Read Online Family (Insanity Book 7) by Cameron Jace - Free Book Online
Authors: Cameron Jace
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I answer.
“That’s some morbid gesture from whoever planned this unlikely gathering.”
“Who brought you here?”
“I have no idea. Got your message to meet you at the Inklings. Once I stepped in, someone knocked me on the head. The rest is a day trip in the back of a black limousine, I’m assuming.”
“I find it hard to believe,” I say. “It’s not easy fooling you.”
“I wouldn’t have fallen for the trick if my phone didn’t say the message was from you.”
“Don’t play sentimental on me.” I wave a hand. “You don’t have the slightest of my sympathies today. There’s so much you need to tell me.”
“I’ve told you everything you need to know in the note I wrote you. The Wonder note.”
I look sideways, not sure how to answer this.
“I take it you’ve never read it,” the Pillar says.
“I didn’t. It’s not with me here. I’ve buried it at the bottom of my Tiger Lily’s pot. The pot is kept in a safe box. I find it hard to believe that one word on that note explains everything.”
“It does,” the Pillar says. “Don’t underestimate the power of words. Love is one hell of a single word. It changes the course of our lives.”
“Oh, please.” I evade his eyes, or he’d infuse his magic upon me.
“What did you do to Inspector Dormouse?” Tom interrupts, taking a step toward the Pillar and playing brave. “What did you do to him?”
I watch the Pillar’s reaction, eager to hear another manipulative lie like he always does. This time, he really surprises me. “I shot Inspector Dormouse and buried him in an abandoned flower garden near Big Ben. I don’t think he minded. It’s not but an eternal nap for him. He always loved naps.”
Chapter 28
Outside the Radcliffe Asylum
The Queen of Hearts enjoyed taking pictures outside the asylum. All kinds of press and news channels focused on her. She even pulled out her phone and began taking selfies for Instagram. Some with the police officers, some with a few passersby, and the majority of herself alone, blowing kisses at the camera.
The Interpol officers were irked by her, but could not speak up. They prayed she wouldn’t stay for the remaining eight hours, because she seemed to be enjoying herself. She’d even begun to Snapchat.
“Was it you who discovered the terrorists’ plan, Your Majesty?” a reporter asked.
“Who else?” she said, chin up. “I can smell a terrorist’s fart a mile away.”
“Excuse me?”
“Me and Interpol have a codename for terrorists,” she joked, pulling a couple of the officers into the frame. She forcefully hugged them as if they were a team. “It’s an insider’s joke. We call them farts. Terrorists deserve it.”
“But why not catch them earlier?” another reporter asked. “Why didn’t we hear anything about it before?”
“I endorse discreet execution. I suggested we wait until they were all gathered, planning for a new terrorist attack. And here we are. We’re about to end terrorism in the world. Right boys?” she addressed the poor officers, bending low to fit into the camera’s frame and match her short height.
The Interpol officers nodded, faking smiles.
“But how come they meet in an asylum?” a reporter inquired. “What about the mental patients inside?”
“They’re all mad!” the Queen raised her voice. “Mad is another codename for terrorists. You’re either sane or a terrorist.”
“This doesn’t make sense, Your Majesty.”
“Does it not?” She leaned forward and whispered to the reporter. “Do you want me to call you mad right now?”
The reporter shrugged and backed away.
One last reporter stepped up and asked, “So what’s the plan? Are you really giving the terrorists eight hours? Why not barge in and kill them right away?”
The Queen’s eyes glazed upward. The idea seemed brilliant. “I think you’re right,” she said, then turned to the Interpol officers. “I think we should just break in and shoot them all
“That’s some morbid gesture from whoever planned this unlikely gathering.”
“Who brought you here?”
“I have no idea. Got your message to meet you at the Inklings. Once I stepped in, someone knocked me on the head. The rest is a day trip in the back of a black limousine, I’m assuming.”
“I find it hard to believe,” I say. “It’s not easy fooling you.”
“I wouldn’t have fallen for the trick if my phone didn’t say the message was from you.”
“Don’t play sentimental on me.” I wave a hand. “You don’t have the slightest of my sympathies today. There’s so much you need to tell me.”
“I’ve told you everything you need to know in the note I wrote you. The Wonder note.”
I look sideways, not sure how to answer this.
“I take it you’ve never read it,” the Pillar says.
“I didn’t. It’s not with me here. I’ve buried it at the bottom of my Tiger Lily’s pot. The pot is kept in a safe box. I find it hard to believe that one word on that note explains everything.”
“It does,” the Pillar says. “Don’t underestimate the power of words. Love is one hell of a single word. It changes the course of our lives.”
“Oh, please.” I evade his eyes, or he’d infuse his magic upon me.
“What did you do to Inspector Dormouse?” Tom interrupts, taking a step toward the Pillar and playing brave. “What did you do to him?”
I watch the Pillar’s reaction, eager to hear another manipulative lie like he always does. This time, he really surprises me. “I shot Inspector Dormouse and buried him in an abandoned flower garden near Big Ben. I don’t think he minded. It’s not but an eternal nap for him. He always loved naps.”
Chapter 28
Outside the Radcliffe Asylum
The Queen of Hearts enjoyed taking pictures outside the asylum. All kinds of press and news channels focused on her. She even pulled out her phone and began taking selfies for Instagram. Some with the police officers, some with a few passersby, and the majority of herself alone, blowing kisses at the camera.
The Interpol officers were irked by her, but could not speak up. They prayed she wouldn’t stay for the remaining eight hours, because she seemed to be enjoying herself. She’d even begun to Snapchat.
“Was it you who discovered the terrorists’ plan, Your Majesty?” a reporter asked.
“Who else?” she said, chin up. “I can smell a terrorist’s fart a mile away.”
“Excuse me?”
“Me and Interpol have a codename for terrorists,” she joked, pulling a couple of the officers into the frame. She forcefully hugged them as if they were a team. “It’s an insider’s joke. We call them farts. Terrorists deserve it.”
“But why not catch them earlier?” another reporter asked. “Why didn’t we hear anything about it before?”
“I endorse discreet execution. I suggested we wait until they were all gathered, planning for a new terrorist attack. And here we are. We’re about to end terrorism in the world. Right boys?” she addressed the poor officers, bending low to fit into the camera’s frame and match her short height.
The Interpol officers nodded, faking smiles.
“But how come they meet in an asylum?” a reporter inquired. “What about the mental patients inside?”
“They’re all mad!” the Queen raised her voice. “Mad is another codename for terrorists. You’re either sane or a terrorist.”
“This doesn’t make sense, Your Majesty.”
“Does it not?” She leaned forward and whispered to the reporter. “Do you want me to call you mad right now?”
The reporter shrugged and backed away.
One last reporter stepped up and asked, “So what’s the plan? Are you really giving the terrorists eight hours? Why not barge in and kill them right away?”
The Queen’s eyes glazed upward. The idea seemed brilliant. “I think you’re right,” she said, then turned to the Interpol officers. “I think we should just break in and shoot them all
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