Outside the Asylum
T he Queen’s gloating had been spoiled with a knock on her window. She rolled it down a fraction of an inch. An Interpol officer bobbed his head and informed her through the tiny opening that they needed her to kindly step outside. Rolling down the window further, the Queen spat on him and humiliated him for a while, but finally gave in, realizing that something unexpected had happened.
Something that seemed like a devious twist in a well-planned script.
“What?” She burped in the face of the officer standing in front of the asylum. “Who wants to talk to us?”
“Carter Pillar.”
“Why? He is a terrorist and will die in a few hours.”
“He is offering a solution out of this situation.”
“Solution?” she roared. “As if we’re not the ones with the upper hand now.”
The officer leaned closer, whispering. “In the public’s eye we can’t deny him that, or we’d be crucified.”
The Queen fidgeted in her place. “What does the Pillar want?”
“He sent us a Mushroomer asking for a phone with a signal and a camera. We sent him one. He is going to appear on national TV in a moment.”
The Queen sighed and crossed her arms, watching the Pillar show up on TV. He sat on Tom Truckle’s desk in the asylum with a paper in his hand. He looked tired, with a few blood stains on his blue suit.
“Do I look good?” the Pillar asked the camera man.
“Good.”
“Does my hat look good?”
“Good.”
“Do you look good, camera man?”
A few Mushroomers laughed. The Queen was getting impatient.
“People of Britain,” the Pillar began. “People of the world.”
“Who does he think he is?” the Queen mumbled. “A king or a queen?”
“My name is Carter Pillar,” he said, facing the camera. “I’m the leader of the most organized terrorist group in the world.”
The Queen grinned with satisfaction.
“I’ve done really bad things.”
Her grin widened.
“But you will not catch me. Not because I will escape justice, but because I’m mad. I flew over the cuckoo’s nest a long time ago and my mind never came back. According to the law, you can’t punish a mad person.”
The Queen scratched her temples, wondering what the Pillar was up to.
“However, this isn’t the purpose of my speech,” the Pillar said. “I’m offering to turn myself in. I mean, if the police shot me, it would be unfair, because I have answers to all of your questions. The reason for our atrocious and inhumane attacks in the past years that you, the public, will want to hear.”
“This doesn’t look good,” the Queen commented. “What are you up to, Pillar?”
“But I will only turn myself in in exchange for a little girl who is also a terrorist,” the Pillar said. “I will hand her information to your messengers. Hand her over and I will be yours. This is the Pillar, the most wanted saxophonist — I mean terrorist — in the world. Over and out, happy days, chocolate and madness to y’all.”