Figment - Jace Cameron - Страница 6
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"Arriving back home, Mr. Yeskelitch tucked the slightly oversized watermelon in the fridge for a couple of hours," the host continued. "Then, when it was dinnertime, he decided to serve the watermelon to his children, who were eager for their weekly dose, only to be shocked with what they saw stuffed inside when they cut it open." The woman shrugged for a moment, unable to comprehend the words she was supposed to read to the nation. "Bloody, blimey, bollocks!" Her tongue slipped as she adjusted her spectacles. She raised her head back to the camera with kaleidoscope eyes of surprise. "Mr. Yeskelitch and his children found a human head inside the watermelon." Then she stopped, her eyes a bit watery, like a girl in a Japanese Manga about to burst into tears. "Another human head like the one which was found stuffed inside the ball in Stamford Bridge," she continued, almost stuttering.
Dr. Truckle wondered if she hadn't been informed of the heaviness of the subject before going live on air. Or was she occupied manicuring her fingernails, cleaning her glasses, and showing off her expensive dress?
But Dr. Truckle wasn't really interested in the pretentious world of TV—although he secretly wished they'd interview him on Good Morning Britain. The doctor was wondering whether the news had anything to do with the Cheshire killer, thus the Pillar as well.
Was it possible that the Pillar was somehow linked to the killings?
The doctor's eyes darted back to screens monitoring the Pillar's cell. The damn professor hadn't returned. Where was he?
Dr. Truckle snapped like a rubber band to the sudden ringing of his office's landline. Who used landlines these days? He had begun considering the landline operator as an antique long ago.
"Dr. Truckle speaking," he answered, adjusting his tie in the mirror.
"I'm Professor Pillar's chauffeur," a mousy voice replied. "I have a message from him."
Dr. Truckle looked around, making sure no one was with him in the room. "What kind of message?" He grabbed the receiver with both hands, trying to stick his ear closer and closer.
"Professor Pillar wants you to do something right now. He says time is not on our side. We need to move fast."
"I'm not doing anything before you tell me where he is right this moment." Dr. Truckle almost cracked the handset open with his intensity.
"You really want to know?"
"I do." He was almost panting like a dog longing for a bone.
"He's playing football with an oversized watermelon in Hyde Park," the chauffeur said. "Oh, wait."
"Wait for what?" Dr. Truckle panicked. "What's happening?"
"Oh, nothing," said the chauffeur. "The watermelon split open. There is someone's head inside."
Chapter 6
Walled garden, Radcliffe Lunatic Asylum, Oxford
Amidst my confusion and frustration, I sit on the walled garden's ground. I need a moment to catch my breath and decide what I am about to do. Lewis sent me a message through a daydreaming vision. I am not sure what to do with it. Nor do I have any idea whom he failed to help—or save.
Whether Lewis is my mind's doing or for real, I can't discard his apparent caring about the world. He loves people unconditionally. He wants to make things right. He wants to make the world better. Lewis, the stuttering artist, doesn't shy away from what he is, from his fears. I think this is why he impacted so many children in the world. Older folks usually wear their own masks when they deal with children, but Lewis opened up and let go. He accepted who he was and what the world around him was like, and decided he would only see the good in all the mess.
Unlike what I did the past six weeks. I know now it was a mistake pretending what was not.
If I am mad, make my day. I should have not avoided the Mush Room in order to pretend last week's events didn't happen. The Pillar's words ring in my ear again: Insane people are only sane people who give in to the madness in the world. I am not sure he said those exact words. I am remembering the meaning behind what he said—again, if he ever existed and wasn't a figment of my imagination.
As I sit, I hear the girl's muffled screams from the Mush Room inside the main building again. Her screams send shivers of anger down my spine this time.
Waltraud and Ogier must enjoy torturing her, laughing at her and buzzing her over and over again.
Don't even think about it, Alice, my inner voice warns me. You're not meant to save other people's lives. You're just a mad girl trying to avoid shock therapy at best.
I fist my hands and clench my teeth when the girl screams again. This could have easily been me. Each time she screams, I remember the unexplained visions of poor children asking for a loaf of bread. Did Lewis mean he couldn't save them? The regret in his eyes was unmistakable. Do I want to regret not saving the girl in the Mush Room now? Do I want to regret not saving myself?
I can't. I am no hero, but I just can't stand witnessing someone's unjustified punishment.
"Stop it!" I scream at Waltraud and Ogier from behind the wall. "Stop torturing her!" My voice seems louder than I can handle. A surge of electricity runs through my veins, and I can feel the pain of the Mush Room's instruments already. "Stop torturing her!" I repeat, pounding on the ground.
I still can stop. Maybe Waltraud hasn't heard me. But I am stubborn and I can't tolerate the screams. I throw boulders at the walls.
The screaming stops.
A few minutes later, the main door to the garden springs open. Waltraud stands in front of me, slapping her prod on her thick palms. A smirk, ten miles wide, illuminates her face.
"You were saying something, Alice?" she asks as Ogier approaches me. "I knew you couldn't play your game long enough."
The grin on Ogier's face deserves an Oscar for the Most Stupid Portrayal of Evil. He keeps grinning at me with such joy while Waltraud handcuffs me to send me down to the Mush Room—and it's not the Cheshire's evil grin.
I don't care anymore. I will stay my ground, and say what I feel is right, even if I am mad.
"So, you're mad after all," Waltraud grunts. "You still believe in Wonderland. You believe in it so much you're willing to exchange places with a girl you don't know in the torture room."
"Why don't you shut up and just finish this," I grunt back.
"Do you know I tricked you into this?" Waltraud lights up a cigarette. "I had to make the girl scream her best so you'd hear it. We weren't really treating her that bad. I knew you think you're born to save lives. Foolish you." She laughs and high-fives Ogier.
They pull me down and usher me along the corridor leading to the torture room. My lips begin to slightly shiver at the taste of the coming pain I know so well. The Mushroomers on both sides bang the bars of their cells again. "Alice. Alice. Alice!"
At the room's entrance, Waltraud's phone buzzes.
She checks the number and grimaces. "It's Dr. Truckle," she mumbles, and picks up.
Waltraud listens for a while, her lips twitching and her face dimming. She hangs up finally and stares disappointedly at me.
"You're very lucky, Alice," she says. "Dr. Truckle is sending you for further examination outside the asylum."
A faint smile lines my lips. This must be the Pillar. Something has come up. A new mission, maybe? I am baffled at how happy I am. Who was I fooling for the past six days? I am addicted to this. I am addicted to leaving the asylum, addicted to the madness in the outside world. I am addicted to saving lives.
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