by Cameron Jace
"I will freeze to death in here. I need shoes and a coat."
"Why is that a problem?"
"The problem is I can't find any." I try my best to express my anger. The tightness of my face doesn't help much.
"If I were you, I'd roll out a corpse from the infinite drawers and fetch me a dead woman's shoe." He stops munching again, as if waiting for my reaction to his suggestion.
I don't hesitate. I walk back to the drawers, pull one out. The steel drawer is much heavier than I'd expected.
The corpse's smell isn't that bad. Unlike the corpses on the table, the ones in the drawers have been examined and cleaned. It's the corpse's sight that imposes a dreadful atmosphere upon me.
Dead or mad, what would it be? I realize I'd prefer being mad.
"Alice?" I hear him on the phone's speaker, but ignore him. I have to do this. It's just borrowing a dead man's shoe. We need to look out for each other, don't we, the living and the dead?
But then I am hit with an imaginary hammer on my head when I realize the corpses in the drawers don't have their clothes on. I let out another angry growl.
"No shoes?" the Pillar mocks me.
Too weak to even talk, I close my eyes, trying to argue with reason. Why is he doing this to me?
"To spare your breath, you'll not find clothes in the drawers," he says. "Corpses in the drawers had their autopsies already. You need to try the bags on the metallic roller beds. Those are the fresh ones. Yummy!" He bites into what I think is a greasy hamburger.
I walk silently to one of the death bags, not those marked with Watermelon Murders, as I don't want to mess with evidence.
I pull the zipper open only to realize the one I chose is a man's corpse. What can I say? I am picky. I want a woman's shoe, and I want it my size.
I zip the bag and try the one next to it. A woman.
Now, these are the smelly, rotten corpses I expected. Dead, stinky, and bloodstained. I am too exhausted to even care.
The woman's shoes turn out to be too small for me. I go back and pick up the man's shoes. My size. Being picky isn't helping when you're trapped in a morgue.
I put on the shoes, enjoying the warmth in my feet—a dead man's warmth. Oh, the mad world outside. I realize I want to go back to the asylum again, a tear about to squeeze out of my eyes in this terrible cold.
"Reebok or Nike?" the Pillar teases.
I don't answer him. Instead, I rip off the dead man's duster jacket and put it on. If I am blunt enough to put on a shoe, I better put on all that will save my life.
"I am ready." I tighten the dead man's bloody duster around me, my feet not jumpy anymore. "I came here to accomplish something." I take a deep breath, fooling my mind into thinking I am wearing Cinderella's slippers and a beautiful wedding dress. "Should I open the dead kids' bags and look for clues now?"
"I thought you'd never ask." The Pillar sighs. "I'd do it as fast I can, if I were you. Like I said, a mortician will soon arrive to collect you, so you'd be sent to another morgue. She'd need to find you intact inside the bag you came in."
"Yeah. You said that before." I've already pulled the zipper of the bag of one of the victims. "Thirty minutes."
"That was thirty minutes when you arrived at the morgue, Alice." He sips and then burps. "You only have twenty minutes left, or your cover will be exposed. Time is slipping away."
Chapter 13
Twenty minutes to go...
I am doing my best not to think about the dead man's shoes wrapped around my feet. Still, I cringe at the thought. Strangely, the only way to get rid of it is to occupy my mind with a twelve-year-old boy's corpse.
I put the Pillar on speaker as he keeps reminding me of the eighteen minutes I have left before the mortician arrives. Then I lay the phone on the edge of the metallic table and begin my work. I feel like Nancy Drew already.
Unzipping the first plastic bag, my hand shivers and trembles when I see the kid's corpse.
Somehow, I am not really sure of the corpse's gender. The face is so mutilated, my stomach churns. The sentence "Off with their heads" is scribbled in sticky blood on the forehead. This feels like one of those unnecessarily gory scenes in one of those slasher horror movies.
I intend to reach for the kid's face but realize my hands are still relatively numb. Not from the cold this time, but from the horror before my eyes.
I can't even swallow, feeling a lump in my throat. What is it about the real world that makes people commit such crimes? It's a kid, for God's sake! He was supposed to have a whole future ahead of him. Why am I staring at his chopped-off head in a morgue right now? Why?
"Too much gore?" The Pillar's munching echoes slightly in the boxed room. "Which reminds me, I need barbecue sauce for my snack."
Instead of screaming at him, I buckle down on my knees and vomit on the floor. I don't even have a chance to resist the urge.
"You're not vomiting, Alice. Or?" The munching stops. "Can't you see I am eating here? That's so Jub Jub."
The cold and fear seal my lips. I can't speak. All I do is wipe my mouth with the edge of the dead man's bloodstained duster. Last time, when I saved Constance, I hadn't come so close to a corpse. Let alone a young boy or girl.
"I need a minute," I tell the Pillar. His annoying attitude doesn't disturb me now. Seeing the corpse stirred the same emotions I felt toward Constance. Someone has to stop the Cheshire. At least stop the killings from spreading. Someone has to stop this sane world's madness.
"You don't have a minute." The Pillar's voice is dead serious. "All you have is sixteen minutes left before the mortician arrives to pick up your corpse."
"I just couldn't believe what I saw." I am on my feet again. Words worm their way out through my lips and cause me pain. I wipe my mouth again, and force myself to stare at the chopped-off head. "I'm ready now, unzipping all five bags." I still do my best to suppress my inner screams. "Two boys, two girls, one I am not sure about, since I can't tell from the head."
"That's fine," the Pillar says. "If we see it's necessary to know its gender, you can check the rest of the body later."
"I only unzipped the bags a few inches to examine the heads," I explain. "The rest of the bodies should be down there if I unzip it totally open."
"No need for that now," the Pillar says. "You came to check the heads. They are the body of the crime, after all. The bodies have been collected from the kids' houses after the discoveries of the heads."
"So the killer chopped off heads in the houses and took the heads with him? That's horrible."
"We're not sure, Alice. He could have chopped the heads and then sent the body back to the house. Anyhow, read the toe tags, please. Let's see if a name clicks."
I read the names, but none of them rings a bell. I read them aloud to the Pillar. They don't mean anything to him either.
"Strange. I thought the names would have a clue. Fifteen minutes." I don't know why he feels he needs to remind me. I'm aware of the scarcity of time. "Try to look for anything the five heads have in common."
"Nothing but the 'Off with their heads' message," I say as I look harder for any details I might have missed.
"That's it?" The Pillar is disappointed. I can tell he has no clue of what's going on.
"No, wait!" I reach for one of the metal instruments on the table and use it to part a corpse's mouth. "There something in boy's mouth," I say. "It's wrapped in a small plastic Ziploc."
"What is it?" I've never heard the Pillar so curious.
"A muffin."
Chapter 14
I bend forward to check the muffin inside the mouth. "How come the police didn't find this?" I ask.
"The police are lazy, logical creatures. They think the world they live in is actually a sane one, so they tend to think of all the useless CSI-like evidence of a crime; fingerprints and other silly things," the Pillar says. "My bet is that some officer saw the muffin but didn't see its significance, especially if the boy is fat."
I can't tell if h
e's fat, as I am only inspecting his head. I don't have the guts to pull the zipper down to inspect the body yet. Who knows what the killer did to it. I might check this a few minutes later, so I don't vomit again.
"Besides, this is the coroner's job. It looks like he hasn't inspected the body yet," the Pillar adds.
"Why delay inspecting the body of the most important crime in Britain right now?" I am angry at the lazy system that postpones the autopsies of five innocent children. A system that postpones the possibility of justice.
"Well, that's a good point," he says. "Maybe the coroner has been told to delay the matter."
"Told by whom?"
"Parliament? There is always someone benefiting from he death of someone else, Alice?" He is hinting at something that I might not be ready for yet. I witnessed the Duchess Margaret Kent's corruption last time. I know I am still naïve to how the world outside operates.
"I can't get it out." I cut off my thoughts, trying to pull the muffin out. "Why Ziploc the muffin?"
"An intact muffin is a useful clue," he explains. "Whatever we're supposed to learn from it would have been lost through the victim's saliva otherwise. The Cheshire is saving the muffin for us."
"Got it." I manage to pull it out. "Should I open it?"
"If only people wouldn't waste time asking questions. Thirteen minutes."
I open the bag, using the metallic instrument to pull the muffin out. It smells sweet. Very sweet and fresh. My mouth runs for it. Such tempting baking.
"Don't tell me you feel the urge to take a bite." the Pillar guesses.
"Momentarily, I was." I blink, to shake myself awake from the muffin's magic. "How is that possible?"
"How is what possible?"
"How can my mouth run for a muffin in such a horrendous situation? I feel like I'm a bad person." It's true. I feel an uncontrollable urge to eat the muffin. NOW!
"You think you will grow taller if you eat it?" he teases.
"Now, you're silly."
"Shorter?" He munches softly. "Does it say 'eat me'?"
"Stop the nonsense."
"Maybe you need it to get shorter to escape the morgue."
"I don't need to eat it anymore, Pillar. I'm over it," I stress. His comments get on my nerves. "But really, how is that possible? How can a muffin do this to me, even temporarily?"
"That's how the food industry lulls kids—and adults—with their products all the time." He sips some fizzy drink again. Will he ever stop eating today? Where is his hookah? "I'm the best example at the moment. Whatever they put in this food I am gorging, I can't stop eating it. Tell me this food isn't addictive with all its crap, sugar, and saturated fat. Anyways, tell me about the muffin in the boy's mouth. Look closer."
"It's just a muffin."
"There must be something about it. Or the Cheshire wouldn't tuck it in."
I work with the muffin from all angles. A surge of electricity stings my spine. The muffin has the Cheshire's grin drawn on one side.
I tell the Pillar about it. "Is that some narcissistic thing, the Cheshire having his face on the muffin like the Cheshire Cheese before?"
"The Cheshire Cheese has a cat's grin until this day on its package, believe or not. So does the muffin you're holding, by the way."
"You know this brand of muffins?"
"They call it a Meow Muffin. Someone put it on market a week ago, after the Cheshire's killing. You were in the asylum, so you probably didn't know about it."
"Are you serious?"
"Contrary to popular belief, I always am." The Pillar finally puffs his hookah.
"Why would a manufacturer draw a killer's grin on food mostly appreciated by children?"
"To make money. Lots of money."
"Are you saying the Meow Muffin sells?"
"Irresistibly. It's an instant bestseller in Britain. Of course, the Americans are discussing Americanizing the product now."
"I can't grasp how you can sell a muffin inspired by a ruthless killer."
"The same way you can almost sell anything with Darth Vader, Michael Myers, and Dracula on it," the Pillar says. "Villains make great business. Kids love it! Bad is the new cool. Parents pay double the price to buy their kids a Meow Muffin these days—four pounds each, and never sold in a pack, by the way—so the kids buzz off and stop annoying them. So tell me, do all the kids have Meow Muffins in their mouths?"
"They do." I wasn't waiting for him to ask. It already crossed my mind, and I checked.
"Hmm..." The Pillar ceases all munching and drinking. "Other than the fact that you only have seven minutes left, I think we have our first real clue. The question is—"
I cut in, thinking aloud: "Why a muffin?"
Chapter 15
Iain West Forensic Suite, an extension to the Westminster Public Mortuary, London. Seven minutes to go...
"So he stuffs Meow Muffins in the children's throats." I am thinking aloud. "What kind of clue is that?"
"Honestly, as much I'm satisfied we found it, I have no clue about the clue." The Pillar sounds honest. I think I have spotted a pattern, which I can't explain. It's more of an intuition when he has no idea about what's going on. Particularly when it's about the Cheshire. I wonder how those two dealt with each back in Wonderland.
"So that's it?" I haven't gone through all of this to end up empty-handed.
"I'm afraid so, Alice." The Pillar sighs. "The Cheshire's clue makes no sense. It only points at his involvement in the crimes."
"Think harder, Pillar," I demand. "I'm supposed to do the hard stuff, like entering the morgue as a corpse. You're supposed to have explanations. You're the one with memories of the Cheshire and Wonderland. This muffin has to mean something."
"Did you ever read about muffins in Lewis Carroll's books? I haven't for sure," the Pillar says. "The first killing in the stadium had one purpose only: to attract our attention to the case. Now this muffin should lead somewhere, but it escapes me."
"Then we have to think together."
"Six minutes, Alice," the Pillar warns me. "If I were you, I'd be zip myself back. We could think about it together when you're back."
"I'm not leaving without a lead to catching the Cheshire," I insist. Sometimes, I feel I want to be the Real Alice. Sometimes I don't. This is one of the times that I want to be Alice so badly it scares me. I will bring the Cheshire to justice.
"Then you might never leave this morgue."
"Let's just think again. The Cheshire chops their heads off and then stuffs them in watermelons. Doesn't that ring a bell?"
"Don't be fooled," the Pillar says. "The watermelons mean nothing. It's just a scare factor to imply nonsensical chaos. The British police are supposed to look in the watermelons matter. The muffin is for us. The Cheshire is clever. Five minutes and counting."
"Can't be five minutes yet."
"Okay, I lied." He chews on the words. "Five and a half minutes. I want you out. There is no point of blowing your cover. The world isn't ready to know about the Wonderland Wars or who you are yet. Trust me."
"The Cheshire planted the muffin so we'd get the message." I am surprised I am so adamant about solving this, but I like it. I am surprised by my lack of consideration about what happens to me.
Because you have no life, Alice. I hate the nagging voice in my head. You're insane, probably a murderer, and no one cares about you, not even your mother and sisters. Why would it matter what happens to you? Convict or mad girl, it's all the same. That's why you're the perfect Alice for this insane job. A lonely Alice.
But I do have someone I care for, I confess in silence. Remembering him curves a weak smile on my face. It's a smile nonetheless.
"Four minutes," the Pillar counts. "Do you have any suggestions to where you want me to bury you if you die in there?"
"Anywhere but a cat cemetery." I take a few steps back and stare at the five kids. There must be more than a muffin for a clue. "Why those kids in particular?" I ask.
"What do you mean?"
"Last time, the Cheshire chose the girls for specific reasons: they were all descendants of women who had been photographed by Lewis Carroll. Why these kids this time?"
The Pillar is silent. I hope he is thinking it over. "Okay. I will give it until one minute in." He sighs. It's the first time I force him to succumb to my wishes. "Let's see. The names you read on the toe tags do not have anything in common. All we know for sure is the kids' ages, which isn't much of a lead we can follow. Boys and girls, so there is no gender issue here. I checked a few names while you were talking; all kids are either poor or middle class. None are from rich families. But then, most crimes are committed against the poorer people in the world—"
"Could it be the Cheshire didn't stuff the muffins inside?" I interrupt, clicking thumb and middle finger. "Could it be that the kids bought the muffins themselves first?"
"I don't know of kids who like to bite on Ziplocked muffins. Doesn't sound so tasty."
"You're not following, Pillar. The Cheshire later Ziplocked the muffins they bought." I'm not stating facts; I am thinking out loud. "What I am saying is the kids might have been chosen because they bought a Meow Muffin—or wanted one so badly."
"Could be," the Pillar says. "So?"
I try to figure it out, staring at the kids again. Why would he kill kids who buy these muffins?
"Two minutes."
"Wait!" I raise a numb finger in the air. "Forget about what I just said. I was wrong."
"Admitting failure is a rare virtue."
"But I'm right about something else," I say in a louder voice. "The kids!"
"What about them?"
"They are..." I squint to make sure. Could it be that the clue has been so easy to figure from the beginning? Damn you, Cheshire.
"What?"
I hurl toward the death bags and unzip the kids fully from top to bottom to see their whole bodies. Why was I so scared to look at their bodies before?
"What is it, Alice?" The Pillar is both worried and excited.
