Текст книги "Figment"

Автор книги: Cameron Jace

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Chapter 20

A tear trickles down my cheek as the mortician woman falls to her knees. I do the unimaginable and catch my tear in the palm of my hand before it hits the ground again. If I want to win this, I can't cry. If I could squeeze that tear back in, I would. This tear is me balancing the insanity I am thrown into.

I help the woman in her fall so she doesn't hit her head against something. She stares at me with a horrified expression, unaware of what happened to her. The absence of a grin on her face tells me the Cheshire left her body.

Why not? He wants me to suffer the guilt of hitting an innocent woman.

The mortician keeps sobbing uncontrollably, more in need of an explanation than to mend her wounds.

The corpses have stopped singing and zipped themselves back into their death bags. I can't see the Cheshire anywhere.

"Who are you?" The woman starts to shake me hysterically. Her leg is swollen and bleeding.

"Please calm down," I tell her. "I need you to trust me. There is an evil presence in here."

The woman's eyes are wide open. She scans me from head to toe and then stops at the string wrapped around my toe. Slowly, she raises a reluctant finger, pointing at the empty death bag. "You're dead..." she stutters.

Before I can explain further, she faints.

I help her to the floor and pat her. I can't complain. She did me a huge favor and saved me a lot of time.

Turning around with the mallet in my hands, I look for the Cheshire. I don't know how his soul-possessing works, but he must be in the room because the door is still shut.

What kind of game is he playing with me now?

I walk slowly toward the door, the corpses supposedly resting in peace at my sides. Holding the mallet as if it's a sword does give me confidence somehow. It's amazing what fear does to you when you decide to finally face it. My bare feet, and my body, are still exposed to the chilling cold of the morgue.

Closer to the door, I hear my footsteps echoing. It's unexplainable, but I keep walking.

If the Cheshire has the ability to be invisible, then I really don't have a way to fight back.

Why am I hearing echoes of my footsteps?

I keep limping to the door with a mallet in my hand. Horror movies aren't even close to the condition I am in.

Closer to the door, I realize that what I am hearing aren't the echoes of my footsteps. They are someone else's. And they are approaching from the other side of the door.

How did the Cheshire leave the room without opening the door? And why is he mirroring my footsteps? He must be trying to scare me, that's all.

I grip the door handle, my mallet ready in my other hand. A deep breath helps me to lower my blood pressure, just enough to think straight. All I have to do is pull the door open and then hit hard. That's it. I hope I am really thinking straight. I have no combat training, after all—or if I did, I don't remember it.

I grip the door tighter, and then pull.

I didn't expect that. But like the Cheshire said, the door is locked.

The keychain in the mortician's hand!

I turn around to go fetch the keys from the woman's hands, only to see her standing on her feet again. There is a slight problem with her posture now. She has her head chopped off and holds it in one hand. The other hand holding the keys.

"Looking for these?" She grins.

The Cheshire is back. Who was approaching the door from the other side?

The horrible scene chains me for a moment. But I am about to run full throttle against the Cheshire and hit him. Let's get done with this.

The door behind me suddenly flings open.

I close my eyes, as I suppose another Cheshire-possessed human is behind me. How am I supposed to kill him? Am I supposed to kill the nine of them?

"Alice!" a voice calls from behind me. "Here you are!"

A hefty smile forms on my face. The voice behind the smile is so dear to me. It's Jack Diamonds.

Chapter 21

The mortician's face knots in anger when she hears Jack Diamonds' voice. Jack prefers not to enter the room. It's hard to understand why. He just opened the door from the other side. The Cheshire can't actually see Jack from this angle. I haven't seen Jack yet either; I've only heard his voice.

Please God, don't make it just a voice in my head. But come on, the door is open. It can't be a voice in my head.

It drives the woman mad that someone is saving me.

"Come on, Alice," Jack urges me. I can only see his hand, reaching out from behind the door. "It's so cold where you are. I don't think I can get in."

"But I have to kill him first, Jack," I say.

"Kill who? Is there is someone with you in the room?" He wiggles his hand. "They are all dead."

"Who are you talking to, Alice?" the Cheshire blurts in anger. "There is no one there behind the door."

"Don't play games with me, Cheshire." I raise my mallet, ready to strike, as he is approaching again. "Who else do you think opened the door from outside?"

"I don't know." He shakes his shoulders and puts his head on. Sometimes, I really don't understand his intentions. Is he trying to give me a message so I continue my investigation, or is he trying to hurt me? The more time I spend with him, the more nothing makes sense. "But I know there is no one out there." Now he grins again. "And I know you can't kill me. You might have wounded and injured a poor woman, but you can't kill me."

"Alice!" Jack finally pulls me outside. He does it fast and with a bang. Never have I thought he was that strong. He pulls the door behind me and locks it with a digital code on a pad next to the wall. The code is 1862. The date in my vision when I met Lewis was 1862. What are all these puzzles, and what are they supposed to mean?

"Are you okay?" His hands search my face, looking for a bruise. He makes sure I am all right. Never have I seen someone so concerned about me. "Thank God you're okay, Alice. I was so worried." His cuteness doesn't match his seriousness, but it's understandable. When I lay my eyes on Jack, all I think about is fun.

"I am so glad to see you, Jack." I wrap my hands around him as he touches my face with his gentle hands. His touch is warm. I need it, even inside a morgue. Who the hell are you, Jack? Why do you always come to save me?

With my emotions flaring, I hug him tightly. I embrace his body and feel I'd like to hide inside it. Maybe he could shelter me from the mad world; maybe he could shelter me from my mind.

"Wow," he jokes as he pats me on the back. "It's too soon for that. I like a girl to take it slow, who takes me out for dinner first and tells me funny stories."

I hit him lightly on the chest while I am in his arms. His silly jokes make me think this world isn't worth any anger. I wish I could be like him.

"I was thinking about you, Jack." I stare at the closed door, waiting for the Cheshire to open it from inside at any moment. "You make me feel..."

"Funny?" His hands run through my hair. I can feel his breath on my ears.

I nod.

"You're a funny girl, too," he says. "You just have bad taste in clothes. Always stained with blood."

"Come on, you confessed you liked me in the Vatican. I heard you in the booth," I tease.

"Guilty as charged." He raises a hand to his chest.

"We have to go, Jack." I stare at the door. "He has a key."

"Who has a key?"

"The Cheshire."

"Who?"

"You remember the nasty old woman chasing me in Belgium?"

"Wow. She must hate you so much." He rolls his eyes, not even questioning what is happening.

I nod, not having the strength to explain.

Suddenly, sirens blare outside the asylum as we speak. I gaze at Jack for an explanation.

"It's the police," he says. "We need to get you out of here."

Chapter 22

"I guess someone reported suspicious activity in the morgue," Jack says. "We need to hide from the police. They will not understand."

"What will they not understand, exactly? I have no idea what's really happening."

"Nor do I, Alice," he says. "But it doesn't matter. What matters is we're together. Come on." He pulls my hand and walks me to a side door leading to another doctor's room. I look behind me one last time, wondering why the Cheshire didn't come out. Maybe it's the code Jack entered. Does it prevent the door from getting opened manually with a key?

"Jack, where did you get that code you just entered for the door?" I turn to him.

"There is senior nurse who I saw use it on all other doors, so I gave it a try," he replies. "Let's rid you of this thing in your hand." He tries to pull the mallet away as he closes the door behind us. It's a doctor's private room. "You look like a maniac."

It shocks me that my grip is still tight on the mallet. I can't give it away. My hands are stiffened with fear.

"It's all right, Alice." He gazes straight into my eyes. "It's me, Jack. I won't hurt you." He loosens my hand, finger by finger.

The sirens are getting closer outside.

"Wear this." He hands me a nurse's uniform from the wardrobe. A pair of nerdy glasses and shoes he'd brought from a storage room nearby complete the ensemble. "You will pretend you're the nurse, and I will hide in one of these." He points at one of the death bags on the tables. There are three of them. "You play the nurse and I play dead." He smiles. "Don't forget the nametag." He hands it over. "All you have to do is pull me out and tell the police there were intruders in the morgue. It's common. Thieves love to steal corpses and sell them."

"You think it will work?"

"It's the only chance we have," he says. "Neither of us know what to tell the police when they arrive. Now I have to turn around, so you dress up."

We both turn to opposite sides as the sound of police cars surrounds the morgue. I peek over my shoulder and see if he is checking me out while I am getting dressed.

He is.

But he turns around and clears his throat once I see him. I blush and turn back, facing the wall. I feel awkward being the weak one with Jack, now that my heart is unconditionally open to him. I wonder how intimate we were when he was Adam, my boyfriend. I know we were in love because my heart tells me so, but how intimate?

"Jack," I say, unbuttoning.

"Yes?"

I am contemplating asking him if he knows anything about our past lives, but don't want to turn him away if he thinks I am crazy. "How do you always find me?" I ask instead.

"I don't know, really," he says. "It's strange. I'll be sitting somewhere, and then feel this need to see you. This intuition that you are in danger. And suddenly I find myself near you."

I don't know what to think of that. I pull on the nurse's dress and glasses.

"And you?" he asks. His voice is muffled now, having zipped himself inside the bag.

"Excuse me?" I put on the glasses.

"Aren't you going to tell me where you live so I can pick you up for our postponed date?"

I turn around and smile at his persistence. My face changes when I realize I can't tell him I live in an asylum. He might be a weird guy. But I am nutcase. At least my life fits a nutcase. The song "I am a Nut" replays in my head.

"If we survive this, I might tell you," I say as I roll the bed out to the entrance.

Outside, the main doors spring open, and an endless horde of men with guns enter. I am surprised when they greet me with concern. They ask me if I am all right.

I play shocked for a while and recite the story Jack told me. I point at the Cheshire's room. Funny how they buy it. There aren't any signs of breaking in. But they believe me. They are good to me. Maybe it's my looks, wearing a nurse's outfit.

Is that what the world asks of me? To blend in? A nurse's outfit or a doctor's would do the job? Is that mandatory to fit into any society, to become a recognizable stereotype?

I feel like I've had too much Pillar in my head lately.

Still rolling the bed toward the main door, I am expecting to meet the Pillar's chauffeur on the way.

"Wait!" Someone summons me right before I leave through the main door.

I turn around, and it's another nurse. A buff policeman stands proudly next to her. I hope my cover isn't blown.

"Yes?" I adjust my glasses and wiggle my nose.

"Who's that you are taking out?" the nurse asks.

"A patient who'd been wrongly admitted about an hour ago." I twist the truth. "An ambulance is waiting for him outside to transfer him to another morgue."

"Him?" Her face knots as she reads the charts.

"Oh, silly me." I play nerd of all nerds. "I mean her. It's a deceased girl."

"What's her name again?"

I shrug. "Wonder," I say. "Alice Wonder."

"Hmm..." She nods as the curious officer peeks into her charts.

"She died in a bus accident."

"Oh. That's right." The nurse points at the name on the chart. "Poor girl. She killed her friends, driving a bus herself."

"Really?" I try not to grimace.

"Aren't you from around here?" The police officer chuckles, hands proudly tucked in his belt. "The incident was all over the news a few months ago," Mr. Know-it-all says.

"Ah, I've only worked here for a month." I smile like a weird girl. What am I doing about the fact that it's impossible the corpse is still unharmed when it's a few months old? Why would I be moving it at this point? "I am from a small town near Oxford."

"That's why," the nurse says. "Haven't seen you here before. You're good to go." She waves a hand without looking at me.

"Thank you," I say. "But wasn't this girl admitted to an asylum?"

"Nonsense." The policeman laughs with the nurse. "It's such a rumor. She is dead like the rest. How could she survive the accident when the rest died?"

"Then how did you know she killed them?"

"A note, honey," the nurse says. "She left a note with her sisters before she did it. You talk too much. Now get going. They say we have an injured mortician inside."

I nod and roll Jack outside.

A few strides into the red-and-blue-glaring street, the chauffeur, dressed as a medical driver, approaches me. It takes him a moment to realize I am the one rolling the bed, not the one inside it.

"I believe things didn't go as planned," he says in his mousy voice. Seriously, he has to shave the whiskers off. I shake my head as he ushers me toward the ambulance.

"We thought so when it took you too long to leave the morgue." He opens the back doors for me. "The toe tag prank was the Cheshire's, by the way," he says, and stops me from rolling the bed inside. "Don't ask me how he knew you'd be at the morgue. I guess he expected it."

"A friend is hiding inside," I whisper.

"A friend?" The chauffeur's mousy ears pop out like two pointed parachutes. "Who?"

"His name is Jack."

Suspiciously, the chauffeur zips the bag open, and then stares with confusion at me.

I don't understand the conflict at first. But then I look into the bag. There is no Jack inside. Just the corpse of some guy I don't know.

Chapter 23

The Pillar's ambulance, driving through London

The Pillar is sitting on the opposite side in the back of the ambulance, curiously inspecting the corpse I mistook for Jack earlier—however that happened, I don't know. I can't even think about it. I just thought I had a grip on the thin line between what's real and what's not. I was wrong again.

The nameless corpse is stretched on the ledge between us. The cold metal of the ambulance is set against my back. The chauffeur is driving us to the outskirts of London, so we take the Pillar's limousine back to Oxford and then to the asylum. He is struggling with activating the ambulance's siren, slowing us down. Foolishly, he sticks his head out of the window and yells, "Wee-woo. Wee-woo!" at the dense traffic so they will make way. "Wee-woo. Wee-woo," he repeats. "Ambulance! Dead man in here. Make way!"

I pretend I never saw this happen, and gaze at the Pillar, who is genuinely amused by the corpse in the middle.

The Pillar cocks his head, sucking on a mini hookah with a sticker saying, I know why a raven is like a writing desk. He reaches for the corpse and inspects the deceased's head. It's also chopped off—probably a fresh dead kid sent to the morgue.

How in Charles Lutwidge Dodgson's name did that happen?

The Pillar is interested in the corpse's mouth, touching it and inspecting it. He hands me his hookah for a moment and uses both hands, trying to make the dead man smile.

"It's a shame you can't smile when on your way to meet your maker," he says to the dead. "You don't want to leave a bad impression when meeting Him. It will be the most important interview in your afterlife." He winks at me and pulls his hookah back.

"Hey," he calls his Chauffeur. "If I told you that this miserable corpse"—he stops and points at the deceased—"is too tired to fly up there and meet his maker, what solution would you suggest?"

The chauffeur takes off his hat while driving, scratches his three hairies on his bald, egg-shaped head, and then answers, "Help him with a drag from your hookah?" His eyes widen. "So he could get high enough." He laughs and points upward and then sticks out his head out, blaring another "wee-woo" at the passing cars.

The idea of throwing myself out of the ambulance occurs to me. If this is how they talk in Wonderland, I might not want to be part of it. I am also dazed and confused with Jack's disappearance, but I know the Pillar doesn't like Jack, so talking to him about it will be of no help. I am afraid that my increasing attachment to Jack will only complicate things. Everything that happened to me tonight only worsens the way I feel about myself and the world.

"So, it was the Cheshire who pulled the toe tag prank on you?" The Pillar drags from his hookah, eyes sparkling.

"It's not funny." I scowl. "I feel like I am really going mad, having left the asylum again."

"You feel like you want to give up?" he asks. "You used to be so much more, Alice." He drags from his hookah again as if to distract me from what he is going to say. "Much more muchier in Wonderland. Have you lost your muchness?" He smirks.

I nod, although ashamed. But in all honesty, the incident with Jack wore me down a little. "Every time I feel I can do this business of saving others from Wonderland Monsters, I end up weakened, wishing I just stayed in my cell."

"Congratulations, then." The Pillar's face dims. "You just turned into what the Cheshire wants you to become."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask. "You have no idea what I have been through tonight. You have no idea!"

"The Cheshire wants you to succumb to madness under his pressure," he says, dismissing my whining.

"Succumb to madness?" I blink in confusion. "I thought he wanted to see if I'm the Real Alice."

"Exactly," the Pillar says. "Do you think the Real Alice will 'succumb to his madness'?"

"You mean, other than giving me clues, he tries to see how much unbearable insanity I can handle?"

"Touché. You just described the human condition of everyday life." He seems pleased. "Can't you see that this is what's going on? People falter and succumb under the pressure of madness every day of their lives. Be it work stress, spouse and family, self-actualization, boredom, teen issues, old-age issues, you name it. Madness is all around us. It needs to feed on us." He spreads his hands wide. "But only..." He leans a bit forward and points a finger in the air.

"...Wonderlanders can stand it," I finish.

A generous, curvy smile adorns his face. It's one of the very few smiles I like on him. It's like seeing through a devil hiding in the dark, glimpsing a faint possibility of goodness in him. "You don't realize what kind of madfest Wonderland was, do you? It was beautiful."

I wonder what your real story is, Pillar? Who are you, and why are you helping me?

"Why is it so important the Cheshire makes sure I'm the Real Alice?" If giving in to madness will prove I am not Alice, I wish to know why it is so important he finds her.

"It's the only way to ensure he wins the Wonderland Wars, which I am—"

"You're not going to tell me what it is now. I get it. Just tell me why he can't win without me."

The Pillar hesitates. He looks down to his shoes and purses his lips. "You have something he wants. I don't know what it is. I might know what it does, but I'm not in the mood to tell you."

Although I have no idea what I have that the Cheshire wants, I nod. It makes sense. The Cheshire needs to make sure I am the Real Alice so he can get that mysterious thing he wants from me—whatever that is. It occurs to me that maybe that is what the Pillar is after, too. He is only helping me to get that thing.

"You see, this is why he will go to hell and back with you to make sure you are her," the Pillar elaborates. "There is no one else he thinks is the Real Alice at the moment, so there is no competition. He actually wants you to be her, so he will push you into the pits of madness like no one has ever experienced before."

"I don't mind." I take deep breath. "I need his madness."

"And why would that be?" A mix of admiration and worry flashes in his eyes, almost the same I saw on the Cheshire's.

"Because I need to know if I am the Real Alice."

"Understandable." He nods.

"I assume I don't know what it is he wants from me because I don't remember it, right?"

"I have no idea why you don't know, Alice," he says. "My intuition from the very first day is that it's you. Now, shall we not waste more time, as you have become a whining-fest yourself lately?" His tone peaks with enthusiasm. "We have a clue. A string of clues, actually. The Cheshire kills fat kids, chops off their heads, and stuffs them with Meow Muffins, then stuffs the head in a watermelon or a football. I really don't know how someone can stuff a head in watermelon, but it's a piece of art."

"These were exactly his words." I look straight at him.

"To know one's enemy is to read their mind."

"I agree. So what was the Muffin Man song all about?" I say. "He said it was a blatant clue, since we couldn't read any of the others."

"The Muffin Man rhyme definitely has to do something with Meow Muffins." The Pillar rubs his chin. "I'd presume the Muffin Man manufactures the Meow Muffins or something. But I'm not sure."

"Isn't that a well-known nursery rhyme?"

"The rhyme was first recorded in an old British manuscript," he explains. "Presumably around 1820. Some say 1862, but it's all assumptions."

"Isn't that Victorian times?" I remember the vision I had of Lewis again. It happened 1862. I can't tell the Pillar about it. Lewis told me not to tell anyone.

"It is. I know it's tempting to link the rhyme with Lewis," he says. "Sadly, I never came across the 'Muffin Man' phrase in any of Carroll's works."

"Neither have I ever heard about a Muffin Man in Wonderland," I agree.

"Let's get back to the asylum," he says. "I always have a clearer head among the Mushroomers. We need to get going before half of the country wakes up with the heads of their kids stuffed in watermelons. We have a lot of work to do."

"One last thing." I raise a finger at him.

"We don't have time, Alice." He peeks at his pocket watch.

"This is important," I insist. "I won't have anything to do with this case if you don't listen to me."

"I get it." He shakes his head. "Jack."

"How do you know?"

"He's the only one who makes your eyes go so sparkly." He rolls his eyes, not fond of the idea of love. "What about him?"

"Who is he?" I demand. "I need an answer."

The Pillar purses his lips as if he is afraid the truth could spurt out against his will.

"Look. I met him inside—"

"Inside the morgue?" The Pillar squints. "Again?"

"Yes. And like always, he saved me."

"I am not surprised."

"I tucked him in a death bag to fool the nurse and the officer so we'd leave the morgue," I say. "Outside, I discovered he wasn't there in the bag anymore."

"Don't tell me it's this miserable fellow you found." He points at the corpse, and I nod. "And I thought you began to pick up on Wonderland's nonsensical humor and brought me a sample."

"Do you know how this is possible?" I pray he has an answer. This is so important to me.

"I do." He closes his eyes for a second. What is it he knows about Jack?

"But you're not going to tell me?"

The Pillar says nothing. He glances briefly at the chauffeur then breathes back into his hookah.

"Look at me," I demand. "Is Jack a fig—"

"I will tell you who Jack is exactly when you finish this mission." He is strict, although not looking at me. I want to believe him.

"Deal." I stretch a hand across the corpse. Somehow, delaying the knowledge of Jack's identity is a relief to me, because I am so afraid there is no Jack in the first place. I wave my stretched hand again, but the Pillar isn't shaking it back.

"I prefer we don't shake hands." He looks irritated. "Germs and bacteria, Alice." He points at his gloves. "You just came out of a morgue, for Edgar Allan Poe's sake."

The rude son of a...

I take my hand back. I don't care. I need to solve the Muffin Man puzzle, stop the crimes, and maybe know if I am the Real Alice, and then my reward will be knowing who Jack is. Please, God, give me a reasonable explanation to his existence.

"You know it's not 'wee-woo,' don't you?" the Pillar says to his chauffeur with a tinge of disgust in his voice.

"Then what is it, Professor Pillar? Please help me," the chauffeur says. People driving by swear at him. Other London drivers fire back at him, saying things like "You're a nut!" and "Get your sorry ass back inside!"

"It's 'woo-wee,' not 'wee-woo,' you mousy fool!" The Pillar takes a drag and smiles at me. "Everybody knows that."

I try not to laugh and lean back, thinking of the Muffin Man puzzle. It occurred to me how crazy the journey has been. I mean, last week I met so many humans who turned out to be Wonderlanders. Who'd believe me if I told them? The thought opens a question in my mind. "Tell me, Pillar," I say in the same investigative tone he practices on me. "If Margaret Kent is the Duchess, Fabiola is the White Queen, you are the Caterpillar, and of course the Cheshire is the Cheshire, then I have to wonder how many other Wonderlanders live among us here."

"Oh, Alice," the Pillar says. "They are many, not mentioning those the Cheshire hadn't set free yet."

"I mean, Margaret Kent is a Parliament woman. Fabiola is the Vatican's most beloved nun. Does it get crazier than this?"

The Pillar leans back and smiles with beady eyes. "You have no idea."