The River
I n the middle of the war, there is love. In the depth of the dark, there is light. The moment Constance and I hug as family members is short, but in my heart it will last forever.
It’s not only an incredibly rewarding moment, but it’s one that proves that good things come in great amounts. Behind me, a Mushroomer says “Alice, you have to see the March.”
“What about him?”
“He just spat out something.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re not sure what’s going on, but the March is alive.”
Constance and I jump to our feet and follow the Mushroomer’s gaze. He is looking at the boat next to us with the March’s silhouette propped up on his elbows.
I jump into the water, and Constance follows me. We climb up into the next boat, hoping it’s true, that we’re not imagining this.
“March!” Constance beats me to him and takes him in her arms.
I kneel before him, blinking, still not sure what’s going on. But it’s him. He is exhausted like hell, but he is alive.
“How is that possible?”
“Magic.” He raises an eyebrow.
“What kind of magic?” I ask.
“I’m not sure, Alice, but all this time you’ve been holding me, I was alive.”
“No way.”
“I just couldn’t move or speak. I think I was in some kind of a coma.”
“That’s because of how hard she mushed your head,” Constance teases me. “But I’m glad you’re alive.”
“I’m sorry, March,” I apologize dearly, still unable to understand.
“You don’t have to apologize, Alice,” the March says. “The shock therapy worked. I know all you need to know. It’s just that this thing had been stuck in my throat and once I spat it out, I could finally breathe again.”
“What thing?”
The March lifts his hand and shows it to me. I’m not sure if I should laugh or cry or consider this utter nonsense.
“This was it? This what was stuck in you and you could not breathe or talk?” I giggle.
“And now that it’s out, I remember very important things.”
Gently I pick it up and stare at it. It’s a light bulb.
“You’re kidding me,” Tom says from behind my back. “You actually had a light bulb in your head? And you spat it out your mouth?”
“The one that Black Chess had installed a long time ago.”
“That’s absurd.”
“What isn’t these days?” I roll my eyes.
“And you spat it out in one piece?” Tom says. “I mean, no shattered glass or anything?”
“It’s a strong light bulb. A spying one. Made by Black Chess,” the March says, though his argument is utter nonsense as well.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I tell him. “It means a lot to me. I thought I killed you.”
“But you’re not asking the right question, Alice,” the March says.
“What right question?”
“Do you remember Patient 14’s puzzle?”
“Yes, what about it?”
The March recites it to me:
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.
Constance jumps with mirth. “I got it!”
So did I. The missing word was ‘bulb.’
“Patient 14, who knows of the Six Keys’ location, hid them in a bulb of light. ”
“A light bulb?” Tom scratches his temples.
“It means Patient 14 hid it all in the March’s head,” Constance explains. “That explains why Black Chess planted a light bulb in his head. Somehow, the March has all the truth installed in his head but can’t remember it.”
“Or it could be Patient 14 installed the bulb to hide the information beneath. Like he said in the puzzle I’ve hidden the keys in plain sight, ” I offer my suggestion.
“So I assume Patient 14 hid it in your head when you both met in the Hole?” Constance asks the March.
The bullets in the distance are getting louder now. It seems like we need to move, but I can’t stop listening to the March. Because his last words change everything.
“That’s partially true,” the March tells Constance. His eyes find mine and he says, “I told you that I remember a few things now, right? Not all, but important things.”
“You did,” I tell him. “What else do you remember, March? Do you know where the Six Keys are?”
“Unfortunately, no,” he says. “But I know who Patient 14 is.”
All of us sink into silence. There is no point in asking question. We just want to hear him say it.
“I am Patient 14, Alice,” the March says. “Lewis told me about the Keys. He trusted me. And me only!” He definitely says it like a proud child, but then his face droops. “But the secret was too hard to hold. I couldn’t resist telling anyone, so kept it in my brain, jotted the writing on the walls before they transferred me from the Radcliffe Asylum to the Hole, and took that terrible Lullaby pill to forget about it.”
“That’s why the puzzle on the wall said only one person could understand it,” I say. “Like a child, you’ve played a risky game, and wrote a message to yourself.”
“It was fun, Alice. It was so much fun.”
And the fun continues with bullets now hitting the boats.