The Radcliffe Asylum
I ’m losing my mind — and my faith.
Constance hasn’t been answering her walkie-talkie for a while. I’d die blaming myself if something happens to her, now that she is stuck in a place where none of us can reach her. Next to me, the March is trying to solve the puzzle.
I’ve hidden the Keys in plain sight. A place so bright in the dark of the night. Are you the one to get it right? I’ve hidden the Keys in a … of light.
“Anything yet?” I ask him.
“No clue what it’s supposed to mean,” he says. “But something keeps happening whenever I read it.”
“Like what?”
“I’m having a headache.”
“That’s because your eyes are glued to the message on the wall. You should get glasses.”
“I’m a kid, Alice. Too soon for glasses.”
I tilt my head, not commenting. I even wait to see if he realizes what he’s just said. The March is a child living inside an old man, but he knows it. Sure, he doesn’t act like an adult sometimes, but never before have I seen him so buried in the act. I should have noticed earlier that he wasn’t all right. Since he has been talking to Constance his inner child has been floating like an adventurous kite in the sky.
It explains why he is really into the puzzle. It’s a game to him. I doubt that he understands the grave situation we’re in.
“So kids don’t need glasses?” I play along.
“Some kids do,” he says, eyes still glued to the wall. He talks to me the way kids talk to their mother while glued to a cartoon on TV. He just wants me to stop bothering him. “I don’t. My eyes have been pretty good.”
“But you are wearing glasses, March.” I say the words with cautiousness. I need to know what’s going on.
The March’s shoulders tighten. His hand crawls up to his face, investigating the authenticity of what I’ve just said. He seems surprised. I’m not sure what’s going on.
“Ah,” he chuckles uncomfortably. “I think I forgot.”
I near him, slowly. “March? What’s just happened?”
“I think I got carried away.”
“How?”
“I think I let myself get transported back to yesterday, when I was someone else.”
“When you were a kid you mean?”
“I believe so.”
I kneel down and stand on all fours, like an adult trying to gain’s a child’s trust. “How did it feel?”
The March’s eyes moisten. “It feels like yesterday.”
“No, really. How did it feel?”
“So…” The old man before me wipes a single tear, trickling down from his right eye. He removes the glasses and feels embarrassed about it. “Awesome?”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
“A statement.” He nods. “I’m just afraid to admit I cherished the feeling of being transported back to my childhood, so much so I forgot that I’m an adult.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s frabjous.” I pat him. “Try not to lose that feeling of being a child.”
“Really?” His eyes widen, ears prick up.
“Really,” I say. “It’s a beautiful feeling and I want you to hang onto it. Does looking at the puzzle on the wall intensify the feeling?”
“Oh, yes!” The child in him is talking to me. It’s a silly scene, but it’s also beautiful. An aging man with white long hair, allowing the soft light from his childhood to shine upon his old wrinkled skin. “See? If I repeat the phrase I start getting those headaches…”
I am thinking migraines.
“…and then, when I get the headaches, I start to feel dizzy and blurry, but then I feel… happy.”
“Happy? That’s brilliant.”
“But I feel happy without a reason to be happy.”
“Don’t be embarrassed about it. Only adults are so messed up that they rationalize the need to have a reason for being happy,” I say. “What happens next?”
“Nothing,” he says. “I’m just here with you, Alice. We’re having fun, playing, and doing nonsense. Like every other day in Wonderland.”
“Ah.” I nod agreeably. He thinks he is in Wonderland. “Another happy day in Wonderland.”
“Though, you look a bit too old today,” he laughs.
“I haven’t slept for some time.” I have to play along. The writing has an effect on him, and it’s important to keep up with him.
“Do you think we can go visit the Hatter?” the March asks eagerly.
“Hatter?” I say. “You know where he lives?”
The March laughs uncontrollably. “You’re funny, Alice.”
“I am. Aren’t I?” I try to act like the Alice he has in mind. From the books, maybe. His mind is now in Wonderland. I don’t want to lose this connection, because it means, if I play along smoothly, he will remember the things he’d forgotten with the shock therapy in The Hole. The March is free right now. He doesn’t give two craps about the light bulb in his head.
“Of course you are. Silly, too,” the March says. “You know the Hatter has no house. He lives everywhere and anywhere.”
“Then how can we find him?” Please stay where you are March. Don’t break the connection. This might be the chance to know everything I need to know.
“Alice!” He nudges me. “Stop teasing me. We’ve been through this before. To find the Hatter you have to look for a tea party. That’s the trick.”
“Of course.” I nudge him back. “Was just teasing you, fool. So why not go look for the tea party?”
“Really?” The heartbreaking glimmer shines on his old face again.
“What else do we have to do? Let’s go.”
The March is ready to stand up but stops half way, his face paling all of a sudden.
“What’s wrong?”
He starts shaking violently. “Can’t you see, Alice?”
“See what?” I follow his gaze, but only see the cell’s wall. How I wish I could see through his eyes.
“It’s…” He points at someone coming. Someone who isn’t there now. Someone from a very old memory. “It’s…”
“Who? March? Who do you see?”
“The one I fear the most. I have to hide.” He buries his head in his hands. “You need to hide as well, Alice. Hide!”
“Hide from whom?” I shake him, fearing what I can’t see. Fearing a terrible memory. One I should not have forgotten.
“Hide, Alice, hide. Or he will hurt us. Hurt your family. Hurt the children.”
“Children?” I say. “Who are you so afraid of, March?”
“Him, Alice. HIM. Who else?”