Authors: Cameron Jace
Dr. Tom Truckle taunts me for ten minutes for being late and jeopardizing his reputation by being a hero. He doesn’t care whatsoever about saving the girl. I feel better about the way the Pillar blackmails him. Also, I try to tell him to get over it. I had shoved the girl out to the public and escaped through the window Jack used. No one had seen me save her but the Pillar’s chauffeur, and the few tourists who cannot prove anything but the existence of a mad girl who ate a block of cheese at the Great Hall. And of course, the media began showing the mad video of the girl who ate the block of cheese, and began connecting me to saving the girl.
Tom permits me to see the Pillar one last time, before I am shoved back to the ward underground. He has given my Tiger Lily to the Pillar, just to anger me. Now, I will have to get it from the Pillar.
As I walk the VIP lounge, I don’t think I could have done much without the Pillar whom I have no idea what to think of. And Jack, who is a total mystery. The fact that every passing second brings me closer to the idea of the existence of a real Wonderland, that everyone I meet seems to be part of it, is both enchanting and maddening at the same time.
I sit on the chair facing the Pillar’s bars, feeling super powerful though.
"Some people say that Lewis Carroll must have been on drugs to write such a whimsical, nonsensical, and radical tale as Alice’s Adventures Under Ground." The Pillar shoots me with one of his seemingly irrelevant remarks, like always. He doesn't even glance at me, treating the hookah as if he's fixing his new Porsche.
"In Wonderland, you mean." I fidget, caught in his mad reality again.
"It was called Under Ground, until Lewis published his first draft in 1865,” the Pillar educates me. “Two thousand copies were published before he came to his senses and collected them back from the market, to republish it again as Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.”
“Why did he do that?” I am astonished at the way he can change the conversation. I thought we were going to talk about what happened today.
“That’s a big question,” he wiggles his gloved finger. “I don’t really have the answer. Historians will tell you that John Tenniel, his genius painter, wasn’t satisfied with the pictures. The truth is, Lewis hid a lot of messages inside the book, which at first draft, didn’t seem that hidden to Tenniel. Lewis needed to rewrite it one last time.”
“Did he succeed in pulling back the two thousand copies from the market?”
“All but fifty copies,” the Pillar raises his copy, as if he is holding the Olympic torch. “This is one of them.”
“So that's why you treat it like your personal Wonderland bible.”
“I don't think I am a bible man, Alice--I love comics though," he says "But I get your metaphor. There are chapters in here that have never been seen by human eyes.” He steps to a brighter spot in the cell. For the first time, I notice that something is wrong with the Pillar’s skin. It’s why he probably wears too much cloth. It’s like he has a mild allergy, and it looks like his skin is slightly peeling off.
“Why did the Cheshire tell Constance that a girl named Alice was going to save her?” I cut in. There are so many questions in my head. I need an answer to one or two, at least.
"Isn't it strange when you talk about Alice in third person, as if it's not you?"
I shrug. It's the question I have been escaping all day. "I am not Alice," I tell him, even though Constance made me think I must be her. But thinking it over on my way back, I found the idea unbelievable. "I can't be, not even logically. The real Alice lived in the 19th century. We're in the 21st."
"When it comes to Wonderland, what's logic got to do with it?" he says. “You know what I think? I think you're afraid to be Alice."
“Why would you say that?”
“Because you think you’re fragile. The craziness you’ve seen in the so-called sane world is too much for you.” His eyes are unusually piercing. “I mean, just click your TV on and look at the madness in the world. Wars, killing, envy, hatred, and the whole nine yards. It doesn’t look too encouraging, going out there and helping people, not when you could just spend your time in this cozy cell and bed downstairs. It’s easy downstairs, isn’t it?" He cranes his head forward. "You’re sure you got a place to sleep at night. You don’t have worries about tomorrow. And in your case, you have no past to haunt you. And all you have to do in exchange for food is entertain the wardens with thirty minutes of shock therapy every now and then. Life is just so easy for the mad.”
I find my hands laced together as I listen to his words. I hate how he sees right through me. I haven’t thought about it like that exactly, but he hit the jackpot about the world outside. I wasn’t comfortable with it, and wished I’d return to the crazy cell I was trying to escape all of the time. It’s a horrible feeling. It feels inhuman and wrong. But so is my fear of the sane people out there. When I think of it, I haven't met a Mushroomer downstairs who is capable of trapping a girl in a dark crawlspace, like the Cheshire did.
“You know who mad people really are, Alice?” the Pillar speaks with his pipe between his lips. “Just lazy people who took the easier way out in life.”
"Please give me some of that stuff you're smoking." I try to make it sound like a joke, hiding the fact that he is getting to me. "It seems very good."
"Beware of what you wish for, Alice," he says. "I'm one of the few Lewis wrote about accurately. I mean, without mushrooms, hookahs, and smoke, where'd I be?" he stands up and starts tapping his feet in place. It's funny seeing him dance and enjoy himself. Whether he is a real killer or a hoax still puzzles me.
"May I ask why you're dancing now?"
"It's not a dance. It's a Caucus Race. You run so fast, still in the same place," he says, so into it. "It reminds me that we can't escape our fates. But enough about me, Alice. How did it feel to save Constance today?"
"It felt..." I shrug. “It felt really good. Heart-wrenching, but good. I feel like if I end up living in the sane world, I need to save a soul every day to cling to my sanity.”
The Pillar smiles broadly.
“What’s that smile on your face?”
“You said it yourself,” the Pillar says. “The only way to stay sane in the world outside is to save a soul every day. How about we do it again? And then maybe, again?"
"I thought I was getting out to prove my sanity. Is that what I am here for? To save people from mad people and Wonderland Monsters?"
"Questions. Questions. Questions. Don't you ever learn that questions don't ever get answered unless I ask them?" he says. "Questions are the lazy man's way to try to learn, when the only way to learn is not to ask."
"Then what is the only way to learn?"
"To live, of course," he tilts his head. "Look at me. Not really a role model, but I am a fine example of living. You'd think I'm stoned and lightheaded, but you know that the stuff I learned is endless. That's because I allowed myself to live every moment of it."
"Whatever," I stand up. "I said it as a metaphor. I don't really want to save someone every day. The outside world is too mad for me," I let out an uncontrolled laugh. "I think I better stay here. I believe you promised me I'd get my Tiger Lily back." I see it next to the couch. Someone has been taking care of her. She looks fine.
"As you wish, Alice," he pushes the pot my way. "As you wish."
I take the pot, and feel its warmth in my heart. I paid a great price to get my friend back.
Chapter 29
Underground Ward, the Radcliffe Asylum, Oxford
Holding my precious pot, I walk among my fellow mad people back to my room. Waltraud taps her prod on her hand as she walks behind me. The patients on both sides stare at me, wondering where I have been all day. It's as if they secretly know I have been to the outside world, and are wondering what it was like. I smile at them and they tilt their heads, wondering why I am smiling today.
I know why. I am back home.
Waltraud informs me that it’s too late for me to start shock therapy, but she promises me great pain soon. She and Ogier aren't finished with me yet, after I tried escaping last time. I see a plaster on her nose from when I pushed her face in the bucket. Whatever pain they impose on me, it won't be as bad as knowing there are killers out there killing young girls.
I enter my cell and place my flower at the wall with the slight crack in it. Tomorrow she'll enjoy sunshine for ten minutes again. Before I lay to sleep, I run my fingers on the writing on the wall. It still says the fourteenth of January and has a key drawn underneath. I know for a fact that we're not in January. It’s mid-December. Christmas is on the way. I have no idea what the date means. Why January the fourteenth?
As for the key, I have no clue what it means. Who wrote this on my wall?
Tired of questioning, I call it a day, and lay me down to sleep.
***
Usually my dreams in the asylum are short and make no sense. This time I dream of standing at a bus stop. I look younger, probably seventeen. I'm holding someone's hand. I think it must be Adam J. Dixon’s. His is wearing a hood and I can't see his face. My first impression is that he is not Adam. He could be the Pillar playing games with me. Even worse, the Cheshire Cat. After all, I don't know what Adam and the Cheshire look like. How can I forget the face of someone I loved?
Whoever I am holding hands with squeezes it in a gentle way. It's a warm squeeze, filled with love and care. I need it. I haven't felt this safe before. It's not the Cheshire or the Pillar. It has to be Adam.
A number of other students come over and wait at the bus stop. They are all happy. They are laughing. They high-five Adam and talk to him. They call him
Aay Jay.
I am afraid they'll ignore me. None of their faces ring a bell, and they are supposed to be my classmates.
"Alice!" a girl cheers. And then another. They raise their hands to high-five me. Hesitantly, I clap back. They ask me how I have been. One girl whispers in my ear that she had always had an eye on Adam, but now that we're together, she wishes me luck. She doesn't say it in a mean way. She is happy for me. She even points at my sisters, Lorina and Elsie, standing at the bus stop opposite to us. They don’t say a word. Their eyes say it all. They don’t like me.
Adam is taller than me. He bows his head with the hood still on and whispers in my ear. "I heard that," his voice is so musical, I want to play it over and over again. "They don't know that
I
am the lucky one," he squeezes my hand again.
The bus arrives before I get to talk back to him, or see his face. He pulls me ahead and we get on the yellow bus. The atmosphere is ethereal. Everything just fits. I think the sky is even pinkish in my dream. If this was my life before the asylum, then I'm better off dead now, without Adam and my friends.
Yes, I know I'm dreaming and it seems I'm the only who knows this is in the past. The others they are just happy, cracking jokes. I am supposed to have spent a lot of time with them, but I don't remember one face. The bus takes off, and I'm starting to doubt we're heading to school, or we wouldn't be that happy.
Adam keeps talking to the others, while I'm occupied with the bus. My sisters said I killed everyone on a bus. Could it be this one? I stand up and walk the aisle, looking for a stranger on the bus. It's my gut feeling that tells me there is an intruder in here. I know I'm not crazy. I couldn’t have killed all those happy people I seem to love. Why would I?
I eye each passenger, but don't see someone I know or suspect. It even crosses my mind that I might find my envious sisters on the bus. Maybe they did it, but they aren't here.
I reach the beginning of the bus, near the driver's seat, when I realize who the intruder is. The bus driver has rabbit ears.
I rub my eyes and stare back at everyone. They don’t seem to see that. I take a step forward and notice the sign says the bus is driving to 83 St. Aldates Street in Oxford, the same street where I got off at the Tom Tower this morning.
"You’re late, you’re late, for an important date," a voice mocks me. A voice I hate the most. It's the rabbit driver. He is the same rabbit I see in the mirror, with his white hair dangling down his face, except I can see his teeth now. They are pointed, like a scary clown. The rabbit has a pocket watch dangling from his hand.
“Leave me alone,” I say. “I’m not mad.”
“How is this for madness?” The rabbit pushes the gas pedal and speeds up, crossing over to the opposite side of the road. The bus is swooshing against the cars driving our direction. He wants to kill us all. I jump on him and grip the wheel, trying to stop the bus, but the rabbit is too strong. I can't steer the wheel.
My friends in the back scream, “Don’t do it, Alice! Don't kill us!"
I have no idea why they think it’s me. I turn back and the rabbit is gone. The bus is on the loose. When I raise my head to look at the cars, glass splinters in my face. We've already crashed. It's time to wake up from the dream. How in the world did I survive this?
Chapter 30
Public Transportation Bus, Oxford
I wake up shaking in my seat. Yes, I am in a seat, and on a bus. Not the one in my dream, but a real one, outside of the asylum.
“Bad dreams?” the Pillar rests both his hands on a cane next to me. We’re sitting in the front seat of the bus. I crane my head to see the driver. He isn't a rabbit. Instead, it's that mouse-looking dude who must be working for the Pillar. He is wearing an Irish hat this time.
The sun is shining feebly outside. I think it’s the next day already.
“I dreamt of a school bus,” I rub my eyes, checking out my modern Alice outfit. “Am I still dreaming?”
“Hit the brakes, please!” he shouts at the bus driver, who hits the breaks abruptly. Cars screech and people honk their horns behind us, as I almost bang my head on the pole.
“Does this feel like a dream to you?” the Pillar says, and signals for the driver to proceed.
“You stole a public bus?” I furrow my eyebrows.