Insanity (12 page)

"Of course not," the Pillar says absently, glancing at another TV next to it. It’s broadcasting news about people being evacuated from their homes. "I told you the Wonderland Monsters were reincarnated in modern day people. The Duchess is reincarnated in what you'd call the equivalent of a 'Duchess' in our time.” He is still taken by the news. There’s a documentary about poverty in African countries. I don’t know what’s so interesting to him, and I can’t read his face.

"Equivalent? What is she?" I ponder. "Wait. The Duchess isn’t the Queen of England, is she?"

"Oh, no," the Pillar finally looks away from the horrible news all over the world. "That's just silly," he tells me.

"As if all the rest wasn't."

"Silly is different from nonsense. Queens of England have always been fond of Lewis. As a matter of fact, Queen Victoria was a good friend of his."

"Then who is the Duchess?"

"Margaret Kent," the Pillar announces.

"Who?"

"A very well-known woman in the Parliament," he says.

"The British Parliament?"

"No. The Parliament of Oz. Focus, Alice," the Pillar pouts. "She is a TV superstar,” he points at another TV behind the glass window, showing a meeting of the British Parliament. There are too many important people in suits. I don’t know who Margaret Kent is. “I don’t expect you to recognize her. You’ve been living underground for years. But she is loved by most sane people.”

“How is the Duchess loved by other people? Isn’t she supposed to be a Wonderland Monster?”

“Like most politicians, she’s fooled them by promising the impossible,” the Pillar says. "Did you ever notice if you promised the possible, people won't believe you?"

"She is one of those people with two different faces. How wasn't she exposed until now?"

"Some have tried, actually. A year ago, a young man drew a caricature of her in the Daily Telegraph, mocking her as the ugliest woman in Britain."

"Is she that ugly?" I scan all women of the Parliament on the screen. They all look just fine.

"In fact, she is modestly beautiful, with all her plastic surgeries, pearl necklaces, and elegant blonde hair," the Pillar says. "Her ugliness mentioned in the newspaper stems from all the ugly things she does under the table. Bribes, extortion, and tampering with trials in favor of the big guys. One of the rules of the sane world… the poor keep getting poorer, and the rich keep getting...richer."

"Margret Kent?" I try the name on my lips, as I recognize her from the plate in front of her as she speaks on TV. She looks like the perfect female politician, a face everyone would normally trust.

"Of course, the artist who drew the caricature was mysteriously assassinated by a ‘terrorist’ a week later."

"That's awful."

"Alice," the Pillar holds me by the shoulder. "You're not focusing. The artist was assassinated by someone sent by Margaret Kent because he was exposing her dirty laundry."

"Are you sure?"

"And do you know who assassinated him?" the Pillar’s face is too close to mine. I have an idea about the answer, but it just refuses to surface on my lips. "The Cheshire Cat was the Duchess’s grinning cat in the book. In real life, he is her private assassin."

I take a step back, my hands on the wall. My head is dizzy, and I get that feeling again, that the world in my private cell is a better place than all of this. "This can't be," my voice is almost inaudible as it starts to rain all of a sudden.

Chapter 35

The Pillar's limousine, somewhere in Oxford

"This is how the world operates,” the Pillar says. We’re sitting in the back of his limousine. “Why do you think killers like me and the Cheshire don't get caught? People like Margaret Kent are occupied with making money and getting more powerful every day. There is famine, wars, people dying, and poverty all around us. But you know what? The heck with all that. Let's just make more money, and kill anyone who gets in the way. Or better, let's drive them insane."

"So Margaret Kent knows about Wonderland, and hires its monsters to do her dirty work?"

"Genius, isn't it?" the Pillar says, the pipe tucked in the corner of his mouth. "You get to hire someone like the Cheshire who in the public eye is just a silly cat in a book, and then get away with it. If someone tries to expose you, he will be laughed at because, let's face it, Wonderland can't be real."

"Why is the Cheshire Cat doing it? You said it wasn’t like him to go on a killing spree."

"Even a cat has to make a living,” the Pillar says. “The money is good, and he has some kind of a grudge against humanity. Maybe someone stepped on his tail or something. Who knows?"

“So Margaret Kent paid him to kill the girls?"

“It’s unlikely. Who’d pay to kill young girls? Besides, he wouldn’t be playing games and puzzles with us, if he were being paid. Margaret’s jobs are swift. She wants to get off with her enemies’ heads."

"So how are we going to make Mrs. Kent tell us anything about the Cheshire?” I say. “Is it even possible we could meet such an important woman in the first place?"

The Pillar turns to me with that shimmering look in his eyes again. "It depends.”

"On?"

"Tell me, Alice,” he rubs something off his trousers. “On a scale from one to insanity, how insane are you?"

I get the feeling that the Pillar and I are about to do some crazy things.

Chapter 36

Director's office, Radcliffe Asylum

"I'm not going to do that!" Tom Truckle protests. He fidgets in his place, and reaches for his pills from the drawer.

The Pillar and I sit opposite to him in his office. We exchange looks, while we’re on the verge of bursting into laughter. I have to admit that spending time with the Pillar has taught me to just let go and give in to all the madness in the world.

"I am not asking much," I tell Truckle. "I just want a Certificate of Insanity."

"There is no such thing," Truckle gulps water to let the pill slide down. "And even if there is, I just can't do it. This is insane.
You
are insane."

"See, that's why I want a Certificate of Insanity," I am doing my best not to giggle.

"Please, Tommy," the Pillar rests his hands on his cane. "We’ve got work to do, and you're stalling."

"You are insane as well," Truckle says.

"Thank you, but I don't need a certificate myself. It's the poor Alice here who needs it," the Pillar sulks. "Look at her. She is so innocent." I pull my legs together and squeeze my hands between them, flapping my eyelashes and sulking all over him. I'm really enjoying this. "How else can we prove she is insane?" the Pillar adds.

"Something tells me you're going to do something mad with this certificate," Truckle is losing it. The pressure the Pillar is putting him under is unbelievable. The doctor is breaking all the rules to keep his job.

"Please don't use words like 'mad' and 'retarded.' It's really hurts." The Pillar is playing this just right. I am going to laugh until I cry when I get out.

"I didn't say ‘retarded!’" Truckle grips to his chair, face red like a tomato before explosion. "Besides, what do you want me to call you?"

"Mushroom is a good word. Right, Alice?" the Pillar looks at me.

"Yes," I blink my eyes innocently again. "Mushroom. I am a Mushroom." The Pillar nods and pats me gently. "You're a Mushroom," I address the Pillar, then turn to Dr. Truckle. "And you're a Mushroom, too."

"I'm not a Mushroom!" Dr. Truckle stands up, slamming his hands on the desk. I think he should seriously consider reporting the Pillar's escape and lose his job, or he'll end up in one of the underground wards.

"Yes you are," I push it, then stare at him as if he is sick. "You have those red spots on your face. What are those, Dr. Truckle?"

"What?" He touches his face. "What spots?"

"I think it may be chickenpox," the Pillar worsens the joke. "
Mushroom pox
, maybe?"

"You're messing with my head!" Dr. Truckle screams. I can see the veins pumping on his neck. "Here is your certificate," he pulls out an official paper from the drawer and signs it. “Get out!”

The Pillar cranes his head to see what Dr. Truckle is writing. "Please, Dr. Truckle. Don't write that," he protests.

Dr. Truckle looks puzzled.

"What did he write?" I stand up and stomp my feet. "Is it about me?" I fold my arms in front of me.

"He wrote," The Pillar pretends he can't bring himself to say it. "He wrote that you're 'insane in the membrane,' and 'cuckoo in the head.''"

"Did you write that?" I sneer at Dr. Truckle.

"No." Dr. Truckle waves his defensive arms. "I swear I didn't."

I pull the certificate angrily, then read it. It's what we’re looking for. The Pillar and I stand up, ready to leave. But before we go, I get on the desk and kiss Dr. Truckle on the cheek, then run my hands slowly upon his nose. We've played the poor guy too much. When I kiss him, it's like I've electrocuted him with my lips. I think he is going to pee himself. "And you haven’t even tried shock therapy yet,” I whisper in his ear.

“Let’s go, Alice,” the Pillar says. “We’re late for our plane to London.” He waves my Certificate of Insanity in front of him. We’re going to need it to meet the Duchess.

Chapter 37

Margaret Kent's Office, the Westminster Palace, London

Margaret Kent sat alone in a private luxurious room in the Palace of Westminster in London. She had an important meeting to attend in a little while, and she didn't like waiting. If she'd ever waited for anyone, she wouldn't have come this far in her career. Things had to be done swiftly, and decisions had to be made in a flash of an eye. In order to save a few heads, many heads had to be chopped. She learned that from the Queen of Hearts many years ago. But she didn't want to remember Wonderland anymore. She had moved on, and now she had to deal with things in this world.

Ordinary people would think that a woman of her caliber would have everything at the tip of her hands. It was far from it. Since Margaret joined the Parliament, she'd been having a hard time sleeping at night. The horrible things she had permitted behind the public's back were enough to drive her mad for the rest of her life.

But these horrible things had to be done she thought, as she rubbed her expensive Rolex around her wrist. A woman in such a position had to sacrifice others in favor of her nation. It was the way things were done. In the states. In Germany. And in most countries. She stood up and gazed out her window at all the simple people enjoying life outside. If they only knew the price she, and her fellow men and women of the Parliament paid to get them there.

But that's a lie, Margaret. Her annoying inner voice spoke. Not everything you have done was for the safety of your people, or everyone would have lived a generous life in this world by now.

Margaret walked away from the window and checked her hair in the mirror. In reality, it was thinning. But thanks to her personal crew who took care of her appearance, it looked far from it. People loved their politicians to look good. Beauty was a must when telling lies.

She gazed at her watch one more time, trying to distract herself from her nagging inner thoughts.

Welcome back, Margaret. It's me, the true voice inside you. The one that knows all your secrets. I know about the people you wrongfully imprisoned, sent to asylums, and even killed. It's understandable. It’s a game called life.

Margaret didn't know why her annoying voice was attacking her today. She'd never regretted anything she'd done. The secrets she kept from the public were a necessary evil. If anyone thought it was possible to spread justice and make everyone equal in this world, they were highly delusional. The world was like clockwork. In order for the bigger wheels to survive, the smaller wheels had to work harder in their merry go round. They just had to be promised big things that weren’t going to happen. Case solved.

Turning her TV on to distract herself, she realized what worried her. It was right in front of her; the Cheshire Cat killing girls all around the country, while they couldn't do anything about it. They were going to discuss that in their private meeting. It had to be in private, because they all knew what the Cheshire did for them, and the secrets he knew. He'd been pushing the envelope, while they couldn't catch him because he had the power to expose them.

Margaret had been using the Cheshire for some time. She'd never known him to be a crazy killer, spilling blood for no reason. He hated humans and did the jobs she'd assigned him in exchange for money or information, mostly involving Wonderland. The Cheshire was obsessed with opening the secret doors to Wonderland again. The ones Lewis Carroll had locked the monsters in a long time ago. Margaret never knew how the Cheshire escaped his prison, and she never asked.

Ironically, her peers in the office still loved to call her “the Duchess,” because as much as she faked her beautiful appearance, the ugliness inside her was always coming through. She never hesitated hurting anyone. Her career was the reason to live, and she was getting greedier every day.

"Now what am I going to do about that?" she talked to herself in the empty room. The Cheshire had to stop his killing, or the consequences were going to be grand.

Margaret Kent, fiddling with her pearl necklace, squinted at the sight of the girl she saw on TV. It was that girl who had been famous for nibbling like crazy on a block of cheese inside the Great Hall. Some said she saved the girl who'd been kidnapped by the Cheshire yesterday. The news said she was an Oxford University freshman. Still, no one could find her since.

Margaret squinted harder and neared the TV. "Wait a minute." Her eyes widened, taking a closer look at the girl. "This couldn't be. Is this her?"

Chapter 38

Entrance, the Westminster Palace, the British Parliament headquarters

The Pillar is pushing me in a wheelchair. We’re heading toward the Palace of Westminster's entrance. This is going to be crazy.