The word "classroom" bothers me. I ask how many children he has with him in there. The teacher nods with the happiest smile ever, and claps my hand between hers before she says her prayers and blessings, still enamored by the presence of one of the country's most renowned professors. All of this without telling me how many children. She tells me how kind it is that a man of the Pillar's caliber visits the children, and how happy they are about meeting with such an idol.
"Do you happen to know he's been convicted..." I can't help it.
"Of murder?" She laughs and waves a hand in the air. "Professor Pillar was so kind to explain the misunderstanding. Of course, there is the other 'Pillar the Killer' who is locked away in a sanitarium. This kind man in the classroom has nothing to do with it."
"How so?" I am curious enough to blow my cover.
"Ah, dear. I know you're testing me now. You know it was a case of identity theft. The madman used the honored professor's name. He told me all about it. Besides, how can a madman ever escape a sanitarium?" She laughs again.
I can't argue with her, actually. I myself am not supposed to be out of the asylum. I think the brilliance of my cover is that I am not expected to be walking the sane world. "And why would a madman visit a school and lecture kids if he'd escaped the asylum?" I am thinking out loud, trapped inside the logic he fed to the poor woman. It's scary how the change of a word or two can twist any truth into a lie.
I pat the woman and thank her, turning to walk the corridor. A few empty classes away, I find an occupied one. When I peek in through the glass in the door, I don't see children flying paper planes or practicing all kinds of chaos in the absence of real teachers. Instead, I see them all building things. Some kind of Lego structure, except they are putting together pieces of a few hookahs.
Chapter 8
Classroom # 14, Richmond Elementary School
The Pillar has his own hookah fixed on the teacher's desk. He sits on the chair behind it, taking drags as if he were still in his VIP cell in the asylum.
I glare at him from behind the glass door once he sees me. Allowing middle-grade kids to play with a hookah doesn't seem to nag his morality by any means.
"Boys and girls." He points his hookah and lets a spiral of smoke swirl around him. "Welcome your new friend." He points at me.
The attention of the young folks tenses me momentarily, but once they start calling my name, I have no choice but to open the door and take them in my arms.
"Alice!" a girl runs into me and hugs me. "The Pillar said you would come visit us."
"I wouldn't miss it," I say, and then gaze at the Pillar for explanation. He is not looking at me, occupied with chalking something on the blackboard. He draws a blind woman holding two scales, a hookah in each, and writes underneath: ...and madness for all!
"Are you going to save lives today?" a boy asks me. I can't help but notice most of the kids are a bit overweight for their age, but hey, they need to eat to grow up.
"Are you going to catch the Watermelon Killer?" a girl asks. I feel dreadful that they know about the crimes, and shoot the Pillar a blaming look.
"That's TV's doing, not me," he says, and drags from his hookah.
"He is not called the Watermelon Killer," a boy objects. "He is the Football Killer."
"Why don't you all give me some privacy with the Pillar for a few minutes"—I pat a few children—"so I can catch that killer?"
"Kick his arse!" A tall and chubby boy fists a hand as if he were Superman.
I guess that is TV's doing as well.
"Go back to your hookahs, kids," the Pillar says. "They're not smoking hookahs, just putting a few together," he tells me before I object. "It's basically like Lego."
I leave the kids and walk to him. The Pillar shows me out to a balcony. Once we get out, his funny face disappears. "The Cheshire is killing again," he says, not wasting any more time.
Chapter 9
"How do you know it's the Cheshire?" I ask.
"At least he is behind the killings. But this time it's different: grander, gorier, and bloodier. Whatever he has on his mind, we're way behind to stop him." He reaches for his phone to show me something.
"Stop!" I demand.
He looks confused.
"Seriously?" I sneer at him, tilting my head.
He blinks twice, wondering about my annoyance.
"You don't contact me for a week, leave me behind with so many unanswered questions, and then when we meet, you act as if I'm working for you or something?"
"Oh?" he says. "I suppose I should've written you a letter of fluffy words on pinkish watermarked paper that smells of summer roses."
"Of course not. It's just that unanswered questions keep piling up."
"I suppose I could answer a couple of questions." He checks his pocket watch. "If the Cheshire doesn't go chopping a few other heads and stuff them in watermelons while we do."
"Don't do this to me." I raise a finger. He is triggering my desire for justice and saving people.
"After Yeskelitch's watermelon, eleven more heads were found in watermelons across the country. In a span of two days."
"So fast?" I am perplexed.
"Also, the news hostess lied and kept vital information from the public," he says. "The head Yeskelitch found was one of his own kids."
"I didn't—"
"Yes, Alice. It's true." The Pillar purses his lips. "Each and every head is a kid's head."
The shocking revelation urges me to watch the kids playing in class. Although I don't approve of them putting hookahs together, they seem so happy about their lives. They are looking forward for each coming day. How can someone take that from them?
"Thirteen heads so far, all kids between age seven and fourteen," the Pillar says. "It's a Jub Jub mess." He turns on the news on his mobile phone.
"This is insane..." My jaw is left hanging open, my eyes begging me to drop down my eyelids so I won't have nightmares from what I am looking at. Families are crying their hearts out, mothers vomiting upon seeing their children's chopped-off heads, and fathers cry hysterically and swear they'd chop the killer into a million pieces when they catch him. "This is insane," I repeat to myself, because I don't know what else to say.
"Well, no more watermelons sold in Britain," the Pillar muses. Now he has my attention, he starts playing sarcastic and cruel again. "People should stick to cantaloupe. Ah, not big enough to stuff a head inside."
"So, why is the Cheshire killing again?" I have to ignore his weird sarcasm. It's only meant to provoke me.
"I have no idea."
"You don't?" I frown. "I thought you knew how the Cheshire thinks."
"Usually I do, but this"—he points at the screen—"is some messy massacre. I don't understand its purpose."
"But the message on the kid's foreheads speaks for itself," I offer. "'Off with their heads.'"
"So does the idea of chopping off heads." The Pillar stares absently at the screen. I can tell he is genuinely confused. "It's definitely a Wonderland crime, committed by a Wonderland Monster like the Cheshire. I just don't understand why."
"The Cheshire said there will be a Wonderland War—whatever that is. Could that be a part of it? Just some carnage, messy massacre to ensure terror on humans?"
"Nah." The Pillar tongues his cheek from inside. "Despite his unquenchable grudge against humanity, the Cheshire's main concern is to locate and free the Wonderland Monsters to help him in the Wonderland War." He eyes me briefly, letting me know I am not supposed to ask what the war is about, not now. "So, inducing chaotic madness upon the world isn't his thing. These murders are about something else. This is tailored work, a careful design of crimes. Whoever killed thirteen children all over Britain in two days had committed the crimes much earlier. We were only meant to know about them now. There is a message we're supposed to get."