The Radcliffe Asylum
T itling my head, I watch the host announce the March Hare being the mastermind behind the terrorist organization. Professor Carter Pillar, also known as Pilla da Killa, with twelve — or fourteen — people killed, proves to be an easy target. It’s really easy to fake a story about him being a terrorist.
Tom almost chuckles as he watches the Pillar’s profile, blood covered in Tibet, making fun of the Duchess in the Drury Lane Theatre, shooting people left and right, CCTV cameras showing him killing people inside parliament — my naive soul dragged along in a chair, of course — and last but not least, the Pillar’s bloodbath in Colombia.
“I do remember the BBC portraying him as a hero a few weeks back,” I comment. “They praised him for stopping the greatest drug lord in the world.”
“People forget, Alice,” Tom says. “The media can easily turn yesterday’s heroes into today’s villains. News is sometimes like bad remakes of remarkable movies. All jumbled up.”
I watch the Pillar’s footage of killing drug traffickers in Mushroomland, now portrayed as an insider war between drug lords. In truth, it’s hard to blame anyone. I, myself, don’t know what to think of this man.
However, something else puzzles me.
“If whoever invited us all had a chance to kill the Pillar, why didn’t he?” I ask Tom.
“I am assuming it’s someone in Black Chess,” Tom says. “For some reason the search for the Keys and the whole Inklings against them didn’t matter anymore. They know something we don’t. Something powerful.”
“Enough to want to ambush and kill us?”
“Why not? They don’t need us. Not even the Pillar. And because they’re not sure they can do it themselves — considering you and the Pillar always stand in the way — they decided to make you the public’s enemy number one.”
“I understand why we’re now terrorists, but I have a feeling I don’t understand what you’re implying.”
“Think of it, Alice.” Tom stares at the TV. “Don’t you see what’s going on? Our photos are being engraved in the minds of every British citizen in the world. We’re doomed. We’re the reason for every mother, father, and children’s pain in the last few years. This isn’t just about killing us.”
“Then what is it about?”
“It’s about labeling us. Even if we make it out of here, how can we ever persuade people we’re the good guys? By telling them we’re characters from Carroll’s book who just happened to be real? It’s some devious, and genius plan.”
Tom is right.
Having been concerned with the puzzle of my own family, I overlooked the fact that we’re deep in the mud right now. It’s going to be hard to even fight Wonderland Monsters anymore. I wonder if this is really our end.
My thoughts are interrupted by the Pillar’s moans. He raises his heavy head for a brief moment, glances at me with beady eyes, then falls back again.
This is when a slither of hope slices through the grayness of the situation. “What if the Pillar was sent here for another reason?” I challenge Tom.
“Who cares? We’re all mad corpses waiting for exile.”
“Don’t be like that,” I try to cheer him up. “It’s time you think of what’s happening, Dr. Truckle.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you remember why you’ve installed the surveillance cameras inside his cell?”
“Of course, I remember.” Tom was about to burst, but a soft breeze of epiphany cooled him down instantly. “Holy Lord of the Rings. You’re a genius, Alice. How did I forget about that? The Pillar knows how to escape from the asylum and return as he pleases.”
“See? There is hope after all.” I smile.