Oxford University, Wonderland, 1889
A seventeen-year-old Alice Wonder ran across the Tom Quad, hardly catching her breath. Her jaw had tightened and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her facial muscles froze with horror at what she was about to witness.
She tried to wave at the man standing in the distance but her hands went numb. Her heart was about to burst out of her ribcage and splinter into a million Tiger Lilies as she struggled to keep her pace. A thought crossed her mind: He did it. The darkest villain of Wonderland really did it.
Alice panted, stumbled and almost fell, but insisted on reaching her destination. She tried to shout but the heavy rain dissolved her words into useless droplets of water, spat out of her trembling lips. Crying was inevitable. Why not when the sky seemed to be weeping too?
God, this couldn’t be happening? She was only seventeen years old. Alice Wonder, the girl whom Lewis Carroll based his timeless bestseller upon. The girl who inspired many, and was supposed to have a great life ahead. The girl who’d brought joy and happiness to the children of Wonderland — and the world.
Again, she was about to stumble and fall on her way. It seemed like the slippery grass was conspiring to slow her down. The rain, too. Even the flowers rocked to the heavy wind, as if talking to her. Whispering: Don’t go, Alice. You won’t like what you will see. Just don’t do it.
Oxford’s perpetual mist of grey blurred her vision. It shaded the Victorian architecture of the university and morphed it into the creepy sight of a haunted mansion instead.
Don’t go in there, Alice! She thought she heard the flowers screaming at her now. What you will see will change you forever!
But she wouldn’t stop, though she was limping now. She had to see for herself.
“Lewis!” She managed to scream feebly.
Lewis stood by the door leading to the university’s choir room in Christ Church. He stood in his priest’s outfit, hands laced in front of him, collected in spite of the pouring rain. Silent and wise in spite of what had just happened.
But he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“What happened?” She asked, her hands flapping sideways, trying to help her balance on her weakening knees.
“Don’t come in here, Alice,” Lewis pleaded, still not meeting her eyes.
“Why?” She choked on the words, her eyes widening with morbid curiousity. “Is it real?”
“Just go away,” he said. “I’m begging you.”
“Why, Lewis? Why?” She knew why, but she had to ask. She had to pretend it didn’t happen. That what the March Hare had just told her was wrong. That the Inklings were wrong. It just didn’t happen.
“I don’t see the point of you seeing it with your own eyes.” Lewis raised his head and looked at her with swollen, moist, and caring eyes. Like the rain and the grass, he was trying to protect her. But his stare unintentionally exposed her to the great pain she was about to suffer. A prelude to the madness she was about to witness.
“No!” She shrieked, only strides away from him. “This can’t be true.”
“Be strong.” Lewis took her into his arms. “Promise me you’ll be strong.”
Alice sobbed so hard she thought she’d collapse and die from the lack of breathing.
“Say it isn’t so.” Her muffled words longed for Lewis’ warm heart. She hit him feebly, but her hand was too weak. It slipped and then fell as if she were dead already. “Please, tell me it isn’t so.”
“I’m sorry, Alice.” Lewis patted her. “He did it, Alice. I’m so sorry.”
She lifted her head up, her eyes buried in a grave of tears. “All of them?”
“Yes,” Lewis said.
“The children?”
“Them, too.” Lewis said. “He killed them all.”