Deep inside, I admit I feel he is a much better man than he seems to be. I mean he saved me from the Executioner. But every time I tell myself that, he turns the table on me in a blink of an eye.
My predicament is truly weakening me. I mean, even Lewis Carroll is some kind of a monster now. How am I going to live with that? Am I really supposed to not trust anyone but myself? Are these the rules of the game?
The kids try their clothes on. They seem to be fond of brightly colored dresses. I don’t blame them. They lived in a dim mushroom world for so long.
I make sure everyone gets what he wants, not knowing what I am going to do with them. I can’t take them back to the asylum. That would be like transporting them from one hell to another.
But I’ll figure it out.
Right now I have to send them back to the chopper, so the Pillar and I can get ready for the hookah festival that night.
Chapter 51
Haha Street, Department of Insanity, London
Inspector Sherlock Dormouse was about to order a lockdown on the department when the Lewis Carroll man walked in.
Each and every one of the police officers stopped with their mouths open wide, staring at him. For one, he was scary as hell. And two, it made no sense for a criminal to walk into the department on his own.
Inspector Dormouse didn’t feel the need to fall asleep now. How could he with that monster walking in his office? He watched the lankly man stroll through, not saying a word. He seemed to be looking for something.
The man was tense, gripping his head and sweating like he had an intolerable headache. He was sweating and drooling. He was in dire pain.
But he kept on walking, stopping next to the room where they locked criminals in—well, they hadn’t used it for some time because they never caught anyone.
The Lewis Carroll man stood in front of the barred cell and turned to face the sweating Inspector.
“Keys,” he demanded.
“Keys?” Inspector Dormouse raised his eyebrows.
“Keys.”
“Keys?” the rest of the officers replied, eyes wide open with surprise.
“Keysss,” the monster grunted.
“Keys! How many times does he have to ask for the keys?” Inspector Dormouse yelled at the officers.
One of them threw the cell’s keys on the Inspector’s desk. Sherlock Dormouse wished he was asleep now, so he wouldn’t have to hand them himself to the Lewis Carroll maniac.
Slowly, he reached for them then started tiptoeing his way toward the monster. “There is no need to lock us inside the cell,” the Inspector managed to say, his lips shivering and his belly flipping like jelly. “We can just leave and you can enjoy the department all alone. Right, officers?”
All the officers nodded in silence.
The Lewis Carroll man snatched the keys from the Inspector and opened the cell with it.
Then he did something unexplainable.
He entered the cell, locked himself inside, and gave the keys back to the Inspector.
Chapter 52
Hookah Festival, Brazil
It’s hard to fully comprehend what’s going on in the Hookah Festival, not with all this spiraling smoke around us.
“I love it!” The Pillar raises both arms in the air, welcoming the show.
“Of course you love it.” I roll my eyes. “All the hookahs you can smoke for a lifetime.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Alice. This is where imagination runs wild,” the Pillar says as we snake through the endless crowd. He inhales every flavor we come across as if it’s the battery of his soul. “Look at all this haze.”
“There is nothing to look at. I can barely see anything.”
“And that’s the point exactly.”
“The point is not to see what’s ahead of me?”
“The point is to see enough to get you going, and then keep the rest of it a mystery.”
“And why would I want whatever is in front of me to be a mystery?”
“Oh my, Alice. Can’t you see this festival is a metaphor for life? What good is it if you know what tomorrow holds for you? One hookah puff at a time, young girl.”
Instead of arguing, or actually considering his logic, I see him greeting all fellow hookah’s he passes by. At least I can see that far.
“Banana-flavored hookah!” The Pillar celebrates. “You have to try this one, Alice.”
“No, thanks. I’ve had my share of dizziness already.” Would I risk experiencing the mushrooms’ effect again?
“How about Blueberry?” he offices.
“Aren’t we supposed to find the Scientist?”
“But of course,” he burps. “Mr Scientist!” Spiral bubbles form out of his mouth when he speaks. “Not here.”
I don’t know if it’s funny or horrible when I see him act like a kid. Thank God I told the Columbian kids to wait in the chopper, or this would have turned into a kindergarten.
“How about this one?” He hands me a hookah that writes random words in the air when you blow out the smoke. How this is possible, I have no idea.
Who r u? The Pillar writes in the air, just like a 1951 Disney movie.