Lorina shrugged. Edith looked at her mother and back. Her eyes scanned the house as if to make sure there was no one listening. "When she returned, her dress was stained with blood." She craned her neck forward and almost whispered, "She also held a glinting kitchen knife, spattered with someone's blood, in her hand."
The girl's eyes widened. Either the sisters really hated Alice or they were telling the strangest truth. She decided she'd had enough of this family. Her mission here was precise. All she had was to accomplish it and get out of this madhouse as fast as she could.
Inside Alice's room, the girl didn't look for a photo of Alice. She looked for anything that had to do with Alice's friends, the accident, or Adam J. Dixon.
A few moments later, the girl was outside Alice's house, standing before the famous Iris Lake, which streamed out of the River Thames. It was famous for being where Lewis Carroll was inspired to write
The dress is beautiful
The few students in the garden shade themselves under the safety of the university's halls, leaving me almost alone in the middle. I am not going to move. I like the feel of trickling water on my skull. It helps me contemplate the things the girl on the phone just told me.
"Sometimes I ask myself, what if the door to Wonderland is hidden here inside the university?" The Pillar's voice resonates behind me. I didn't invite him, but he found me. "Imagine if the real rabbit hole were right beneath our feet." He sits next to me and leans forward. He rests his chin on his cane and stares at the Tom Tower like an obedient dog.
"How did you find me?" I ask.
"People tend to go to certain places when they feel lost," he says. "Places that resemble a god in many ways. Be it a father, a mother, a mentor, a lover, church, mosque, synagogue, or even a real god." He rubs his nose to resist sneezing, an aftereffect of the infinite amount of pepper we were exposed to in Drury Lane. Thank God we didn't sniff a lot of the pepper. "For a girl like you, who is in many ways a character in a book, your god is definitely the man who wrote it."
The Pillar is right, and I hate it when he is. I came here hoping I could meet Lewis through the small door in the Tom Tower. I came here to ask him about the meaning of the vision of Victorian England, and why he "
"How did we escape the theatre?" I break the silence without looking at him, still staring at the Tom Tower.
"It depends on the last thing you remember." He leans back, both hands on his cane.
"I remember sneezing and then you puffed hookah smoke into my face. Then I think I..."
"Blacked out, that's right."
"What happened after I blacked out? How are we the only ones who managed to escape a locked theatre?"
"The same way I escape my locked cell in the asylum." I sense pride in his words.
"That's not an answer."
"It's not meant to be," he says. "The same way you weren't meant to escape my limousine after I saved you."
"I woke up in a dress stained with pig blood," I explain. "I felt awful and wanted to get away from everyone."
"Even me?"
"Especially you."
"Although I saved you from sneezing to death?"
"You're not doing it for me. There is some plan you have, and I don't care to know it anymore. I'd just like know how I am still alive."
"Why is it so important to know how?"
"To make sure I am not insane." I shrug. "To make sure all of this is really happening."
"The way I escape closed rooms is meant to stay a secret," he says. "I can't help you with it."
Dr. Truckle's assumption about the Pillar and Houdini seem plausible now. "Are you a magician, Professor Pillar?" I can't help but turn around and face him, chuckling at my own nonsensical question.
"What's magic but facts humans are oblivious to see?" He utters the words as if he were a poet quoting Shakespeare.
"Another one of your vague answers." I sigh, frustrated. "I should stop getting my answers from you. I know I will find them elsewhere if I ask the right person." I look back at the tower.
"Is that why you sent a girl to your mother's house to gather information about the bus incident?"
I am not surprised that he knows, but I don't care. I decide to keep silent.
"Did she find anything useful?"
"Photos of my friends, some of which she sent to my phone."
"Recognize anyone?"
"None. She also found endless scraps of paper with my handwriting."
"Special phrases?"
"'I can't go back to yesterday...'"
"'...because I was someone else then,'" he finishes.
"Over and over again. You want to tell me what that's about?"
He shakes his shoulders nonchalantly.
"What really bothers me, she found no evidence of my Tiger Lily in my room," I say. "I mean if I feel so attached to that flower, wouldn't she at least find a photo or a book about flowers?"
"Forget about your flower," he says. "Did she find any photos of Jack?"
"Yes. Very nice photos. We were in love." I hold a single tear back, pressing harder on the phone.
"How do you know you were in love?"
"The way we looked at each other. It's the way only lovers do."
"Just that?"
"You wouldn't understand," I say. "There is one photo where Jack and I are at an
"I'm wearing an Alice outfit in the photo. Adam is wearing a"—I shrug—"Jack of Diamonds outfit, pretending to be one of the Queen's cards."
"I see." He drums his cane on the grass.
"Is that why I'm imagining Jack?" I turn back to face him. "Is the memory of that day so important to me that I imagined Adam resurrected as Jack? Is that true?"
"I thought you were sure he existed. A lot of other people saw him, too, didn't they?"