Mushrooms Read online

  “Is the Tom Tower fun?” he says. “Do you have candy?”

  Constance sighs and pats the March. “Listen, Alice,” she says. “I like the conclusion, but the university is far away. It’s a common spot. Being out there is suicide.”

  “Well, if it means finding the precious keys,” I say.

  “None of this is sure,” she says and turns to look at Lewis and the March. “If those are the Six Keys we’re looking for, how do they open the mind.”

  “A camera is a window to capturing moments,” Fabiola says. “It has a lens, Constance. It does seem like a good candidate to opening minds.”

  “I am the sum of the girls who Lewis ever photographed. You don’t think I know that?” Constance says.

  Her words silence everything around us. We all exchange aha glances right away.

  Constance doesn’t get it. She stares back at us. “What?”

  “You just said you’re the sum of the girls Lewis photographed,” I explain. “If we are right about the Six Keys in the Camera, then whose mind do you think we’re supposed to open?”

  Constance shrugs. “No, this can’t be.”

  “It’s the only conclusion,” I say.

  “Based on an assumption?” She counters back.

  “Think about it,” I walk to her and talk gently. “You have been able to talk to me telepathically all day.”

  “What?” Fabiola asks.

  “I’ll explain later,” I say then continue facing Constance. “The keys open minds, or a mind, or someone’s mind, whatever. Point is Lewis’ camera was screwed with a six-key tripod, and guess who was behind that lens all the time? You.”

  “So?” the poor girl is perplexed, realizing she is essential in this world when all she wants is play around and be silly for her age.

  The March speaks all of a sudden. “I think the keys are a metaphor to your mind’s abilities.”

  52

  Mr. Jay’s Headquarters

  The Pillar sat naked on a single chair set up in the middle of a large empty room. His hands were tied behind by his back, with chains, large and heavy and bolted to the floor. He didn’t look upset. He gazed back with a smirk at the glass walls. He couldn’t see through but knew Mr. Jay could see him from the other side, like an interrogation room.

  “I need to piss,” the Pillar said, chewing gum.

  “Piss on the floor,” a voice said from an overhead mic.

  “I hate the smell of my urine,” the Pillar grinned at the glass wall.

  “Then drink it.”

  “I prefer tea,” the Pillar said. “Though piss does look like green tea, especially when you’re sick.”

  “You don’t like tea. You like hookahs,” the voice countered back. “And we know you don’t need to pee.”

  “How do you know?” the Pillar said. “Can you see my bladder from behind the glass? Do you have ultrasound?”

  “Stop talking,” the voice says. “We’re dimming the room.”

  “I am good with pissing in the light,” the Pillar says. “Also I like a bucket. I like the sound of pissing. Makes me feel like a man.”

  This time, a laugh came through the mic. A low, gruff, laugh that the Pillar recognized. “You always make me laugh, Pillar,” Mr. Jay said. “We’re dimming the room because I am entering.”

  “Are you naked it too?”

  “No. I just don’t want you to see me.”

  “Why? I know how you look like. I remember your Mr. J—“

  “Don’t dare say my real name,” Mr. Jay cut off. “I am coming in.”

  The Pillar listened to the sound of lock and keys. All electronic, heavy with droning noises. It reminded him of the March’s prison in the underground asylum, the Hole.

  Heavy foots step inside. The Pillar’s face was apparent in the light, but Mr. Jay’s wasn’t, hidden in the shadows. The Pillar recognized the pipe he was smoking. Tobacco from the Garden from Wonderland.

  “Is this how you played with Alice, making her think you were her psychiatrist in the asylum?” the Pillar said.

  “You mean the smoke?” Mr. Jay says. “We all messed with her head, didn’t we?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Oh, you did it,” Mr. Jay laughs. “All the things you put her through? We all know what it’s about.”

  “We do?” the Pillar plastered an inanimate smile.

  “We’re all after the Keys. It’s starting to be repetitive by now. We’re all after the precious thing.”

  “Imagine that,” the Pillar said. “Imagine a low life scum like you controlling the most precious thing in the world.”

  “Don’t provoke me. I am so close. I will get what I want.”

  “OK,” the Pillar shook his shoulders. “Then I guess there is no use for me being here. I don’t know where the Keys are. I’ve been trying, I admit. Alice doesn’t know either, so we should sing kumbaya and go back to Wonderland.”

  “True,” Mr. Jay said. “You don’t know where the Keys are, but you’re not stupid.”

  “I’m mad. Even better.”

  “You have a plan, and I can’t figure it out.”

  “Then kill me.”

  “You have 14 lives. I’ve lost count. How much do you have left?”

  “Lost count too,” the Pillar spat on the floor. “Trust me; immortality is a bitch.”

  Mr. Jay leaned forward. The Pillar could see his shade moving but no face. “And you killed the Queen.”

  “Nah,” the Pillar said. “I blew off her head. You still have the torso. Talk to the torso.”

  “I liked her. She was my best employee.”

  “Then I did you a favor.” the Pillar smiled. “Tell me why I am here.”

  “I doubt you don’t know, because you were expecting my men, and came with willingly.”

  “I figured there is nothing do in the end of the world but live by your side. You have food, shelter, and you’re rich so you must know of the secret Ark that will take me to the planet Mars when it all goes down.”

  “I don’t have an Ark,” Mr. Jay said. “You got it all wrong. I want this planet. I want this earth. I want the most precious thing, and then I will rule the earth.”

  The Pillar shrugged. The thought of Mr. Jay getting what he wanted, unsettled him. He tried his best not to show it. “Okay, then what do you want from me?”

  “I want to know who you are,” Mr. Jay said.

  “Carter Chrysalis Coccoon Pillar.”

  “Drop the act. We know it’s not you,” Mr. Jay said. “I didn’t get it first, though I’ve always estranged your actions. You were the Pillar but sometimes not the Pillar.”

  “I have to tell you the truth,” the Pillar said. “I am schizophrenic.”

  “I can make you talk,” Mr. Jay says. “I WILL make you talk.”

  “What? Are you going to break my balls? I never understood how you could break someone’s balls. Squash is a better term.”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass,” Mr. Jay stood up.

  “Oh, you’re going to beat me to death? Fourteen times? What then? You will never know.”

  “I will not torture you,” Mr. Jay said. “I don’t hate you that much. In fact, though we’re enemies, I have tremendous respect for you.”

  “Thank you, but I’d prefer a hamburger. Respect isn’t that delicious.”

  This time, Mr. Jay said nothing and left the room saying, “I have the perfect man to torture you. He hates you so much and knows this is his chance to beat you until you talk.”

  The door closed behind him.

  The Pillar didn’t know what Mr. Jay meant. A minute later the door opened again. The light went on. In front of the Pillar, stood Angelo Cardone.

  “Pillar,” the Cheshire nodded with a grin. “Missed me?”

  “Nah, but it’s nice to see your grin,” the Pillar teased him. “I gave it to you after all.”

  A painful punch landed on his face. This was going to be a long night.

  53

  Ice-Cream T
ruck

  The final decision is we go to the Kew Garden anyways. The Oxford debate doesn’t have enough plausibility after all. Though I am so convinced, Constance pointed out that the March was told he would remember when he sees the mushrooms. Something that most probably didn’t exist at Oxford University.

  So we left the alley…

  I am shaking to Jack’s driving, sitting in the back of the bus he’d found to get us all on board. I am so not comfortable in here, but I don’t want to talk to Jack about it now.

  “So what do mushrooms have to do with all this crazy journey?” I ask Constance.

  “Here is what I think,” she says. “The March will know where the Keys are and what they are for when he sees the mushrooms in the Kew Garden, which he designed himself. Most probably a mushroom he will identify when he sees it.”

  “What if the Keys turn out to be in Oxford like I said?”

  “We’ll have to go back,” Constance says. “But trust me there is no other way. What if we go to Oxford and they aren’t there? We won’t even know where they are?”

  “You think there is any chance the March can remember more?”

  “I hope so, but he’d been told he will remember when he sees the mushrooms then I doubt it.”

  “Do you think the Pillar has anything to do with this?” I ask her.

  “Why? Because of all the mushroom thing?” she says. “Because he dealt drugs and mushroom land?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why would the Pillar have told the March this? He never knew about the Keys, or why would he have come to you and pulled you out of the asylum?”

  My mind is frying. I want to have a vacation from thinking. I glance at Jack and hate him now. All because of this bus he’d chosen to get us on.

  “How far is it to the Kew Garden?” I ask Jack.

  “We’re close,” he says.

  I still want to ask him, but I don’t. Why Jack? Why did you choose a school bus to get us there? A yellow school bus. I feel so unsettled, imaging the students I killed in the past.

  54

  Mr. Jay’s Interrogation Room.

  The punches were hard, swift, and full of anger. Never had the Pillar taken the Cheshire for such a violent man. Sure he did brutal things, but he’d never seen him torture anyone so much before.

  “So?” The Cheshire took a breath, knuckling his fingers and stretching arms. “Have you had enough?”

  “More please,” the Pillar challenged him.

  The Cheshire took a glance at his outfit. A pope in blood was an image that unsettled him. Torturing the Pillar made him realized how angry he was.

  “I’m puzzled why you’re doing this,” the Pillar said. “Your grin is never going away. People make mistakes, you know. You took a drug. It sticks with you.”

  “I just feel so much better punching you,” the Cheshire said. “Also, I’m supposed to extract information from you.”

  “Then you have to turn this chair around because I keep my secrets in my ass.”

  The Cheshire suppressed a laugh. If anything, the Pillar never ceased to surprise him. Deep inside he admired him for being who he was. The Pillar just was. That was the perfect description. A man detached from all social norms, doing what he pleased without ever telling his secrets.

  “Why are you doing this?” the Cheshire knelt down to meet the Pillar’s blood-stained eyes. “It doesn’t make sense at all.”

  “Does it have to?” the Pillar said.

  “Why help Alice? Why play everyone? I can understand you’re after the Keys, though I seem to be the only one who is not. But I can’t figure out on whose side you are? The Inklings? Black Chess? The people? The government?”

  “You forgot the fifth option,” the Pillar said.

  “Which is?”

  “My side. I’m no one’s side but mine.”

  “Ha,” the Cheshire said. In many ways, he was on his selfish side as well, not as stubbornly as the Pillar though. “Tell you what? Forget about who you are or why you’re doing all of this. I’ve always had another question I wanted to ask you.”

  “No, is the answer,” the Pillar said. “I’m not your father, Luke.”

  The Cheshire punched the Pillar again. This time up close up and personal, he could smell the splattering blood. “Answer me.”

  “Okay, I will,” the Pillar said. “I AM your father, Luke.”

  The Cheshire figured he’d just go and ask the lunatic without introductions. “Why did you get me addicted to the mushrooms?”

  “You were a perfect candidate, desperate, poor, and young,” the Pillar said. “I was investing in you.”

  “How can you be so evil?”

  “And you’re not? You just started a false World War III, convincing the world you’re the new pope,” the Pillar said. “But then again most evil men think they’re doing good for the world.”

  The Cheshire stood up again. He wanted out of the room. The Pillar scared him, but he wouldn’t admit it aloud. The man was crazy whoever he was.

  “You’re the devil himself,” the Cheshire mumbled. “Look at what you’ve done to Lewis Carroll, Fabiola, Alice, me, and, oh, my God, what you’ve done to the Hatter.”

  The Pillar looked proud. He grinned.

  “You killed the Hatter too, right?”

  The Pillar’s eyes met the Cheshire’s. The Pillar’s grin was ten miles wide.

  55

  Past: Wonderland

  Fabiola ended up living by the sword in her hand. Without mushrooms to feed her addiction, she roamed Wonderland, a lost soul. Not quite lost because she could get everything she wanted — all but the mushrooms.

  She ate by the name of her sword. She had shelter by the name of the sword. She got everything she wanted by the name of her sword. When she needed real money, sh let the mercenaries hire her for small wars outside Wonderland. Enemies shivered to her name.

  Feared and looked up to by warriors, she still returned each night and cried on her bed — or someone else’s bed.

  One night she heard a knock on her window. Reaching for her sword, she intended to kill whoever dared to knock. Then upon seeing her night-visitor, she lowered her eyes and let her sword drop.

  It was the Hatter.

  “Go away,” she said.

  “Why?” he said.

  “I don’t want you to see me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m not the girl you knew a few years ago.”

  He reached for her hands. They were ice-cold. His were warm with spilled tea. “I’ve been looking for you for so long. Why didn’t you come to me?”

  “You loved a naive girl that I am not anymore. I didn’t want to shock you.”

  “Silly,” he smiled. “I’ve never stopped loving you.”

  She gazed into her eyes and could swear upon a million souls that he meant it, but, “I don’t even remember loving you. Not as clear as you think.”

  “Because of the mushrooms, I know,” he pulled her closer and kissed her forehead.

  Fabiola felt puzzled. All the mean men, she’d never been kissed on her forehead. She didn’t even know what it meant. “The Pillar is looking for me,” she said. “You should go. You can’t fight him.”

  “You can,” he squeezed her into him. “Why didn’t you kill him.”

  “I can’t,” she pulled away, a regretful stare in her eyes.

  “What do you mean?” The Hatter said.

  “I mean I wanted to, especially after I discovered my warrior powers.”

  “But?”

  She shied away from his eyes.

  “What is it, White Queen?”

  “The mushrooms he’d fed me.”

  “What about them?”

  “I’m bound to him.”

  “Bound?”

  “If I kill him I will die.”

  “Oh, darling,” he said.

  “I would have still killed him if that was just it.”

  “What do you mean?”

&
nbsp; “I mean not only I will die if I kill him.”

  “Who else?”

  “Everyone else.”

  “Everyone else? That’s absurd. He isn’t God.”

  “Everyone else who’s tasted the mushrooms.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “Lewis, Alice, the Cheshire and the so many youngsters whom he got addicted.”

  “The bastard,” he pulled her closer again. “Don’t worry. I am right here.”

  “What are you doing to do, Hatter?” she said. “You’re a nice man. People love you. You live life as if there is no tomorrow and care only about having fun.”

  This time he pushed her away, gently. “I have a question.”

  “What is it?”

  “What if someone who hadn’t tasted the mushroom killed him?”

  Her eyes lit as if the thought had never crossed her mind. “It should work, but who is brave enough to do it?”

  “I will,” the Hatter said.

  “You can’t,” she realized how much she cares about him. “I beg you. Don’t do it.”

  “What do I have left to lose,” the Hatter says. “If I don’t have my cheery and loving love of my life, then it wouldn’t make sense living anymore.”

  56

  Present: The Kew Garden

  It’s not long enough before we reach the garden. From a distance, it looks like some houses in white. Closer, I see how big it is. A lush green and vast space with open-ceiling structures with plants inside.

  “That’s strange,” Fabiola says.

  “What is?” Lewis asks as Jack parks the school bus.

  “It seems intact. No one vandalized it or stole from it.”

  “Though I don’t think people would be that interested in botanical plants in the end of days, I agree, it’s strange,” he says.

  “Should I drive in or stop here?” Jack says.

  “I’d say stop here,” I tell him. “If this is the place the March should be then it could be dangerous?”