The way the Pillar says it forces the man to slightly wince. “Like I said, answer the question.” He does his best to not sound intimidated. “‘Who is really described as mad in the Alice in Wonderland book?’”
“The Mad Hatter, of course!” I reply.
“Wrong answer.” The man grins again. My bracelet vibrates and blinks faster.
How could that be the wrong answer? What have I done?
Chapter 13
9:49 a.m.
“It’s not the Hatter,” the Pillar says.
“But—” I try to say something. I am sure it’s the Hatter that is called “mad” in the book. Everyone knows he is called the Mad Hatter.
“No,” the Pillar says. “The Hatter was never called ‘mad’ in Lewis Carroll’s book. Not once. It’s a universal misconception.”
“Really?” I retort in disbelief. “Then who was called mad in the book?”
“The March Hare,” the Pillar tells me, but he is staring directly at the homeless man. “You have no idea how an original text can be twisted though the years, only because someone misheard or misremembered the original story.”
“He’s right,” the homeless man says.
“March Hares were known to be called mad in Victorian times,” the Pillar elaborates. “Probably because they went bonkers in the mating seasons.”
While I am shocked by this new fact, I watch the homeless man push a button on some device in his hand. My bracelet stops blinking, and I can pull it off.
Instantly, the Pillar pulls the man by his collar again.
“You don’t want to kill me yet.” The man waves his hands. “Not before the last questions, do you?” He smiles and shows that silver tooth. "Or you will never find the rabbit and stop the bomb."
The Pillar and I are perplexed at this sick wack. I wonder why people like him aren’t institutionalized in the asylum.
The man frees himself from the Pillar. “Are you ready for the last question?”
“The suspense is killing me.” The Pillar rolls his eyes.
“Like I said before, the Hatter says only one girl can catch the rabbit,” the homeless man says.
“Mary Ann,” I interrupt. “Who is Mary Ann?”
The man turns around and runs away. When I am about to chase him, the Pillar grips my hand again. “Let him go, Alice. I know who Mary Ann is now. I should have put it together from the beginning.” He sighs then scans his surroundings, as if he is looking for someone.
“What is going on? Who is Mary Ann?” I ask him. “And how is she supposed to lead us to the rabbit’s whereabouts?”
“You seriously don’t know?” He looks straight into my eyes, as if I should. “I mean, I didn’t get it first, but I’m surprised you didn’t, too. I thought you knew Lewis Carroll’s book by heart.”
“There is a Mary Ann in the book?” I say as the memory hits me. It’s just a trivial sentence in the White Rabbit chapter, a detail everyone usually overlooks. “I get it now.” I feel like I am in a haze. “When the White Rabbit first meets Alice in the book, he mistakes her for someone. The rabbit says, ‘Why, Mary Ann, what are you doing out here?’
“Mary Ann is me?” I sound as if I’m asking, but deep inside I know it's a fact. I can't tell why I am sure about it. “This whole game was to tell me it’s me? Why?”
I am utterly, madly, deeply confused.
“Doesn’t matter why now,” the Pillar says. “What matters is how you’re supposed to have the secrets in you to find the rabbit.”
“I am tired of these games.” The imaginary haze around me is purple. I feel like I am going to drop to the ground any moment. “What is the point of all that?”
The Pillar holds me before I collapse. “I have no idea. You need to be stronger than this, Alice. It’s already 9:52 a.m. A little more than an hour is left. Look inside you, Alice. This is weird, but the solution is buried inside your memory somehow.”
A moment of silence imprisons both of us before I speak again. A moment that feels like forever. I realize that there is a big chance I am a nobody. Maybe I was just adopted, left on the doorstep of some church when I was a kid. Maybe I was raised in the jungle among apes and elephants. Maybe I am an alien, and I just don’t know it. I am saying this because I truly don’t know who I am. This Alice everyone is infatuated with can't be me. I just don't feel it anymore.
My blurry eyes dart toward the tattoo on my arm. What did the homeless man mean when he asked me about it?
“So?” the Pillar says.
“So what?”
“I have no clue to the next step,” he says. “You need to help me catch the rabbit.”
I have no idea what he is talking about. Not since I left the asylum have I searched within me and found answers. Not for who I am, not for what happened in the bus accident, and certainly not now.
I try to think of my Tiger Lily, of Jack, and of any kind of strength I have inside me. What motivates people to wake themselves up from a haze, I wonder. What motivates people to stay sane in all this insanity, I don’t know.
But, surprisingly, a memory hits me like a lightning bolt.
“I think I know the next step,” I say reluctantly.