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
The dress is beautiful
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 "
"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 happened 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...'"
"'...because I was someone else then,'" he finishes.
"Over and over again. You want to tell me what that's about?"
He shakes his shoulders nonchalantly.
"What really bothers me, she found no evidence of my Tiger Lily in my room," I say. "I mean if I feel so attached to that flower, wouldn't she at least find a photo or a book about flowers?"
"Forget about your flower," he says. "Did she find any photos of Jack?"
"Yes. Very nice photos. We were in love." I hold a single tear back, pressing harder on the phone.
"How do you know you were in love?"
"The way we looked at each other. It's the way only lovers do."
"Just that?"
"You wouldn't understand," I say. "There is one photo where Jack and I are at an
"I'm wearing an Alice outfit in the photo. Adam is wearing a"—I shrug—"Jack of Diamonds outfit, pretending to be one of the Queen's cards."
"I see." He drums his cane on the grass.
"Is that why I'm imagining Jack?" I turn back to face him. "Is the memory of that day so important to me that I imagined Adam resurrected as Jack? Is that true?"
"I thought you were sure he existed. A lot of other people saw him, too, didn't they?"
"But you never admitted seeing him."
"I pointed at Jack in the theatre and asked the host to make him wear the Cheshire costume, didn't I?"
"You may have been bluffing." I am guessing. "To get rid of the Cheshire's costume. Even so, why did you pretend you didn't see him before? Why did you say I was going to be with Jack in a few minutes if I died in the theatre?"
"Knowing Jack's true identity isn't going to make your life easier, Alice." He says it with all the confidence in the world.
"But you will tell me when this mission ends?"
"I can tell you now, if you want." He turns and dares my eyes.
I don't stare back. I didn't expect him to say that. My jaw drops. I have too many mixed feelings orbiting in my chest.
"I thought so," the Pillar says. "You're not ready to know. It's typical of people to keep seeking answers they can't handle yet. Questions are easy. Everyone's got many. Answers are hard, and usually unlikable."
Again, I hate it when the Pillar is right. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Delaying the truth a day or two isn't going to kill me. I am so afraid Jack is a figment of my imagination. I can't handle it if he is. Who has their boyfriend return from the dead? It's such a blessing, I can't deny.
In the darkness of my closed eyes, I glimpse a faint image of the homeless children in Victorian England. It urges me to open my eyes again and ask, "Now, tell me why you're really here."
"I know who the Muffin Man is, and the reason behind his killings."
I lean forward and stare directly at him. "I'm listening."
"Third-degree citizen?"
"The lowest rank in Wonderland. We called them 'Galumphs.' Bloody mean, if you ask me," he says. "There was a rumor he had been one of the Queen's advisors, specializing in crops and farming. But I can't confirm that.
"My assumption is the Queen punished him,
him, and sent him to work with the Duchess, who had always been Queen's favorite. But I'm not sure. I never visited the Duchess in Wonderland. I had always been friends with my mushrooms and hookah more than anything. Whatever the Muffin Man's story is, I believe Lewis knows it better."
"Do you at least know why he was obsessed with pepper, like it was mentioned in the book?"
"I have no idea," he says. "But what I'm about to tell you is a complicated story, so you have to bear with me and listen carefully." He stands up, stretches his arms, and enjoys the drizzle on his face. "Let's take a walk outside the university. I'd hate for you to spend your time out of the asylum sitting."
I comply. He reaches for my hand. I don't comply.
We walk slowly outside on St. Aldate's, saying nothing. It's as if he wants to enjoy the simple things in life for a few seconds. It does help me feel at ease.
The Pillar stops by some kids eating chocolate bars and asks for one. I notice most of these children are overweight, like the ones who died and the ones I saw in Richmond Elementary School. I look up at other kids walking by. Most of them are a little overweight for their ages as well.
A young girl gives the Pillar a chocolate bar, but he returns it and asks for the
We keep walking.
"You see this chocolate bar?" he asks. "This is a Snicker Snackers bar, just like Happy Tart Bars, Bojoom Bars, and all the other
"The Meow Muffin among the list," I remind him. "What about them?"
"Don't you think this bar is a little too big in both size and portion?"
"You're answering a question with a question. I'm not following."
"Right answers are found if you ask the right questions," he says, unhappy with me interrupting him. "Did you ever stop in front of a junk food store and wonder how many disadvantages this kind of food has?" He is dead serious. "All the exaggerated carbs, the saturated fat, and the oil used over and over again until it has lost its elasticity and natural color? Did you ever think this kind of food isn't much different from slow-poisoning yourself?"
"So?"
"So?" He asks this as if I am a dumb student, unable to understand the professor's lecture. "Did you ever research the ingredients of the hamburger you just ate, or ask what they inject into chickens to make them look so fat and delicious? Why the meat you bought feels so plastic you can't bite through it?"
Having known the Pillar for a while, I'm aware that he never talks in straight and clear sentences. I need to focus and read the truth between the lines. I am hoping this is leading somewhere.
"Actually, I did," I say. "Waltraud Wagner, the asylum's warden, gorges on such stuff all the time. Snacks, sweets, and stuff. She rarely eats a
"I never thought of it, but now that you've mentioned it..."
"How about why there are only few commercials about vegetables, fruits, or natural foods?" He is like a train of unstoppable questions. "Why mostly chocolate, crackers, and fizzy drinks?"
I pull him by the hand and stop him. He complies. "What has any of this to do with the Muffin Man? What are you saying exactly?"
"This bar in my hand. Why is two pieces, Alice?" He taps it on his hand, a bit violently.
I read the cover. "Because it's for two people, not one."
"When was the last time you shared your Twinkie, Alice?" It's a rhetorical question, just like all the others. "The answer is 'almost never.'"
"Are you saying the Muffin Man is punishing us for allowing our children to grow fat at a young age, for letting them eat food that hurts them more than it helps them grow healthier?" I try to skip the lecture and get to the point.
"If you want to know the Muffin Man better, you need to study his surroundings." He holds me by the arms as if wanting to wake me up from sleepwalking. "Every killer, terrorist, and corrupted person you meet is a reflection of society. Look into the world around us and you will understand his insanity," he says. "You know why most terrorists and those who cause human destruction are never caught, Alice?"
For the first time, this isn't a rhetorical question. The Pillar expects me to answer it. It explains why the Wonderland Wars are beyond the reach of the police—the police who only follow physical evidence and logical procedure, dismissing the core method of catching a lunatic: knowing who he really is.