"That's a Catch-22!" The Pillar clicks his fingers together. A few people shoot him piercing looks. He puts his fingers back in his pocket. "Sorry, I should've known finger-clicking is rude."
"You have to ask yourself who benefits from this." The Muffin Man faces the camera, abandoning the paper. "People wake up and ask how they became this fat and sick and penniless, and if it ever was their fault."
"Of course it's their faults," the Pillar says. "No one forced them to eat that much."
People eye him again. The Pillar pantomimes zipping his mouth shut.
"We live in the age of 'buy one, get one, get one free,'" the Muffin Man says. "Nothing in this world is for free."
"This Muffin Man rather reminds me of Willy Wonka in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory." The Pillar can't help himself. "He used to scare the panty pants out of my oranges."
No one eyes him this time. I think they can't even hear him. The Muffin Man's message demands attention whether they believe in his theories or not.
"Now that I have your attention, here is what I want," the Muffin Man says. "First, the easy part." The killer makes the rules now. "I want a personal apology from the Queen of England and Parliament toward the people of Britain for allowing the food industry to manipulate us and deteriorating our children's health." He pauses. "The second part is that I want a thorough investigation about the food industry, backed up with Professor Gorgon Ramstein's research, and have those responsible thrown in jail. I demand their profits divided among the poor citizens of Britain equally."
"Pretty noble demands from a man who stuffs children's heads in watermelons," the Pillar muses. "Would he be kind enough to show us how he actually stuffs heads in watermelons?"
The Pillar is mostly talking to himself.
"If these demands aren't met by five o'clock tomorrow," the Muffin Man announces, "I will poison most of Britain's children with the same candy that made them fat." This time his pause is longer, as if he is contemplating what he is going to say next.
I look around me. Everyone is holding their breath. They know they are about to see something they aren't ready for, but are forced to experience.
"In case there are still any doubts after all those killings," the Muffin Man says, "here is a footage of Mudfog Town, which is about seventy miles from London, a few minutes ago."
The broadcast shows the town of Mudfog as silent and dead as the most abandoned place on earth. Then the camera zooms to show everyone dead on the ground, white foam spurting out of their guts. Closer, the camera shows endless packages of Snicker Snackers, Queen of Hearts Tarts, and all other kind of food and drinks open and dropped to the floor. The footage then changes to "one hour earlier." It shows the few citizens of Mudfog nibbling on these snacks everywhere. Then suddenly, a kid begins to vomit uncontrollably, holding his stomach with one hand, a Wonderland snack in the other. And the rest of the town of Mudfog follows one by one.
"It only took a few minutes to kill a town of seven hundred citizens." The broadcast returns to show the Muffin Man. "If you have suspicions about my ability to poison all your food, ask yourself how I was capable of stuffing heads in watermelons."
"See?" the Pillar says.
"It shouldn't take me more than a few hours to kill everyone in London," the Muffin Man says. "And then I will poison your water. Give back to the people you cheated or you will die." His warning tone is confident and unmistakable. "Even if you live, ask yourself this: if I can poison all food, what will be left for you to eat?"
The broadcast ends abruptly with the Cheshire Grin logo on the screen. Silence crawls on every building and soul in Britain.
Chapter 50
The silence is only present for a few moments. It's like the few seconds the runners of the Olympics stand by before all hell breaks loose. The world around me explodes into people running in every direction. People debate theories, others panic, and the rest watch those who panic, contemplating if they should panic too.
The sun has sunk into darkness. We missed the sunset. No one is guaranteed to catch another one tomorrow.
"By the time the Queen of England sips her five o'clock tea tomorrow, all those people might be gone," the Pillar says, shakes his head, and then walks away.
"Where do you think you're going?" I run after him, avoiding a few pedestrians ready to step over me already. "We have work to do!"
"You have work to do." He doesn't stop, and keeps walking.
The panic around us intensifies. People are arguing if it's possible to poison all food. Others say only snacks will be poisoned. Others suggest only one brand of the snacks will be poisoned, so they could sacrifice a few people testing which brand is poisoned and which isn't. Then they wonder if they should buy food and stock it at home in case the panic gets out of hand tomorrow. A few educated people argue that the Muffin Man is bluffing, that it's impossible to poison the food of the companies he is actually opposing. Another few claim all of this is only propaganda to sell more Queen of Hearts Tarts.
I can't stop listening to all kinds of theories as I snake through the crowd, looking for the Pillar. I hear people standing by the Muffin Man and calling him a hero, saying that food companies are no different to the toxic waste factories produce. Children are denied another delicious Meow Muffin by their parents. Then I finally see the Pillar. I pace faster and hold him by the shoulder. He stops, sighing, but doesn't resist.
"What do you mean by I have work to do?" I ask.
"Do I look like an Alice to you?" he says.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It's you, Alice, who has to confront the Wonderland Monsters," the Pillar says as someone bothers him, running around. He tries to stabilize himself and avoid the panicked runner. "I've been trying to tell you this for more than a week, and all you do is whine about Jack, who you really are, and if you really killed your friends." He grits his teeth, still bothered by the man running in circles around us. "Don't get me started on you whining about what's real and what's not."
"Are you saying only I can stop this?" I am afraid he will confirm my suspicion. I don't think I can handle this.
"Yes!" He knocks the annoying citizen down with his cane, and then pierces through me with his direct look.
"I—" The truth is that I am speechless, and very much wish this was all in my imagination now. I would love it if this is a nightmare and I could wake up from it. But I don't seem to wake up. The fear and panic of the people around me is too real to be imagined.