I let her talk, not paying attention. I know the rest already. I even know the parts she doesn’t, like the Pillar helping me out of my dark world and turning me into a hero.
I am taking a deep breath. I will need it. I have a big plan ahead of me. I need to focus.
I have a handful of Lullaby pills hidden in my fist. When the limousine stops at an intersection, I pull them out and stuff them into the Queen’s mouth, choking her long enough until she swallows them all.
The driver tries his luck at fighting me. I twist his head with my hands, and he ends up staring backward at the comatose — and now amnesiac — Queen of Hearts. “I need you to drive me somewhere,” I tell him. “Or I’ll never fix your head.”
“I’ll do what you want,” he says. “Please, Alice. Don’t kill me.”
I turn his head back. It doesn’t fit exactly — it’s a little skewed at the cheeks — but he is glad he is alive.
“Thank you,” he says. “Where to?”
The million-dollar question. I focus hard, trying to remember Mrs. Tock’s address, the one she gave me through the pink pill in the Inklings. I think the Lullaby pill I took in the past messed with pill I took in the present where I came from.
Remember it, Alice. Come on!
As we chug through the streets of Oxford, I can’t remember the address. Maybe I’ve been exposed to too much emotional stress. I should remember it.
We kick the Queen out on the street. The driver puts her in a garbage can, telling me he loathed her and would do anything for me.
When he comes back, we drive left and right, everywhere, hoping the buildings will make me remember, hand me a clue.
Where does Mrs. Tock live now?
Then it comes to me. I’m not just in the wrong area. I’m in the wrong city. Mrs. Tock’s address is in London.
“London it is,” the driver says.
“I will need my wheelchair first,” I remind him — also reminding myself that I am a cripple.
“It’s fixed on top of the car. Don’t worry.”
“And I will need you to help me up a few stories in London. Got that?”
“I will do what you ask for,” he says. “May I ask where I will be lifting you up?”
“A hidden room in the Big Ben tower.”
Chapter 61
THE PAST: BIG BEN, LONDON
Mr. Tick and Mrs. Tock live in a hidden room in the Big Ben. It has a wall for a door that only opens when you knock on it six times, like a secret cave. They live in a lavish, huge room inside. The only disadvantage is the horribly loud sound each time the Big Ben strikes.
But being married since the beginning to time, both of them aren’t bothered by it. In fact, they look so bored, they love it when it bangs.
Mr. Tick is certainly bored of his ticks. I watch him blame Mrs. Tock for being a boring wife who can’t find a way for him to spice up his life. Mr. Tick really hates London. He hates the rainy weather, the drunks late at night, the football games, and calls it a boring city. Mrs. Tock keeps telling him that soon the Wonderland Monsters will arrive, and the city will become incredibly entertaining. Mr. Tick says it’s all lies, like there’s never been a real Severus Snape in Harry Potter.
The couple are so bored that Mrs. Tock doesn’t mind finding me in her kitchen. She doesn’t ask how I got inside their secret hideout. Worse, she doesn’t remember who I am.
This is going to take some time.
“Tea?” she offers me.
“Please.” I am trying to think of the right words to explain to her that I am from the future and that she is supposed to help me.
“I don’t know how to please my husband,” she complains. “I mean, our marriage was perfect the first two thousand years. The love, the cuddles, and all the things we did together. But then, a thousand years after a thousand years, things went down the drain.”
“How long have you been married?”
She scratches her head. “I really forgot.”
“Never mind.” I wave a hand, like a good neighbor chitchatting with her. “I’m sure it’s been a long time. Ever had kids?”
“Mr. Tick doesn’t want to.” She lowers her head. “He thinks he is still young. He still chases young girls.”
“Midlife crisis.” I rub my cup.
“He says I’m boring,” she explains. “That I’m always late.”
“You’re Mrs. Tock. It’s who you are.”
“See? I’m meant to be late. All women are meant to be late. We need time in front of the mirror.”
“I agree.” Now that I can finally stare into a mirror.
“Of course, he doesn’t need a mirror. First of all, he is too tall for all mirrors. Secondly, he has no hair to comb.”
“Three hairies, I believe.”
“I’m surprised you can see them.” She snickers. “He keeps lubricating them, combing, and even dying them. All for that girl he’s liked recently.”
“I’ll bet she is young.”
“Nineteen. Can you believe it? He’s easily her great-great ancestor. Her name is Lorina.”
“Lorina?”
“Lorina Wonder.”
I rest my case. I have nothing to say.
“Now he wants a divorce, which we’re not allowed to have.”
“Of course. What would the world be without a tick and a tock?”
“I’m glad you understand,” she says. “He’s looking for a cure for baldness these days.”
“I bet he’s been looking for it for a few thousand years now.”
“And it’s all a hoax. Can’t grow back hair unless you go back in time.” Mrs. Tock laughs. “So do I know you?”
I haven’t told her my name. “I was sent to you from the future.”
She bursts out laughing. “Nice one.”
“No, really,” I say. “Two years in the future you sent me back here. You gave me this address and told me you can help me when something goes wrong.”
Mrs. Tock’s face dims. She doesn’t like what I’m saying at all.
“Listen.” I am trying my best to embrace my Bad Alice personality, but it’s not working. “You were supposed to send me a day back, but you messed up, and I need you to help me go back to yesterday.”
“You’re insane.”
“Not anymore.” I grin. “If you don’t help me, I will die in the next few hours.”
Chapter 62
THE PRESENT: A HOTEL ROOM IN OXFORD
The Cheshire booked a room in the hotel after they’d told him they had a DVD player inside. In spite of being penniless, he used Jack’s charm on the receptionist, a blond girl, whom he showed a card trick. One of the benefits of having access to Jack’s mind — and a possible generous source of income in the future.
The Cheshire entered the room and turned on the DVD, then pushed a stolen version of Titanic in. People had told him Titanic was the cheesiest when it came to illogical portrayals of romance on film.
The Cheshire liked that. He was experiencing the same thing in Jack’s head; his continuing love for Alice both annoyed and amazed the Cheshire.
An hour and a half into the movie, the Cheshire was weeping into tissues—he was glad no one was watching him.
But he couldn’t help it. Love and sacrifice were new concepts to him, let alone coming from the freakin’ humans.
He began regretting the way he’d earlier celebrated the Bad Alice’s return with the Queen of Hearts on the phone. Of course, Alice being the Real Alice satisfied his insatiable desire to hurt humans in this world. But only if he hadn’t entered Jack’s body and brain.