Warehouse location, London
S eeing Fabiola enter the warehouse is quite a surprise. Though we’ve had our differences, I’ve always respected her. She looks tired, a bit weakened, but tough enough to kill her enemies. Who would have thought the White Queen of the Vatican looks so badass?
“Fabiola,” I ask her, “What are you doing here? I thought you were ill in the hospital.”
“Thanks for sending me roses,” she makes a face, eyes on Constance. “I came to help you, misfits. We’re all Inklings, aren’t we?”
Jack looks confused. It occurs to me that even though he knows a few secrets, he’s never seen the Inklings for himself. I only showed him part of us when I went to Wonderland through Einstein’s Blackboard and saw the Circus. I’ll have to find a way to clarify things for him.
“So, you are the boss?” Constance asks. I can tell she and Fabiola might not get along easily.
“You’re Constance,” Fabiola smiles. “Look at you.”
“And you’re Fabiola, the confused Vatican woman who has tattoos all over her body.”
“I am the White Queen,” Fabiola answers.
“And why did you want to kill Alice at some point, if you were such a White Queen?”
“Stop it, Constance.” I stand between her and Fabiola. “Tell me, Fabiola. What happened? How did you find us?”
“Actually, I found you through Constance,” Fabiola says.
Constance and I exchange looks. We’re oblivious of what the White Queen means.
“I have a special connection with Constance,” Fabiola says. “It’s like telepathy.”
“I don’t feel anything coming from you,” Constance says. “Thank God for that.”
“Well,” Fabiola says, “it’s not exactly me.”
“I didn’t know women in the Vatican lied,” Constance retorts.
“Who is it then?” I ask her. “Are you saying you didn’t come alone?”
“Great,” Constance waves a hand in the air. “Just great. You brought an intruder with you?” she reaches for her gun.
“Not an intruder,” a voice behind Fabiola says.
I know this voice. We’ve met a few times in this life. Hundreds of times in my past life, in Wonderland.
Lewis Carroll enters the warehouse, walking slowly. His appearance is that of an angel or something. I can’t tell if he is real or a phantom, though he looks real. There is something about him I can’t explain. It doesn’t have to do with my memories of him. It has to do with something else. I can’t put my finger on it.
“Lewis?” Jack is stunned. He is the most confused in the warehouse now.
Of course, Tom Truckle is even more confused. I just don’t count him. I don’t even know why we’re keeping him.
I watch Lewis walk closer, neglecting all of us. His eyes are also fixed on Constance. Except that this time the little girl doesn’t oppose him like she did with Fabiola. Her eyes glitter with anticipation. She takes a step closer, as if a magnetic power is pulling her toward the man.
It’s so surreal you’d think she is his daughter.
“Lewis,” Constance whispers as he kneels down to let her touch his face. “You’re alive.”
“Not really,” he explains. “I am like a wraith, a spirit of someone who once died but is resurrected through the love of the people who read my book.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” she says. “But I don’t care.”
The she hugs him.
Then she cries.
Then Lewis sobs.
Jack is perplexed, unable to fathom what’s going on. I need to explain a lot to him. Fabiola is fighting the tears in her eyes. Tom’s jaw drops and he can’t pick it up.
As for me, I am standing, watching, trying to understand how Lewis and Constance know each other. Why they have this emotionally empowered bond.
Then it hits me. How stupid am I? How didn’t I understand?
“I took every picture of you,” Lewis says to Constance.
She laughs like a baby and says. “Yes, us.”
Constance is the sum of the girls Lewis had ever photographed in the past. She and him are connected, have always been connected, by the power of creation. They have practically always known each other, and she is probably the closest to his heart.