Figment Page 14

  But the Wonderland Wars weren't going to be like that. Blood and gore were merely the background of their war. It was a war of minds. A war of truth. More than anything, a war of insanity. Those who'd stay sane long enough usually won these kinds of wars.

  The Queen sipped that poor tea again and spat it out on the floor near one of her dogs. Not Bulldog. It was Maddog, her favorite female corgi. She had been cured from her constipation and was in good health again.

  Maddog licked the tea obediently from the floor, then panted pleadingly. Maddog had eyes the color of pale pearls.

  "No more nuts today," the Queen declared. "They're addictive and they cost me a fortune. And you get constipated."

  Maddog looked disappointed.

  "I apologize for being late, Majesty." Margaret Kent arrived in her grey business suit. She wore a twenty-four-carat blood-diamond ring on her left hand today. It didn't distract from the grumpiness in her surgically enhanced face today. The beautiful Parliament woman looked overly exhausted.

  "Apology denied." The Queen merely waved her white-gloved hand. "You're lucky I can't chop your head off," she muttered with fake, super-white teeth. "I still need you."

  Margaret Kent sat next to her, unable to look Her Majesty in the eyes. "I know the situation got out of hand," she began. "I never thought the Cheshire would go that far."

  "He wouldn't if he hadn't gotten his grin back." The Queen poured herself another cup of tea, knowing she'd eventually spit it out like the last. "That was a terrible mistake. You should have stopped him."

  "It's all because of Alice Wonder," Margaret said. "She gave the Cheshire his grin back to save some poor girl's life."

  "That's not the Alice." The Queen reached for a spoon, disgusted by a little stain on it.

  "How do you know, Majesty?" Margaret asked. "Are you sure?"

  "I am sure." The Queen stared at the spoon, thinking of chopping some servants' heads off.

  "But Carroll's potion left us oblivious of her looks," Margaret reasoned. "He protected her from us this way."

  "True." The Queen called for Maddog to come lick the spoon clean for her. "But Carroll's potion didn't leave the Real Alice unable to recognize who we are." Maddog licked the spoon religiously and the Queen put it back in the cup, stirring two cubes of sugar inside. "If she was the Alice, she'd have recognized us and killed us all."

  "It's a plausible assumption," Margaret said. "But there is the incident of this Alice killing her friends in a school bus. She might have lost her memory because of it."

  "If she did, she should have already regained her memory under the Pillar's influence." The Queen sipped her tea.

  "I doubt the Pillar doesn't know what he is doing," Margaret said. "If he picks a girl and thinks she is Alice, he has enough evidence to back it up."

  "Of course, the Pillar knows what he is doing." The Queen wondered why her tea had dog saliva in it this time. "He is playing games with us."

  "I am not following, Majesty."

  "Damn this tea!" The Queen spat the tea back on the ground. Maddog licked it. "The Pillar needed to have a powerful weapon against us. What better to draw us to the illusion that he has found Alice?"

  "You mean he picked just any girl to play us?"

  "Not just any girl." The Queen poured tea in a newer cup again, hoping it had no dog saliva in it this time. "He was very smart about the girl he picked. Think of it: an insane girl who killed her friends and used to think she was Alice from Wonderland. Almost every poor girl in this country dreams of being Alice so she could eat big mushrooms and grow stronger and bigger. Pillar picked a troubled, friendless, mad girl, then used her complicated history and insanity to make up a cute little story. Also, he needed to find a lonely and confused girl so he could persuade her that she is the Real Alice."

  "So, we shouldn't worry about the Pillar?"

  "You should worry about the mess happening in this country!" The Queen reached for the same spoon but stopped. She decided it was better to use a newer spoon to make sure everything was clean this time. "A head stuffed in a football in front of millions of watchers? Then watermelons stuffed with kids' heads? And now a mass murder at Drury Lane Theatre?" She stared at the new spotless spoon and saw it was definitely clean. A smile filled her face as she started to use it to stir the sugar. "A murder by peppers?" she asked Margaret. "What the bloody bollocks of hell!"

  "It won't happen again, I promise," Margaret said. "The Cheshire helped the Muffin Man escape the asylum. He taught him all the dirty tricks and backed him up with the killings. He used the Muffin Man's anger against him, and against us."

  "The Muffin Man has always been angry since what happened to him in Wonderland.” The Queen said.

  “Not just Wonderland, Majesty,” Margaret began, but was cut off by the Queen's waving finger.

  “Enough,” Apparently, the Queen didn't want to delve further into the subject. “I don’t want to remember any of this.” She decided to sip her tea when she met Maddog's pleading eyes again. The Queen lowered her hand and let poor Maddog sip from the teacup. If she couldn't give her more nuts, maybe a few sips of tea would make her favorite dog happy. "You should have killed the Muffin Man, I mean your cook, back in Wonderland," she told Margaret as she leaned back in her chair.

  Margaret sighed. "I should have.” She tried her best to avoid the Queen’s blaming eyes.

  "The Muffin Man has to be stopped this time, Margaret.” The Queen said.

  Margaret nodded twice, saying nothing, looking at her feet.

  “Killing people is merely the worst he can do. You know what the real threat of the Muffin Man is." The Queen elaborated.

  "I know." Margaret said. "He could expose—"

  "Shhhh," the Queen warned her again. "I said I don't even want to talk about it. That's what the Cheshire wants. He wants to expose that secret you were about to discuss. The people of Britain, and the whole world, shouldn't know about our secrets."

  "Damn the Cheshire!" Margaret sighed. "I shouldn't have used him as an assassin, or he wouldn't have known so much. But I had a lot of dirty work to take care of. Sudan, Libya, and—"

  "I said enough." The Queen began to lose her patience. "You make it sound like we're the only ones who take care of our dirty business. You think the Americans don't do the same? You think all those third world countries don't do the same? If you want to rule, you have to sacrifice a few things."

  "You're right." Margaret pantomimed zipping her mouth. "It's just that I'm sometimes confused which side the Cheshire is on. Which side are we on? And the Pillar, whose damn side is he on?"

  "We don't need to know any of this now." The Queen sipped her tea with unmatched delight. "No Wonderland War is possible without the Real Alice being found. All we need to do is catch the Muffin Man. I have a clear idea how.” The Queen licked her lips, offended by the dog saliva present in the tea again and again.

  “How, My Majesty?”

  Disgusted by the taste of tea, The Queen stood up and threw the teacup against the wall. Margaret ducked to avoid the flying cup and its saucer while Maddog ran to lick the tea. "Bloody awful tea, smells of dogs all the time!" The Queen roared.

  Margaret wondered if she should have better left. But then Queen took a deep breath and calmed down a little. “To stop the Muffin Man, you have to find the Cheshire. Let’s make a deal with him. Let’s promise him a piece of the pie.”

  Chapter 43

  Alice Wonder's house, 7 Folly Bridge, Oxford

  The girl at the door had tears in her eyes. She faced Alice's mother, unable to utter the words coherently.

  "What happened?" Alice's mother shook her, almost predicting what the girl was about to say.

  "I'm sorry, but your daughter, Alice Wonder, died yesterday," the girl announced. Alice's mother sank to her knees, holding on to the girl's hands, as if she had always feared her daughter would die this young.

  "How did she die?" asked Edith, Alice's older sister. Her tone was inquisitive and disbe
lieving. She stood a few steps shy of the threshold, unimpressed by her mother's sentiments.

  "She was present in the Drury Lane Theatre when the audience died of pepper poisoning."

  "There is no such thing as 'pepper poisoning,'" Lorina, Alice's other sister, grunted, smoothening her fingernails behind Edith. Her sister's death seemed unimportant to her. She wanted to know, though. "The audience were poisoned with something that looked like pepper."

  "It's not like that." Edith tapped her sister's hand so she would stop smoothening her fingernails. The sound of it made her go crazy. "They died from sneezing."

  "You can't die from sneezing, Edith." Lorina rolled her eyes. "That's like saying a person could die from too much makeup."

  "If you can die from hiccupping and laughing, you can die from sneezing," Edith said, not taking her eyes off the stranger girl at the door.

  "Shut up!" their mother yelled. "Your sister is dead."

  "Hallelujah!" Lorina rolled her eyes again.

  "We're not sure, Lorina. Don't go on celebrating yet," Edith said. "Why wasn't Alice in the asylum? Did she escape?" she asked the girl at the door.

  "And where to? Theatre?" Lorina felt the urge to roll her eyes for the third time.

  "Unless she was the crazy cook who sneezed the audience to death." Edith snickered and high-fived Lorina.

  "She wasn't the cook," the young girl at the door said politely. "She is dead. I'm sorry."

  "Are you here to send us a death certificate?" Edith asked.

  "No, I'm afraid that is something you will have to do yourself after you confirm her death at the morgue."

  "I'm not going to any morgue," Lorina said. "I just had my hair done."

  "I have an appointment to...get my hair done," Edith said.

  "I will go." The mother stood up feebly.

  "But I'm not here for that, madam," the girl at the door said. "I'm here to collect a photo of Alice Wonder for the obituary, which the Theatre Royal will take care of."

  "I will get you one," the mother offered.

  "I'd prefer to fetch one myself, if you don't mind," the girl said. The two sisters threw her a long, suspicious look. "There is a hefty compensation for you if I pick an appropriate photo that lives up to the standards of our theatre," the girl added.

  "Oh," Edith said, neglecting the absurdness of the girl's request. "Why didn't you say so? Please come in. Do you happen to know how much the theatre will pay us?"

  Chapter 44

  Alice Wonder's room in her mother's house

  The mysterious girl asked to be alone in the room. To ensure the two sister's compliance, she gave them a reward ticket: a lifetime of free food stamps at most of Britain's junk food stores and a sincere apology on behalf of the Theatre Royal for the death of their daughter.

  Edith, who was a bit chubby, with a few freckles on her face, couldn't hide her excitement. Food for life? Now she wouldn't have to worry about the budget she spent on Snicker Snacker double bars, Queen of Hearts Tarts, or the latest Meow Muffins.

  Lorina, on the other hand, said she couldn't use the ticket much, since she had to take care of her figure—and, of course, her delicate fingernails. She said she would invite all of her friends and make them owe her. She believed it was always good to have her friends owe her.

  Alice's mother said she would use the food to give to the poor and ask them to pray for her dead daughter.

  "Insane daughter," Edith corrected her mother. "The fact that she is dead doesn't mean she wasn't insane. If bad people go to hell, and good to heaven, where do the insane go?" She thought it was a funny line, and she laughed at her own joke.

  "Was she really insane?" the girl from the theatre asked.

  "Since she was seven years old," Lorina said, unsatisfied with the stain the ticket caused on her fingertips.

  "Really? What happened?" the girl asked, about to enter Alice's room.

  "We lost her when she was a kid," Edith said. "When she returned, she said she was..."

  "Was what?" The girl was unusually curious.

  "She thought she was Alice and said she had been to Wonderland and back," Lorina replied. "She is insane, no doubt about it."

  "You're not telling it like it is," Edith said. "Why are you hiding the best part of Alice's return?"

  The girl from the theatre almost tiptoed. She definitely had to know about that part. "What was the best part?"

  Lorina shrugged. Edith looked at her mother and back. Her eyes scanned the house as if to make sure there was no one listening. "When she returned, her dress was stained with blood." She craned her neck forward and almost whispered, "She also held a glinting kitchen knife, spattered with someone's blood, in her hand."

  The girl's eyes widened. Either the sisters really hated Alice or they were telling the strangest truth. She decided she'd had enough of this family. Her mission here was precise. All she had was to accomplish it and get out of this madhouse as fast as she could.

  Inside Alice's room, the girl didn't look for a photo of Alice. She looked for anything that had to do with Alice's friends, the accident, or Adam J. Dixon.

  A few moments later, the girl was outside Alice's house, standing before the famous Iris Lake, which streamed out of the River Thames. It was famous for being where Lewis Carroll was inspired to write Alice in Wonderland.

  The girl didn't know any of this. She had been paid to come here and fool the Wonder family so she could enter Alice's room. Mission accomplished. She picked up the phone and dialed a number.

  Chapter 45

  Tom Quad Garden, Christ Church, Oxford University, Oxford

  Listening to the girl on the phone, I nod a couple of times and thank her. I hang up and lean back in the bank I am sitting on, gazing at the Tom Tower at Oxford University. The sky above is a grayish blue. Rain is trickling like hesitant tears on my face. I take a long breath as I fiddle with the sleeves of the pullover I had exchanged with the girl on the phone. She gave it to me, along with her shoes and pants, in exchange of my bloodstained theatre dress. The dress is beautiful, I remember her saying. Blood can always be washed away.

  The rain keeps drizzling in Christ Church.

  The few students in the garden shade themselves under the safety of the university's halls, leaving me almost alone in the middle. I am not going to move. I like the feel of trickling water on my skull. It helps me contemplate the things the girl on the phone just told me.

  "Sometimes I ask myself, what if the door to Wonderland is hidden here inside the university?" The Pillar's voice resonates behind me. I didn't invite him, but he found me. "Imagine if the real rabbit hole were right beneath our feet." He sits next to me and leans forward. He rests his chin on his cane and stares at the Tom Tower like an obedient dog.

  "How did you find me?" I ask.

  "People tend to go to certain places when they feel lost," he says. "Places that resemble a god in many ways. Be it a father, a mother, a mentor, a lover, church, mosque, synagogue, or even a real god." He rubs his nose to resist sneezing, an aftereffect of the infinite amount of pepper we were exposed to in Drury Lane. Thank God we didn't sniff a lot of the pepper. "For a girl like you, who is in many ways a character in a book, your god is definitely the man who wrote it."

  The Pillar is right, and I hate it when he is. I came here hoping I could meet Lewis through the small door in the Tom Tower. I came here to ask him about the meaning of the vision of Victorian England, and why he "couldn't save them." And if possible, I'd like to know how he managed to stay whimsical and optimistic in hard times like these. Maybe I could use his advice to face the cruel world I live in now.

  "How did we escape the theatre?" I break the silence without looking at him, still staring at the Tom Tower.

  "It depends on the last thing you remember." He leans back, both hands on his cane.

  "I remember sneezing and then you puffed hookah smoke into my face. Then I think I..."

  "Blacked out, that's right."

  "What happene
d after I blacked out? How are we the only ones who managed to escape a locked theatre?"

  "The same way I escape my locked cell in the asylum." I sense pride in his words.

  "That's not an answer."

  "It's not meant to be," he says. "The same way you weren't meant to escape my limousine after I saved you."

  "I woke up in a dress stained with pig blood," I explain. "I felt awful and wanted to get away from everyone."

  "Even me?"

  "Especially you."

  "Although I saved you from sneezing to death?"

  "You're not doing it for me. There is some plan you have, and I don't care to know it anymore. I'd just like know how I am still alive."

  "Why is it so important to know how?"

  "To make sure I am not insane." I shrug. "To make sure all of this is really happening."

  "The way I escape closed rooms is meant to stay a secret," he says. "I can't help you with it."

  Dr. Truckle's assumption about the Pillar and Houdini seem plausible now. "Are you a magician, Professor Pillar?" I can't help but turn around and face him, chuckling at my own nonsensical question.

  "What's magic but facts humans are oblivious to see?" He utters the words as if he were a poet quoting Shakespeare.

  "Another one of your vague answers." I sigh, frustrated. "I should stop getting my answers from you. I know I will find them elsewhere if I ask the right person." I look back at the tower.

  "Is that why you sent a girl to your mother's house to gather information about the bus incident?"

  I am not surprised that he knows, but I don't care. I decide to keep silent.

  "Did she find anything useful?"

  "Photos of my friends, some of which she sent to my phone."

  "Recognize anyone?"

  "None. She also found endless scraps of paper with my handwriting."

  "Special phrases?"

  "'I can't go back to yesterday...'"