” he brushed at his moustache. “I won’t kill you. Your time hasn’t come yet.”

  I stood speechless and paralyzed with fear, clinging to the door’s frame.

  “But when it does, I will come for you,” he craned his head closer. “And I will challenge you in a game of chess, and I will win,” he laughed proudly again. “What? Did you think it was the Grimm Reaper, some spooky guy with a scythe coming for you when your time comes?” he turned to face Lewis for one last time. “Rest in peace, Wonderland man," Death said. "As for Alice, I will settle for nothing than watching her burn in an eternal hell.”

  Chapter 43

  Tibet’s Autonomous Region

  The storm ends the minute I finish the last sentence from Lewis Carroll sister’s diary. Even though, I don’t rise from underneath my coat yet. I’m not sure what I really read. The shock of reading this way outweighs the mystery of the storm.

  Is the Chessmaster really Death? Then what does he want to protect himself from? And why does he want me to burn in hell?

  And all aside, how can you kill Death?

  My coat furls off by itself, and I feel the sudden chill of cold outside. The world around me is an endless whiteout; I can’t see anything before me. Propping myself up on my knees, the storm snatches the notes away from my hands and swirls them upward. The notes are swallowed by the thickness of white, but I am not worried. I know what I’ve read, and have memorized it.

  So the Chessmaster killed Lewis Carroll? If so what’s Carolus doing in this world? Why did Carolus even bother to fool me into killing him earlier? So many unanswered questions. The one thing that seems clear to me is that Wonderlanders — and maybe humans — die playing a last chess game against the unbeatable Chessmaster.

  Is that really how people die? Does the Grim Reaper give them a last chance in a game of chess? Who’d have thought?

  Out of the silence surrounding me, I suddenly hear heavy breathing, but can’t see anything.

  “Who’s there?” I inquire.

  I wonder if it’s the Dude; that mysterious guardian of mine. Why does he do this, and who is he?

  Suddenly a bloody hand slithers out of the thickness of white snow. A gloved hand, covered in blood, stiffening like a predator’s claws.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not Freddy Kruger from Nightmare on Elm Street,” The Pillar pants, his head protruding out.

  I let out a shattered laugh. “You’re alive!”

  “Of course I am alive,” he coughs, crawling toward me on all fours. “In fact, I’m a caterpillar. I may not have been born into a butterfly yet.”

  My laugh splinters into tiny sighs when I see his face. What has the giant done to him? The Pillar is scarred on the cheeks and the forehead — the giant certainly pulled out that balding wig as well. There is a wild, thick slash underneath his neck, right about on his chest bone, which shows because his cloths are cut left and right, all but his white gloves on his hands.

  I am speechless, feeling guilty, I should have helped him.

  “I could use a Hookah right now,” he lays his head on my lap. “I’d smoke the pain away.”

  “You killed the giant?” I brush my hand through his hair.

  “Ever seen Fight Club, the movie? It was the same down there. But yes, I killed the giant.”

  “You should have let me help?”

  “You’re more important than me.” he coughs a trail of blood on the white snow. “I’m just a nutty professor; Indiana Jones at best.”

  “Severus Snape, I’d say.” I want to laugh but can’t. “And what’s with you and the movies today? I bet the monks never went to New York. It was you who taught them the American slang.”

  “You’re too smart, Alice. It may kill you,” he says with beady eyes. “Did you ever notice ignorant and stupid people live happier — longer?”

  “I did,” I say. “Only they never live to have such adventures life like you and I. And hey, don’t buy into this future thing. I’m not going to kill you, ever!”

  “That’s like saying I won’t let Jesus be crucified if I go back in time,” The Pillar says in his most morbidly sarcastic way. Who can blame a man so much in pain now? “I’m not afraid of dying.”

  “I won’t kill you.” I shake his head in my hands. “Do you hear me?”

  “If you keep shaking my fragile head like that, you’ll actually kill me now.”

  “I’m sorry.” I pat him and stop it. “Why didn’t you fight the giant back, Pillar? Why did you let him hit you so many times, for God’s sake?”

  “You mean ‘for Todd’s sake.’” he tries to wink but his eyebrows are stiffened by his wounds. “I had to let the giant hit me so I can win.”

 
“What kind of logic is that?”

  “It’s a known None Fu technique. It’s called ‘He Who Laughs Last.’”

  “Never heard of it. And it doesn’t make sense. He could have killed you before you had your last laugh.”

  “True, but you see, the idea is that the big troll was too strong so I’d never had a chance to fight him like a man, not even choke him with my hookah if I had it with me,” he says. “The trick when fighting an unbeatable opponent is not to play their game.”

  “I’m not sure I get it.” I use the edge of the coat’s sleeve and dry some of his blood.

  “In every war, there is one person reacting to the other, Alice,” he says. “Like when a terrorist blows up a building. Suddenly he becomes the master of the game, because he sets the rules. Most people fall in that trap and play it his way.”

  “Which is the normal turn of events.”

  “No it’s not. He who makes the rules of the game always wins — like the Chessmaster. So when the enemy enforces their rules, the one way out is not to abide by them.”

  “Are you saying you repeatedly told the giant to hit you so you’d become the one who makes the rules?”

  “That’s right. Instead of playing his game, I was now playing mine with my rules.”

  “But he could have killed you.”

  “Common sense certainly endorses the idea, but no, not when he never knew why I asked him to hit me. Every time he hit me and I laughed at him and asked more, he was puzzled, wondering what was really going on?”

  “And what was really going on, Pillar?”

  “I was wearing him out.”

  “You must be joking.”

  “I’m not. Think of it. Giants like him kill with one stroke. It’s their norm. Like most ruthless villains in this world, they’re not used to a prolonged fight. All I had to do was to make sure I take minimal damage with each hit until he became frustrated with me. Bit by bit, his confidence in himself diminished, his perception of his giant self thinned, and he started to doubt himself just like any of us, because I didn’t die or collapse — and took it to the chin and laughed. I was just a boxing sack with thick skin — or will — hit over and over again and smiling back at him. I was like all of us, any of us, suffering each day to make it through, and he, being a giant, had never seen such strength.”

  “But you could have been broken down any moment, before you’ve managed to execute your plan.”

  “I have to admit the sudden storm helped a little. I think it’s called ‘faith.’ That moment when you count on the universe to lend you a helping hand,” he says. “Once I saw the look of doubt in his eyes, I hit back hard — and low. You know what really knocked him down? Not my physical power, but my factor of surprise and his factor of doubting himself. He couldn’t believe I was still alive.”

  “What did you hit him with?”

  “This.” he shows me a sharp edged computer motherboard. “Got it from the Deep Blue machine. It’s pretty lethal at the edges.”

  It takes me a minute to let The Pillar’s theory sink in. I guess it’s his thing. I wouldn’t be brave enough to practice it, not in a million years.

  “Come on,” I tell him. “It’s time to leave this place.”

  “Got a ride?”

  “A red air balloon somewhere behind the white snow.”

  “Whose is it?”

  “The Dude — I mean the Red.”

  “Your guardian angel?” he muses. “I’m starting to like him. I think he is in love with you.”

  “Oh, please. Why’d you say that?”

  “He saved you twice in a couple of days. A Red is in love with you, Alice. I believe we’ll see him again. Did he write you notes again?”

  “Yes. He basically told me who the Chessmaster is.”

  The Pillar props himself up, unconcerned with the blood all over him. “I’m curious who.”

  “I’ll tell you on the way to the balloon. Can you walk?”

  “Not really. My left leg is numb. I’ll crawl, or you’ll have carry me.”

  “I’ll carry you. I’ll use my left leg. You can use your right, with your arm around my shoulder.”

  “A team.” The Pillar’s eyes brighten. “Could we get a McDonalds Fillet with a badass Coke on the way?”

  “We’re in China, Cao Pao Wong, so shut up.” I elbow him playfully, while we stand and he puts his arms around me. “Is everything a joke to you?”

  “If we didn’t joke we’d die in here. Look.” he points at the blood strips on his white shirt underneath the torn blue jacket. “Always wanted a white shirt with bloody red stripes when I was a kid. I guess Stephen King’s books really messed up my childhood.”

  Chapter 44

  World Chess Championship, Moscow, Russia

  The Chessmaster was losing it. All the news on TV showed a prime minister in every country looking for The Pillar and Alice. Even citizens in every country helped. But none of them could find them.

  At this point, most of the world leaders were in their third or fourth move in the game — they were allowed to take their time with each move, so most of them stalled — and the Chessmaster was beginning to think he hadn’t shown his deadly side yet.

  He wasn’t going to tell them he was Death, not now. He wasn’t even going to tell them about his other few tricks in the bag, or why he was doing this. But he had to scare the world a bit more. In his opinion, people didn’t fear what they were used to. For example, the world had been in chaos for years, the Iraq war, threatened by ISIS, and the whole nine yards of bombing civilians has become the norm to the public. It wasn’t pushing them to the edge anymore, and he had to make a point.

  “Swiss President!” the Chessmaster said, walking toward him.

  “Yes?” Ralph Rollecks, the Swiss President, said in a pompous voice.

  The Chessmaster eyed him for a while. He didn’t like him. He didn’t like the ten-thousand-euro suit, neither did he like the fancy cravat or the golden Rolex watch. As Death, he mostly enjoyed taking the lives of the incredibly rich and those who stole from the poor.

  Not that every Swiss person was like that. In fact, The Chessmaster admired many Swiss scientists, artists, and even chess players. He’d met an incredibly supportive Swiss family in the past when he was still learning and mastering the game of chess.

  But Ralph Rollecks was a sleaze, a thief, and a horrible man. He not only was president, but also controlled most of the Swiss banks – discreetly of course. It wouldn’t have disgusted the Chessmaster if these were the president’s only sins, but there was more, way more.

  Ralph Rollecks’s family had laundered the Nazi’s money after World War II through his Swiss banks, most of it still available to Neo Nazis in this very day. Blood money, which had been a byproduct of killing millions of innocent people worldwide.

  “I see you have three moves left,” the Chessmaster said.

  “I do,” said Ralph, adjusting his tie. “And I intend to take my time.”

  “No, you don’t,” the Chessmaster said, already moving one piece, a knight, in an L shape move.

  Low and behold, it was a neat and genius checkmate.

  “Your queen’s dead,” the Chessmaster rubbed his mustache. “And so are you.”

  Ralph was furious, but there was nothing he could do. The Chessmaster’s men were everywhere and now he had to drink up and die.

  “My death will not mean anything,” Ralph argued. “My people will elect another president.”

  “No, they won’t.” the Chessmaster said. “Because once you die, something horrible will happen to Switzerland.”

  “What?” Ralph said, stalling.

  The Chessmaster didn’t answer him. He ordered his men to force Ralph to drink, and he did.

  As Ralph weakened to his knees, uselessly untying his cravat, the Chessmaster looked back at the camera. “Now people of Switzerland will face a terrible fate. If you don’t want your country to face the same fate, find Alice and The Pillar for me.”
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  The Chessmaster laughed, staring at the monitor on the left, showing everyone in Switzerland falling asleep.

  Chapter 45

  Somewhere in Tibet

  The Dude’s balloon is a piece of art, which The Pillar figured out right away. True, it is red, but its hood is white, the color of snow, so when we fly it no one would be able to track us with satellites from above.

  “You know how to operate this thing?” I ask The Pillar. We are already flying midair.

  “I think so,” he says. “Saw it used in that movie, 80 Days Around the World.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get there.”

  “And where is that exactly?” I fold my arms.

  “Kalmykia,” He says, wiping blood off his cheeks.

  “Kalmykia? Never heard of it.”

  “The Republic of Kalmykia, a federal subject of Russia,” The Pillar explains. “It is the only region in Europe where Buddhism is practiced by the majority of the population.”

  “It’s in Russia?”

  “Yes, and borderline China. Very close from where we are. Got a nail shiner? I think I messed up my beautiful nails.”

  I roll my eyes, secretly admiring his sense of humor while soaking in blood. “What’s in Kalmykia?”

  “The next clue.”

  “The clue to the third chess piece you mean? How do you know that? I haven’t opened the Rook chess piece yet,” I say while attempting to pull it out of my pockets, only to realize The Pillar is holding it in his hands. “You took it?”

  “Just before we escaped the monks.”

  “Why?”

  “Needed to know what’s inside.”

  “Did you open it?”

  “Of course.”

  “And it said to go to Kalmykia?”

  “No, it said to get the next piece from the giant down the hole.” The Pillar furrows his brows, funnily.

  I need a moment to grasp the fact that The Pillar is always a step or two ahead. “Are you telling me that’s why you pushed us into the hole?”

  He nods agreeably. “Or I could have simply run toward our plane and escaped. The monks hadn’t destroyed it yet at that point.”