"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 this morgue?
I shake my thoughts away, and do my best not to succumb to the Pillar's distracting comments.
"There is a slight problem, though," the Pillar mentions.
"And that would be?"
"The Westminster Public Morgue has a most secretive section inside. They call the Iain West Forensic Suite," the Pillar elaborates. "A state-of-the-art mortuary that the government uses in such complicated cases. Security is almost impenetrable. You will need to find a way to fool the living to get in, and then fool the dead to get out." He admires his quote for a second then looks at his pocket watch. "My chauffeur will help you in." He utters his words in one sharp breath, as a non-negotiable matter of fact. He does it so on point that I feel dizzy. My lips are dry and zipped. I have never been to a morgue before. "What are you waiting for? Too late, too late, for an important date." He clicks his fingers for urgency.
I nod and shrug at the same time. Going to a morgue still seems very unsettling to me.
"Oh," the Pillar says, "I almost forgot." He pulls out a small box and opens it. There is small mushroom inside. "You will need to eat this."
"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.
"Don't worry, you won't grow taller," he says, as he wants me to slip the mushroom into my mouth.
Suddenly, I am more than uncomfortable with the Pillar's suggestion. I still don't trust him.
The Pillar gets the message, but says nothing. He lights up his mini hookah and takes an unusually long and tense drag, puffing it out. "I understand," he says. "If you don't trust me, I understand. Sincerely."
"Really?" I squint. Something is wrong. "You will give up, just like that?"
"Who said I gave up?" he asks as I feel suddenly dizzy. My knees wobble under me and imaginary birds begin tweeting in my ears. I fall to my knees, realizing too late that I've been sedated by the smoke from his hookah.
The world fades to black. The Pillar fooled me. I don't think I am ready for the morgue trip yet.
Chapter 10
Somewhere in this mad world
I open my eyes to an endless darkness. A blinding kind of darkness I haven't experienced before. Many times have I slept in pitch black in my cell in the asylum. This present darkness is different. It seems as if it has a soul, a substance. It feels too close and invasive to my privacy. It's as if I am wrapped between its octopus arms. A claustrophobic kind of darkness.
No explanation comes to my semi-numb mind right now.
Where am I?
My body is numb, enough to chain me in temporary paralysis. Each of my limbs is heavy enough that I don't bother lifting any.
Somehow, I am sure this will subside.
A slow train of memories arrives. It's slow but noisy and heavy, like a locomotive breath.
The Pillar sedated me, and all the kicks and screams in the world are of no use—for now. I will have to face wherever I am.
Shouldn't I wake up in the morgue and inspect the heads of the deceased kids?
As the heaviness in my body subsides, I reach for anything I can get hold of in the dark. The tips of my fingers collide with some kind of a plastic. It's wavy. I can't see it. My mind finally registers a fact: I am stretched on my back.
A surge of panic alerts my weakened body. It's so threatening that my numbness subsides. I start to kick my hands and feet in the dark as unreasonable claustrophobia overrules me. The plastic darkness opposes me in every direction, as if I am imprisoned in an elastic balloon.
I keep kicking and scraping against the surface of this darkness. I need to get out of it before I choke or die from the lack of breathing, but I can't cut through without a sharp tool.
Panic captures me. Until my fingers come across a metallic thing attached to the plastic.
A zipper.
The thought that hits my brain almost puts me back in paralysis. I think I know where I am.
Thin rays of yellow light seep through the plastic bag I am trapped in as I pull the zipper down. I reach out with my hands like the dead out of their graves. Finally, I wriggle myself out of the black plastic bag. I feel like a dying cocoon evolving into a butterfly—it reminds momentarily of the deceptive Pillar.
I straighten up on the table I am on—it feels like a table more than a bed—and I realize for certain where I am.
I'm actually in the morgue. I was tucked in one of those plastic bags the deceased end up in. A body bag. This is what the Pillar meant by a maximum-security morgue that's hard to sneak into. The madman tucked me in a death bag and slipped in among the dead.
Paralyzed on the table, I can't even comprehend my surroundings yet. I do notice the chilling temperature of the room, though.