"How do you know it's the Cheshire?" I ask.
"At least he is behind the killings. But this time it's different: grander, gorier, and bloodier. Whatever he has on his mind, we're way behind to stop him." He reaches for his phone to show me something.
"Stop!" I demand.
He looks confused.
"Seriously?" I sneer at him, tilting my head.
He blinks twice, wondering about my annoyance.
"You don't contact me for a week, leave me behind with so many unanswered questions, and then when we meet, you act as if I'm working for you or something?"
"Oh?" he says. "I suppose I should've written you a letter of fluffy words on pinkish watermarked paper that smells of summer roses."
"Of course not. It's just that unanswered questions keep piling up."
"I suppose I could answer a couple of questions." He checks his pocket watch. "If the Cheshire doesn't go chopping a few other heads and stuff them in watermelons while we do."
"Don't do this to me." I raise a finger. He is triggering my desire for justice and saving people.
"After Yeskelitch's watermelon, eleven more heads were found in watermelons across the country. In a span of two days."
"So fast?" I am perplexed.
"Also, the news hostess lied and kept vital information from the public," he says. "The head Yeskelitch found was one of his
kid's
"Thirteen heads so far, all kids between age seven and fourteen," the Pillar says. "It's a Jub Jub mess." He turns on the news on his mobile phone.
"This is insane..." My jaw is left hanging open, my eyes begging me to drop down my eyelids so I won't have nightmares from what I am looking at. Families are crying their hearts out, mothers vomiting upon seeing their children's chopped-off heads, and fathers cry hysterically and swear they'd chop the killer into a million pieces when they catch him. "This is insane," I repeat to myself, because I don't know what else to say.
"Well, no more watermelons sold in Britain," the Pillar muses. Now he has my attention, he starts playing sarcastic and cruel again. "People should stick to cantaloupe. Ah, not big enough to stuff a head inside."
"So, why is the Cheshire killing again?" I have to ignore his weird sarcasm. It's only meant to provoke me.
"I have no idea."
"You don't?" I frown. "I thought you knew how the Cheshire thinks."
"Usually I do, but this"—he points at the screen—"is some messy massacre. I don't understand its purpose."
"But the message on the kid's foreheads speaks for itself," I offer. "'Off with their heads.'"
"So does the idea of chopping off heads." The Pillar stares absently at the screen. I can tell he is genuinely confused. "It's definitely a Wonderland crime, committed by a Wonderland Monster like the Cheshire. I just don't understand why."
"The Cheshire said there will be a Wonderland War—whatever that is. Could that be a part of it? Just some carnage, messy massacre to ensure terror on humans?"
"Nah." The Pillar tongues his cheek from inside. "Despite his unquenchable grudge against humanity, the Cheshire's main concern is to locate and free the Wonderland Monsters to help him in the Wonderland War." He eyes me briefly, letting me know I am not supposed to ask what the war is about, not now. "So, inducing chaotic madness upon the world isn't his thing. These murders are about something else. This is tailored work, a careful design of crimes. Whoever killed thirteen children all over Britain in two days had committed the crimes much earlier. We were only meant to know about them now. There is a message we're supposed to get."
"We?"
The Pillar nods. "Humans, although he detests them, are of no interest to him. They are merely puppets he uses. If he represents the black tiles on the chessboard of life, we represent the white ones. Well, at least you. I'm only helping you for now." He takes a moment to consider. "Last time, the Cheshire wanted his grin back, so he could retain his unstoppable power that would assist him in finding the Wonderland Monsters."
I am not following, not really. All I care about is stopping the crimes, so I am thinking. "Why don't we start with learning more about the victims' heads? It's clear that this is what the killer wants us to look at."
The Pillar shoots me an admiring look, as if I am his clever apprentice. "Good thinking." He points at the news showing the victims being transferred to the morgue for autopsy.
I take a moment to comprehend what he is trying to imply. "Wait." I take a step back. "You don't mean I am..."
"Going to the morgue?" His smile broadens.
"I thought I'd leave the asylum to see the world outside, go see Oxford University, the Vatican, and Belgium like last time."
"If you want to know about the dead mean's fate, the morgue is always a good start."
"Which morgue?" I sigh.
"The Westminster Public Mortuary, formally known as the Rue Morgue to the likes of Edgar Allan Poe."
"Poe?" I know he was a prolific writer who wrote a short story called "Murders in Rue Morgue," which took place in London centuries ago. Was he actually writing about
"And that would be?"
"The Westminster Public Morgue has a most secretive section inside. They call the
living
Too late, too late, for an important date
"What is that?" I stare suspiciously at the mushroom.
"A sedative. It will make you look dead for an hour or so." He pulls my hand and gently places this spongy thing on my palm.
"Why would I want to look dead?"
"Oh, Alice. How do you think you will get into a maximum-security mortuary? Just take a small bite." He nudges my hand toward my mouth.
I open the balcony and say goodbye to the children in class. They wave back enthusiastically, welcoming me with their Lego hookahs. I gaze back at the Pillar, wondering if I should trust him. It's hard to tell from the way he looks at me. It's hard to tell who he really is, or what he wants with me.