"I don't even know how he does it, Doctor Truckle," Waltraud Wagner spoke slowly. She'd always been among Doctor Truckle's favorites. "The cell is still locked from the outside. There is no sign of breaking out. And he is the one and only patient in the ward."
"Professor Carter Pillar is one of the world's most dangerous psychopaths," Doctor Truckle faced his staff. "He used to teach philosophy at Oxford University, until something happened to him and compromised his sanity," Truckle's eyes widened under his glasses when pronouncing the word “sanity.” His thinning blond hair almost prickled, sending goosebumps to his staff’s arms. "Pillar the Killer killed twelve innocent people afterwards. The fact that he tricked the court by pleading insanity does not deter from the other fact: that he is a cold-blooded serial killer disguising as an insane man." Truckle enjoyed the fear he insinuated in his staff’s eyes. He’d always liked to be feared or he felt he’d fail in controlling the asylum. "The Pillar might fool you with his charms, hypnotizing drugged eyes, and his nonsensical sarcasm. But if you think his stay here is for treatment, then you're on the verge of insanity yourself. The asylum is more of a prison for him. He's doing time here because neither the Interpol nor FBI could convict him. We're supposed to keep him locked here, to protect the world outside from him." He knuckled his fingers, as if preparing to punch somebody. "So can anyone explain to me how he managed to escape for the third time this month?" he screamed from the top of his lungs, his veins protruding on his neck like hot hookah hoses. Most of the staff swallowed hard. There was a saying in the asylum: that the only one madder than a hatter was the Truckle.
"With all due respect, Doctor Truckle," Waltraud said. "I think we should finally inform the authorities."
"You know I can't do that, nurse Waltraud." Truckle gritted his teeth. "We’re all going to lose our jobs instantly if we tell them that the man they asked us to simply lock away is gone. Besides, everyone is head-over-heels looking for this Cheshire Cat killer right now. Knowing the Pillar escaped will worsen things for everyone."
"What really puzzles me, Doctor Truckle, is why Professor Carter Pillar always returns from his escape," Waltraud pondered. "I mean, we never report his escape and yet he still returns to his cell, as if it's a walk in the park."
Truckle's face reddened as he stared back at the empty cell. "He's mocking us, Waltraud," he tucked his hands in his pockets and was about to pull out one of the pills his psychiatrist prescribed him. He didn’t want to expose himself in front of his staff. If they knew their boss needed help just like any other madman in the asylum, it'd be the end of his career. "He is bloody mocking us, and I am dying to know what he has on his mind," he said, crushing the pill into powder with his fingers. He didn’t mind it laying in the bottom of his pockets. He had a lot of pills, and used to take four to six a day to calm down.
"Maybe he really is mad," Ogier mooed from behind. No one even paid attention to him. “Or why would he always come back?”
"I think it's that Alice in Under Ground book he always keeps with him," Waltraud suggested, pointing at the book laid on the couch. "I heard he started killing after reading it."
Silence invaded the room, as everyone wondered where Professor Carter Pillar was at the moment.
Chapter 5
Entrance, the Radcliffe Lunatic Asylum
A black limousine halted abruptly before the Radcliffe Asylum’s entrance. The recklessness of its driver alerted security at the main gate. They held their guns, squinting their eyes against the framed windows of the unusually long limo. A series of uninterrupted laughter crackled from inside, as the music of the Beatles was playing somewhere in the back. The passengers sang Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, except that in their version, it was “Alice.”
A chauffeur got out and hurried to open the door for his partying passengers in the back. He was so devoted to his job, he hadn't even noticed the security guards with their guns aimed at the limousine. The chauffeur was short. He wore a tuxedo that was too long, as if he’d borrowed it. His face was funny in the strangest ways. It was full of freckles, spattered around a small and pointy nose. A chortle almost escaped one of the security guards upon noticing the chauffeur’s thin mustache. It looked more like a rat’s whiskers.
The chauffeur cleared his throat, adjusted his necktie, and bent over as he opened the passenger door. Many girls were laughing from inside.
A huge amount of smoke blew into the faces of the guards upon opening the door. It was as if someone had trapped a cloud inside the limo and now it was foaming out onto them, like a blob from one of the old scary movies. It was gray, thick, and smelled funny. The guards got a little dizzy.