THE PILLAR'S AMBULANCE, DRIVING THROUGH LONDON
T he Pillar is sitting on the opposite side in the back of the ambulance, curiously inspecting the corpse I mistook for Jack earlier—how 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 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 to 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 into madness will prove I am not Alice, I want 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 at 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 a deep breath. "I need his madness."
"And why would that be?" A mix of admiration and worry flash 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 piques 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 a 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 something to do 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 in 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 could 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 exactly who Jack is 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."