Wonder

As he speaks, I realize I’m not under the Lullaby pill’s influence now. My mind reels with memories. A lot of them now. I think I know who I am. I think I know what happened. But it can’t be true. It just can’t be.

Better listen to what the doctor has to say.

“I think the Lullaby pill was an early call,” he says. “I should have waited a little longer.”

“Why? What are you talking about?”

“I understand if you don’t remember correctly. I also understand if your memories seem a little shuffled. Fact and fiction will meld into each other. But it will only take a few moments before you remember.”

“Remember what?” The headache is killing me once. The memories twice.

“Remember who you really are.” He slightly rocks in his chair. He seems satisfied with this conversation.

“Who in the world am I?” I tilt my head and stare into the darkness he is hiding behind. Imagine you stare into a mirror and all you see is black. “Answer me!”

“Who do you think you are?”

Playing games again. The tobacco smells like the Pillar’s smoke. I know that much now. Is that possible? “Who am I?” My voice is weakening. I don’t want to start sobbing. Everyone deserves to know who they are.

“You are who think you are?” he repeats.

“What’s this supposed to mean? Are you saying I’m not the Real Alice?”

“On the contrary,” the voice says. “You’re the Real Alice. Always was. Always will be. And that may be the problem.”

I dismiss his last sentence. I feel healthier in my body all of a sudden, because he said I’m the Real Alice. It’s all that mattered to me from the begi

“Say it again, please.”

He laughs. “You’re the Real Alice. Don’t doubt that.”

“And you are?” I squint at the darkness. “It’s you, the Pillar, right? For some nonsensical reason you played this game with me. Maybe you wanted to make sure I was up to the mission of saving lives. Right? Please tell me I’m right. Tell me you’re the Pillar. I won’t hold grudges. Just get over with it.”

The silence that follows is so profound I am aware of my beating heart. The rocking chair bends forward, just a little. Smoke drifts near my face and the voice speaks to me: “No, Alice. I’m not the Pillar. You can call me Mr. Jay.”

Chapter 52

THE PRESENT: TOM QUAD, OXFORD

Professor Carter Pillar sat on the bank in the middle of the empty quad. The sky was grey, the color of dull lives, and the rain fell like drops of unmet hopes from the sky.

Every student had left the university by this time. Everyone preferred to stay home on a day like this. A strange day, indeed. The Pillar didn’t mind. He had been used to a certain amount of loneliness in the past. It wasn’t always bad. Sometimes it helped him clear his mind.

He sat, fiddling with the watch in his hand.

Soon Fabiola would come. Soon everything would change. Soon she’d spit and shout in his face like she always did. But this time it was going to be the darkest hour for both of them. Soon it was going to be really hard to take sides in the Wonderland Wars.

Oh, how good and evil interjected in every aspect of life. Who was really good and who was bad? That should have been Hamlet’s most daring question, not “to be or not to be.”

In the middle of the rain, the Pillar pulled out a yellow piece of paper. With a ballpoint pen, he wrote something on it. One word. That was all it took. He folded the paper and tucked it back in his pocket, patted it a couple of times, closed his eyes, and let the rain wash over him.

He stared once more at his watch. It was time already.

The yellow paper in his pocket felt good. So good. Because the one word he’d written on it — it was all that mattered. The one word was the Pillar’s Wonder.

Chapter 53

THE PAST: PSYCHIATRY ROOM, RADCLIFFE ASYLUM, OXFORD

“Why do people call you Mr. Jay?” I say. “How do I know you?”

“We’ve known each other for a long time, Alice,” he says. “A little after the circus in Wonderland.”

“You were at the Circus?”

“Not exactly. But we’ll get into that later.”

“Later when?”

“After the Lullaby’s effect totally withers away.”

“Why did you give it to me, then, when it messed with my head so much?”

“I didn’t really give it to you,” he says.

“Who did, then?”

“It was Waltraud who popped it down your throat.” He pauses for a smoke. “But the real question is: whose idea was it to give you the pill?”

“Whose idea was it?” I realize I already know the answer. It’s slowly coming back to me, like a gathering of million crows veiling my soul with darkness.

“You asked for the Lullaby pill, Alice.”

“Me?”

“Yes. It was you.”

“I think I remember that now,” I say. The words are too heavy on my tongue. “I don’t quite remember why.”

“It’s a bit complicated,” Mr. Jay says. “I can’t imagine why, too. But it was your call. And I wouldn’t deny you anything you wish for, not after all you have done for me.”

“For you? What have I done?”

“You killed everyone on the bus, Alice,” Mr. Jay says. “You have no idea how much I’m pleased.”

Slivers of memories flash before my eyes. I can see clearer now. No rabbit was driving the bus. Not even Carolus Ludovicus, w;hom I saw embarking the bus in an earlier vision while I was in Mushroomland.

It was me who killed everyone on the bus. Always me. And I loved it.

“If you hadn’t killed them we’d never have a chance to win the Wonderland Wars,” he says. “Of course, it’s still a long shot to actually win the war and embrace the world with madness. But we’d never have the slightest of hopes if you haven’t helped.”

This is when I wish my bed were my coffin. I wish I’d sink deep into the dirt, deep enough to hide from the truth. “I helped you in wi

“The best help we ever had,” Mr. Jay says.

“What do you mean when you say ‘we’? Whom did I help? Who are you?”

The man lets out a brief chuckle, one that cuts through my veins. “Black Chess, Alice. Black Chess.”

Chapter 54

Sometimes the truth is a slow burn of continuous pain. The longer it takes to reveal, the more it cuts through. A sword’s stroke is always merciful; a thousand small cuts are the real torture.

“Are you saying I’m…”

“Yes, you are, Alice,” Mr. Jay says. “Once the Lullaby’s effect leaves you, you will remember you’re one of us.”

All the tears in the world can’t baptize me now.

“We’ve been pla

“Feared?”

“Oh, girl. The heads you chopped off. The blood you shed.” Mr. Jay is overly impressed. He may be my boss, but he is fascinated by me. “Carroll had a point, making everyone forget your face. This, or every Wonderlander would have spent the rest of their lives crapping in their pants, remembering you.”

I’m darkness wrapped in black blood, dipped into the abyss of the deepest ocean. “So the whole search for the Real Alice wasn’t to find the girl who will save the world?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about. No one’s really searching now, but they surely will in the future,” Mr. Jay says. “The Inklings will gather someday. Some kind of prophecy. But they’ll be too late.”