Figment - Jace Cameron. Страница 13

The Pillar is silent. I hope he is thinking it over. "Okay. I will give it until one minute in." He sighs. It's the first time I force him to succumb to my wishes. "Let's see. The names you read on the toe tags do not have anything in common. All we know for sure is the kids' ages, which isn't much of a lead we can follow. Boys and girls, so there is no gender issue here. I checked a few names while you were talking; all kids are either poor or middle class. None are from rich families. But then, most crimes are committed against the poorer people in the world—"

"Could it be the Cheshire didn't stuff the muffins inside?" I interrupt, clicking thumb and middle finger. "Could it be that the kids bought the muffins themselves first?"

"I don't know of kids who like to bite on Ziplocked muffins. Doesn't sound so tasty."

"You're not following, Pillar. The Cheshire later Ziplocked the muffins they bought." I'm not stating facts; I am thinking out loud. "What I am saying is the kids might have been chosen because they bought a Meow Muffin—or wanted one so badly."

"Could be," the Pillar says. "So?"

I try to figure it out, staring at the kids again. Why would he kill kids who buy these muffins?

"Two minutes."

"Wait!" I raise a numb finger in the air. "Forget about what I just said. I was wrong."

"Admitting failure is a rare virtue."

"But I'm right about something else," I say in a louder voice. "The kids!"

"What about them?"

"They are..." I squint to make sure. Could it be that the clue has been so easy to figure from the beginning? Damn you, Cheshire.

"What?"

I hurl toward the death bags and unzip the kids fully from top to bottom to see their whole bodies. Why was I so scared to look at their bodies before?

"What is it, Alice?" The Pillar is both worried and excited.

"The clue isn't in the heads!" I shriek.

"How so?"

"The same way the watermelons are designed to elude the police so we could find the muffin, the kids' heads are also a misleading trick to elude the police," I explain. "The real clue is in the bodies." All of the disconnected bodies are intact, with not one drop of blood visible. "The bodies are dressed neatly." I tell him what I see. "I don't suppose the kids wore those at the time of the crimes. The kids have been dressed up later. I mean the kids' bodies have been dressed up later."

"So, the heads were more of an 'x that marks the spot.' Makes sense, since the police located the bodies in their houses, a few hours after locating the heads." The Pillar is excited. "So what is the clue? Almost one minute, Alice. You better get going."

 "The kids' pockets are filled with endless candy, bars, and tarts."

The Pillar is silent.

"Snicker Snackers chocolate bars, Tumtum cans, and Queen of Hearts Tarts," I say, reading the labels. "Are these known snacks sold in Britain now?" I don't remember any of those two years ago, but then again, I don't remember anything two years ago.

"They are. Everything Wonderland is trending in the food industries since the Cheshire's killing last week. Less than one minute, Alice. Hurry. Tell me about the clue."

"At first, I thought the suits were too large for the kids, and then now I find the pockets stuffed with candy."

"How large is too large?"

"Considerably large. XXL, I think," I say. "I mean, a fourteen-year-old boy or girl shouldn't be that—"

"Are the kids overweight, Alice?" the Pillar asks bluntly.

"Almost as the overweight kids I saw in Richmond Elementary School. What's up with that?"

"Are all the deceased kids fat, Alice? Are they all overweight?"

"Yes." I nod. It's unmistakable. It finally becomes evident when I roll all the kids on their backs and see huge XXLs marked on the backs. This is definitely the killer's doing. "What kind of crime is this?"

"So, the clue is that all kids the Cheshire kills are fat?" The Pillar seems amused.

"It definitely is."

"Great. Take off your duster and shoes, Alice," the Pillar says. "And jump in the bag. The mortician should arrive—"

The signal fades.

"Pillar," I pant as I take off my shoes and duster and throw them behind a desk. "Can you hear me?" I get into the bag and start zipping myself from inside, which is really complicated, but I manage to zip up to my forehead as I lie on my back.

Inside the bag, I tuck the phone in my pocket and silence it, afraid it will ring while the mortician is present.

I begin breathing as slowly as I can.

Calm down, Alice. In only a few minutes you'll be safe.

I close my eyes as I hear footsteps nearing from the outside. A metallic door opens.

I take a deep breath and try to think of something relaxing so I won't panic. I can only think of one person who makes me feel that way. The one person I think gives meaning to my life, and the one I really care for, even it makes no sense, and even if he is mad enough to call himself Jack Diamonds.

Chapter 16

The footsteps of the mortician are that of a slightly heavy woman. The marble floor squeaks underneath her cheap sport shoes. Or so I believe. It's hard to tell for sure.

Heavy steps. Very slow. Trudging.

I try to slow my breathing, as there isn't enough air inside the bag. This should be over soon. I need her just to roll my table out of the room. She's probably looking for my ID or something to identify my corpse.

The mortician stops a few tables away and waits.

Then she walks again. I hear her tap what I assume is a paper chart. Her breathing is heavy, like a shivering gas pipe about to explode.

I try to occupy my mind again with anything that will calm me down. In the beginning it is Jack. Oh, Jack, with all your absurdness, your silliness, and your cute dimples. But then Jack's image fades to the sound of music outside my bag.

The mortician woman probably uses an iPod with small speakers. A song I know well: "Don't Fear the Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult.

Interesting.

This might take some time. I don't think she is in a hurry. All I can do is wait for her to pick me up.

A flick of the mortician's cigarette lighter drags things into an even slower pace. I don't blame her. Time is probably worthless for a woman who spends her days living among the dead.

She inhales her cigarette shortly and then exhales, coughing. Smoke seeps through the bag and into my nostrils. I manage not to sneeze. Dead people usually don't, I imagine the Pillar saying.

But I know the woman is near.

I hear her pick up the paper chart again, and tread slowly toward me. She starts whistling with the song: "Don't fear the reaper...la la la la la la."

I want to wiggle my feet to the rhythm, but I hold back.

I wonder if she listens to the same song each day. While the Pillar's favorite subject is madness, this woman is surrounded by death. Maybe she grew too numb to it. That would explain her easiness and relaxed demeanor. I wouldn't be surprised if she orders pizza. Two slices, chopped-off heads topping, and some mayonnaise, please. I'll tip generously if you slide me a Meow Muffin from under the table.

"Alice Wonder," the woman mutters, flipping the chart. "Where art thou?" She taps her heavy feet, and then sucks on the cigarette.