Family (Insanity Book 7) Page 10

  “Do you know what exactly happened on the bus? Do you know why she had to kill everyone on it?”

  Constance continued her nods and told the Pillar why. The Pillar listened carefully and then asked her another question. “So here is my final question, Constance, but you have to really pay attention because lives will be counting on your answer.”

  “I know what you want to ask me,” she said. “And the answer is yes, the girl in the asylum is the Real Alice.”

  The Pillar leaned back and let out a long sigh. He was finally ready to start this journey. He kissed Constance on the head and left to go to the asylum.

  Chapter 47

  The Vatican, present day

  The man in the black suit watched Angelo through the keyhole in the door. Angelo had gulped down the whiskey bottle he’d given him hours ago and lost control. He’d been playing James Brown’s I Feel Good and dancing to it alone in the room.

  “This is a disaster,” the man in black told another man in black standing next to him.

  “You shouldn’t have given him the whiskey.”

  “I thought he was tense and wanted to help him ease up before his speech.”

  “What are we going to do now? The crowd is awaiting the new pope.”

  “And not just any new pope.” The man in black sighed. “The one we’ve been counting on for more than two hundred years.”

  “I’d say one of us acts as if we’re Angelo.”

  “No. It has to be Angelo. This is a prophecy. It has to be him.”

  “So you want the new pope to do a James Brown number to the masses? Good luck with that.”

  “I’m not sure what to do. Maybe wait a little.”

  “Until?”

  “The whiskey wears off.” The man in black sighed again. “We have no other choice. We have to be patient. Today is a day that will be remembered all throughout history.”

  Chapter 48

  The Radcliffe Asylum

  I’m baffled listening to Constance telling me about who she is and about her powers. It’s not quite clear to me how she is the embodiment of every girl Lewis has ever photographed, but it’s something I’m willing to understand later. What needs clarification is how I saw another girl in Fabiola’s vision.

  “Like I told you, it’s a trick of perception.” Constance is cute, but determined. She has a sense of unusual sarcasm to her tone, and she treats adults as if they’re stupid. “Do you even remember the face of the girl you saw in your vision?”

  “No, I don’t.” I can’t understand why yet.

  “That’s it. It’s like dreaming. Most people can’t recall the stranger’s face they encounter in their dreams. Fabiola’s vision did that to you.”

  “Then why do I remember every other face I saw?”

  “Because you’ve already known them in real life,” she says. “And because I’m not one girl. I’m all of Lewis Carroll’s girls in one.”

  “That’s odd, Constance.”

  “It is. What’s odder is that my face changes through the years. Can you imagine being seven-years-old for two hundred years?”

  “I can’t, really. But I assume Lewis had a plan for you.”

  “Of course he had. Part of it was to fly under the radar of Black Chess.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All this time they’ve known me as an Inkling. That small helpless girl who draws Alice in Wonderland images on the wall. This led them to neglect me and underestimate my powers.”

  “Which are?”

  “Coming to save you, for instance. That’s only part of the secrets I hold.” She prided herself.

  “But why didn’t you tell me when I first met you?”

  Constance’s face changed. She looks sideways and begins whispering in my ear. “I will tell you later.”

  “Why?” I whisper back, being playful and childish, which she seems not to like.

  “Don’t talk to me as if I were a child.” She sighed. “Anyway, I’m not comfortable with telling you everything now, because there is a chance we have a traitor among us. Let’s escape this place first.”

  It is my intention to insist on knowing more, but then Tom points at the TV screen. Outside the Pillar is approaching the crowd. It’s an important moment. A heavy one. The Mushroomers behind me consider him heroic by giving himself up and letting Constance in. Tom is still skeptical and thinks the Pillar may have fooled us by faking his way out of the situation.

  As for me, I don’t know what to think. But there is this ball of fire flaming in my chest. I think the only way to put it out is to either watch the Pillar die or kill him myself.

  Chapter 49

  Outside the Asylum

  In the eyes of the public, the Pillar and his Mushroomers looked as insane as The Three Stooges were. With their blankets covering them like two-cent beggars, they trudged with reluctance toward the police outside, along with the rest of the crowd. The scene should have been intense — the police capturing the most wanted terrorist in the world — but it was absurdly comical at best.

  “Right now we’re witnessing a most memorable moment in history,” said the BBC reporter sent to cover the situation in the field. “It almost reminds one of Osama Bin Laden. Killa da Pilla might be worse, or, at least, the modern version of a terrorist in our age.”

  Behind her the crowd had been chained into a breath-taking silence. So intense that whispers were very audible.

  “Look at his eyes,” a woman told her friend. “Look at the hatred in his eyes.”

  “And that suit,” her friend replied. “He is a lunatic.”

  Nonchalantly, the Pillar wheeled himself forward with one hand, the other smoking a pipe. He strolled like a man who’d just woken up and was ready for his first shot of caffeine of the day. He also smiled, provocatively. Grinning at the cameras.

  “You don’t have the right to smoke. You’re a criminal,” a police officer stopped him, pointing his gun at him.

  “Oh,” the Pillar said and threw it away, only to pull out a banana from his pocket. “Nothing against peeling bananas though, right?”

  The officer hesitated. “I’m not sure. I will have to check the regulations on that.”

  “Don’t bother,” said the Pillar. “I’ll have it finished before you finish your bureaucratic check. Could you tell the Queen I want to speak to her before the police take me to jail?”

  The officer hesitated again, but the Queen had heard. With a smug look on her face she signaled for the Pillar to approach.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” The Pillar clapped his hands free and threw away the banana peel. He began wheeling himself closer.

  “Remember that all the guns are pointed at you, Pillar,” the Queen reminded him.

  “I’m as harmless as a squirrel. Don’t worry. May my fellow terrorists approach, too?”

  “Not them,” she said. “Once I hear what you have to say, they’ll be handcuffed and shipped to the worst prison in the world. As will you.”

  “I’m humbled with your generosity, Your Majesty.” The Pillar advanced more.

  The Queen knew something was off. She didn’t quite get the Pillar’s act. Why would he confess to being a terrorist? Why would he not burst out in public and tell them about Wonderland?

  But she didn’t mind. The public wouldn’t believe any of this nonsense. The public wanted a cold-served revenge.

  The Pillar stopped too close, so much so that her guards and the police tensed with their guns.

  “That’s enough,” she said. “What do you have to say to the public? Do you want to admit your crime and ask for forgiveness?”

  “I’d rather ask for a Coke and double-cheese burger with Brazilian nuts,” the Pillar said.

  The crowd booed all around.

  “You’re not winning any points here,” the Queen remarked.

  “That’s because I’m not playing this game.”

  “So we’re here to chitchat in front of the cameras? Are you seeking your fifteen m
inutes of fame on TV?”

  “Normally, I’d want to tell you something like: you’re a short and stocky human poop with a crown on top,” the Pillar said. “But I’m a polite guy. I wouldn’t belittle our queen.”

  “I think this discussion is over,” the Queen said. “One more insult and my guards will have the right to shoot you.”

  “But of course. So farewell, Your Majesty.” The Pillar grinned without emotion. A plastic grin of undecipherable intentions. “However, before I go I’d like to tell you something on behalf of the people of Britain.”

  “Yeah?” the Queen mocked him. “And what do the people of Britain want to say to me?”

  “One word, Your Majesty,” the Pillar said. He pulled a rifle from under the blanket he had rested on his lap, then shot her, splattering her head open like watermelon splashing down from a ten story fall. “One loud word, Your Majesty.”

  Chapter 50

  The Radcliffe Asylum

  I cup Constance’s eyes and bury her head into my chest so she doesn’t see what the Pillar just did. One of the cameras covering the situation is splashed with blood on live TV. It seems like the camera man hasn’t noticed yet and is in shock.

  The surprise is too heavy that everything seems to happen in slow motion all around. Screams and panic seem distant to my ears, even the things broadcast are blurry for a moment. In a million years I didn’t expect what the Pillar just did.

  “I want to see!” Constance pulls herself from under my arms.

  “You’re too young to see this,” I say.

  “Blood, killing? Are you serious?” Constance says. “It’s all over the news on TV all day. Most of the games I play contain worse scenes than this.”

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  Tom steps closer to the TV, staring in horror. Then he pops down five pills in a row. “That stupid Pillar is going to get us all killed!”

  Can’t argue with that, either.

  “Are we going to be okay, Alice?” The March falters under the pressure and longs for my hug.

  Instead, it’s Constance who pats him. “Be strong, March. You’re not a kid anymore.”

  Can’t stop admiring this little girl.

  “I think I should push the button now,” Tom says. “They will be in a rage and will want to kill us right away.”

  “Just give it some time,” I suggest. “They won’t do it right away. Wait until we understand what’s really going on.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Tom barks at me. “The Pillar just shot the Queen of England!”

  “I noticed,” I say. “But it’s not over yet.” I point at the TV. Whatever the Pillar’s plan is, he is not finished yet…

  Chapter 51

  The Radcliffe Asylum

  I watch the Mushroomers spread sideways in every direction, each of them empowered with a gun as well. They start shooting at the police, though God knows they’re lousy shooters. I wonder what the Pillar told them to do.

  The whole scene is a mess of people running in every direction. Every once in a while, a camera stops broadcasting, presumably having been kicked by the panicking crowd. The head line of the Queen being shot in the head is plastered on every news channel. It’s seriously hard to believe this is happening.

  But in all this mess, my eyes are looking for the Pillar.

  Finally, I glimpse him wheeling himself among the crowd, now covered underneath the blanket. The wheel chair is soon destroyed by the masses and he has to limp up with the rifle in his hand.

  A camera man seems to have identified him and focuses on him. I stick to that channel, wondering where he is going. He is definitely not kind to the crowd he meets as he shoots a couple of the Queen’s guards on the way.

  Where are you going, Pillar? What are you thinking?

  It crosses my mind that he is escaping. A thought that terrifies me and urges me to grip my rifle, in case I’ll have to get out and chase after him. But I see an easier path to the west side, which he hasn’t taken. The Pillar would recognize such an easy chance to get out of this. So where is he heading?

  Slowly, it seems like he is heading toward the Queen’s limousine.

  The camera shakes all of a sudden, covering the broadcast is over. But then I realize the camera man pulled it off its tripod and decided to follow the Pillar on foot. It’s like a horror footage camera movie now, where we follow the situation from inside out.

  Except this camera man is focused on the Pillar.

  The limousine’s window is half open. Margaret Kent’s head sticks out, pleading at the Pillar not to kill her. She even promises him to get his one-handed relative to win the Wimbledon Tennis Tournament, like the Pillar had asked her the first time I’d ever seen her.

  Then she pleads for her life. “Don’t kill me, Pillar,” she squeaks. “You don’t understand. I’m not really one of them.”

  The Pillar loads his rifle, kicks an annoying passerby, then aims to shoot her.

  “You’re supposed to be one of us, too!”

  “You just said you’re not one of them,” the Pillar said. “So your sentence doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It’s metaphorical. You know what I mean.”

  “Margaret Kent.” The Pillar is about to shoot her. “Prepare to die.”

  Margaret puts up the window, hiding behind it.

  “Seriously?” the Pillar muses, then glances back at the camera man, as if making sure his execution of the Duchess will be caught on TV.

  Then something happens. Another hit I’m not prepared for.

  The Pillar shoots the window open, but Margaret is still alive. Then, Lorina screams from inside, then Jack.

  My heart almost stops.

  It’s not flattering seeing Lorina in Jack’s arms, but it’s heart-stopping realizing the Pillar will shoot.

  “Stop!” I stand up in place, fully aware that none of my None Fu powers will get them to hear me, or allow me to run as fast as I can to stop the Pillar. It’s just a lame, weak attempt to numb my mind from the pain that’s about to attack me.

  “He wouldn’t shoot Jack,” the March wails behind me. “Would he?”

  I watch the Pillar aim again.

  In my darkest hour, a small hand holds mine, so tight, and so gentle. It’s Constance. I glimpse her looking up at me, horrified, sympathizing, understanding. She really does understand what’s happening to me now.

  It’s not just that the Pillar might shoot Jack, but it’s that the man who’s killed my family is about to kill… the last of my family; Jack.

  “He wouldn’t do it,” Constance tells me. “He’s not that dark of a man…”

  But her words mean nothing. The Pillar takes the shot, and I watch the car explode.

  Chapter 52

  The Vatican

  Angelo was buttoning his white shirt while watching the Queen’s head split open.

  “Ouch,” he said. “That’s freaking awesome.”

  The man in black’s lips tightened. Angelo was not only getting drunker by the minute, but meaner. This was going to be disastrous. The crowd outside had been waiting for too long. And now that the Queen had been killed by this Pillar terrorist, they were getting furious, demanding justice, demanding a stronger pope, one who’d stand in the face of evil and stop this terrorism all over the world.

  And even though the prophecy claimed it would be Angelo to take that stand, it seemed very unlikely at the moment.

  “Did you just see that?” Angelo aimed his forefinger as if they were guns in the wild, wild west. “Pow. Pow.”

  “That’s the Queen of England who got shot,” the man commented. “It’s exactly what you shouldn’t be happy about it.”

  Angelo shrugged, tying his own tie.

  “People are expecting you to help them, to stand up for them, not cheer for the killing of the Queen of England.”

  “Sorry,” Angelo said. “It’s the whiskey.”

  “I know, but you need to sober up.”

  “I’m sober
now.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Trust me, I am. Let’s talk to the people.”

  “In this white outfit with a cravat you’re wearing?”

  “What’s wrong with it? Angels wear white.”

  “But not modern trousers and a shirt. They don’t wear cravats.”

  “Now that’s something you can’t prove. Who said they don’t wear cravats?”

  “They just don’t.”

  “Would you go speak to your honorable father without dressing properly?”

  “No?” The man in black seemed confused.

  “So do angels. I bet they wear cravats when meeting God.”

  “Ah.” The man in black mopped his forehead. The situation was getting worse by the minute. “I think your speech should wait.”

  “You’re wrong.” Angelo’s demeanor suddenly changed. An evil, indecipherable look gleamed in his eyes. “I should speak to them now. Drunk, unshaven, and improbably dressed.”

  “Why is that?”

  Angelo gripped the man in black by the throat and pressed lightly. “Did you really just ask me why?”

  “I’m sorry.” The man in black choked. “But I’d really like to know why.”

  “Okay.” Angelo’s face tightened, his whiskey breath all over the man’s face. “Here is why.”

  The man in black watched as Angelo clicked his iPhone and music began to play again. This time to give an answer to the man’s question. It was James Brown singing, again: I feel good, tarararara!

  “That’s why!”

  Chapter 53

  The Radcliffe Asylum

  While Tom discusses Constance’s situation, she is about to crawl into the hole, and I am still glued to the TV.

  Scanning all the channels, I’m hoping they’d cover the situation with the limousine explosion. But the Queen’s death is taking priority. The Assassination of the Century they’re calling it now.

  The conspiracy theorist channels, however, are making fun of the death. They’re vowing to print shirts with a smoking gun on the front and the word The People of England Have Something to Say on the back.