OXFORD. THE HOUR OF TRUTH, 5:30 PM
A lice, at the hour of truth, was a bit off her rocker. She was about to kill the lights in the Inklings when she saw Lewis Carroll sitting on one of the tables.
“I’m not imagining you, am I?”
“No,” he said, resting one leg on another, his hands gently set on his legs. “It’s one of the privileges of the Inklings. Sometimes I can pass through and meet you in this world.”
“So what are you? Dead?” Alice stood frozen.
“It’s complicated, and I don’t have much time to tell you,” he said. “I’m here to thank you.”
“Thank you!” His funny, curious rabbit peeked out of his pocket.
“For what?”
“For not killing me—Carolus, I mean.”
“Yeah, about that,” Alice said. “How did you let that happen, Lewis? I can’t believe something so evil could come out of you.”
“It’s a long story. Now is not the time to talk about it.”
“Then what do you want to talk about?”
“That you have to stop worrying if you’re the real Alice or not,” he said. “I’m telling you, it’s you.”
“Yes, sure,” she said reluctantly. “But how can I be sure you’re real in the first place? How can I be sure anything is real?”
“How can anyone be sure, Alice? People walk in a haze all day. You think they’re sure of anything? The trick isn’t to be sure.”
“Then what is the trick?”
“The trick to believe.”
“Believe that things are true no matter what?”
“No. Believe in yourself.” He stood up. “I need to go now, so again, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“By the way,” he stopped before disappearing. “You never asked me why I was grateful you didn’t kill Carolus.”
“Isn’t it obvious? So you don’t die?”
“Everyone dies, Alice,” Lewis said. “I thanked you because if you had killed Carolus, I’d never have known if I could beat him myself.”
Alice considered it for a moment. It was a good point of view. “Wait. I just realized you’re showing up in the hour of truth. Does that mean you’re real?”
But then Lewis was gone, and the lights went out.