RADCLIFFE ASYLUM, OXFORD
T om Truckle, protected by the asylum’s guards, welcomed his twin son and daughter and pulled them inside immediately.
“Issue Plan-X now,” he ordered his guards, hugging his teenagers.
But Todd and Tania weren’t fond of their father. They never had been. Tom knew they’d only accepted his call to shelter themselves from the apocalypse outside.
Tom showed them to the underground ward and tucked them safely in the best cell possible.
“It’s not clean,” Tania protested.
“Horrible,” Todd followed. “Just like you, Dad.”
“How about a little patience?” Tom argued. “Once all is set, I’ll get Waltraud or Ogier to clean it for you.”
“Waltraud?” Tania raised her thick eyebrows.
“Ogier?” That was Tom.
Both of them laughed hysterically. Although boy and girl, sometimes when they laughed like this, he couldn’t tell who was who for a moment. All Tom knew was that his kids tended to be a little evil from time to time.
“Enough with that,” he said. “Look, why don’t you two play with that lovely Flamingo in there?”
Todd and Tania marched toward it, not lovingly but more like they were disgusted by it.
“Okay.” Tom pulled them back, realizing he cared for the Flamingo more than anything. “Just wait here. I know who can show you discipline around here. Waltraud!”
But Waltraud didn’t reply.
Tom called for her again.
And again.
Finally, one of the guards told him Waltraud had left the asylum.
“Why?” Tom questioned. “She loves it here. She adores the Mush Room.”
“But she loves the world outside better now,” the guard said. “She took her baseball bat with her and told us she wouldn’t miss all those fights outside.”
Before Tom could comment, his twins, Todd and Tania, summoned him again, complaining about something else in the cell. No matter how hard he tried to please them, he couldn’t, but he had to go grant them one more wish.
“Yes, Tweedles,” he said. “I’m coming over.”
Their mother used to call them Tweedledum and Tweedledee when they were younger.