"Each town the girls came from was at some point considered the origin of where Lewis Carroll was inspired to write about the Cheshire Cat."
"You didn't get that from Wikipedia, did you?" the Pillar closes his eyes and sighs.
"What's wrong with that?"
"Wikipedia to me is what Wonderland is to the so-called sane people." He opens his eyes and rubs them. "It's doesn't exist. Most of its info is Jub Jub." I am taking it that Jub Jub is the total opposite of Frabjous. "Anyways, go on. What do you think this means?"
"At first, I had no idea. I just thought their proximity to each other was a bit strange, but then I figured it out," I say. "Each of these towns has stone carvings of a grinning cat in one of its Churches."
"Grinning Cats? Churches? Never thought those two would mix," the Pillar is even more interested. "What are the names of the towns and the churches?"
"Saint Wilfrid Church in Grappenhall, a village adjacent to Lewis Carroll's birthplace in Daresbury in Warrington, Cheshire," I scroll down on my phone. "Saint Nicolas Church in Carnleigh. It's a town close to Guildford where one of Carroll’s sisters lived. It also where he died. A nameless church in the village of Crof-On-Tees. And finally, St. Christopher's in Pott Shrigly."
"Each one of those churches has a statue of a grinning cat in it?”
“Each one,” I nod. “And each one claims it was the inspiration for Lewis to write about the Cheshire Cat.”
“That’s one hell of a connection, although I can’t see what it leads to,” he says. “But the corpses of the Cheshire’s victims were found in Cambridge, London, and Oxford."
"It's where the girls’ families moved later. But the five girls were born in the smaller towns with the churches. Can’t you see that all of these towns were visited by Lewis Carroll, or at least he had access to them?”
"Let me think this over," the Pillar says. "The Cheshire kills girls who were born in villages around where Lewis Carroll lived. Not just that, but places where sandstones or statues where a grinning cat exist. What could that mean?"
"Like I said, I can't interpret the meaning, but this is no coincidence."
"And where is Constance from?"
My eyes widen. Why haven't I thought of that?
"Wait. You probably won't find that info on the net," he checks his phone, surfing some secret forum or something. "Just a minute," he keeps searching. "Here it is. Constance Richard," the Pillar stops in the middle of the sentence. "In London."
"So no connection to the other girls?" I feel disappointed. Another lost lead.
"Not necessarily. Who said there isn't a statue of a grinning cat in London? I just don't know of it. Your theory is still possible," the Pillar says.
The light above our seats flashes, urging us to fasten our seat belts. We've arrived.
“Now that we're about to land,” the Pillar says. “There is something I have to do.” He stands up and faces everyone in the plane. “Ladies and gentlemen, honored visitors of the Vatican City, may I have your attention?”
“Please sit down, sir,” the flight attendant demands, but he ignores her.
“I’m the Archbishop of the Frabjous Christians of Monte Carlo,” he says. I am sure there is no such thing. “And I’d like you to recite this little prayer with me before we land.”
“Sir!” the flight attendant repeats with no prevail. “Please sit down! We’re about to land.”
“Do you think we can land without the will of God, young lady?” he says to her, and wins the passengers’ attention immediately. “Do you think your seatbelts will save me from the wrath of God, if He so desires to crash this plane to pieces?"
The flight attendant shrugs, and the crowd begs the Pillar to recite his landing prayer. “Okay, just make it quick,” she lowers her head and walks away.
“After me, please,” he raises his hand to the plane’s roof and begins, “Now I sit me down to land,” and the passengers repeat after him, all in one voice. “I pray the lord with open hands,” this has become the Vatican Airlines. “That if I die before we land,” I can’t believe how poor his rhyming is. Why are these people even following him? “Please don’t take me to Wonderland!”
“Amen,” everyone says, and I feel like I want to dig Lewis Carroll up from his grave and ask him who the Pillar really is.
Chapter 44
The Vatican City
Once we land, the Pillar stops a taxi and chirps in Italian. When I say chirp, I mean it. It's like he is someone else entirely when he talks this loud language. I listen to him the way he says bene and cups his finger like Italians do. The taxi driver is fascinated by the Pillar, although I can't understand what they are saying. All I know is the Pillar's name is suddenly Professor Carlo Pallotti.
We finally stop at a beautiful square with narrow streets. The Pillar takes me by the hand and shows me around. He says we're going to St. Peters, one of the oldest churches in the world.