Judge Rabbit stopped walking when he spotted Tom and Grim, resisting a nudge from Inspector Harris.
'Keep moving.'
'Please, please, if I could,' he said. 'Can I have a word with The Reaper?'
Inspector Harris raised his eyebrows at Grim.
The Reaper nodded.
Judge Rabbit spoke, hunched over, smiling. 'Oh-ho... I lost, didn't I?'
Tom rolled his hands into fists.
'Y-yes, you did.' Grim said, sounding far from confident in his response.
'Oh-ho, but you didn't win, did you? You're still fired, and your daughter's still dead.'
Tom lost control and lunged forward, but Grim - with surprising strength - grabbed him by the waist and held him back.
'Toodle-oo!' Judge Rabbit called, as Inspector Harris shoved him ahead.
Grim wailed apologies, struggling with Tom’s weight.
Tom didn't care. He wanted his daughter back and for Judge Rabbit to be leaving in the ambulance.
Instead, a couple of paramedics loaded the remnants of Derek into it.
~
On the steps beneath the GRAND OVERPASS, Tom and Grim sat in perfect silence.
Grim had taken the cloak off and sat in his sodden suit. 'I tried so hard, Thomas. I really did... I'm so sorry.'
'Heh.' Tom wiped his nose on the neckline of his tee-shirt. 'Listen, mate, you fuck up a lot. But I don't think for a minute you didn't do everything you could to save her.' He shrugged. 'If I didn't let you go to that last send yourself... well... sorry.'
Grim lowered his head, and his goofy haircut flopped over his face. 'Suppose I'll never be world's best Dad.'
'Aye... me neither.'
~
It wasn't fucking good enough.
There had to be a winner; a tie wouldn't do.
The next morning, they went to see Judge Red - the woman dressed all in red from the party (clearly). She sat on the other side of a spacious desk in a high chair, over a stack of paperwork, beside a ringing phone, and opposite two men who hadn't yet been home.
Tom ranted, 'look, I'm not saying you just bring Cora back, okay? I want you to bring back everyone Judge Rabbit killed. He added people to his little list whenever he fancied. He literally changed the balance of the world for his own amusement!'
Judge Red had invited them to the Courthouse to thank them for their heroics, but the meeting turned sour quickly. She spoke diplomatically, barely moving her mouth. 'Corruption isn't new to the Court, Mr Quinn. Every few years, a journalist writes a piece exposing us, there's a scandal, it dies down, and people forget, we'll make it so.'
'Bullshit, we won't forget.'
‘With respect Mr Quinn, what part of the events yesterday makes you think we can’t force amnesia upon you? We struggle with love, admittedly, you’ll never forget your daughter, but the circumstances of her loss will blur over time. It’s an important part of-'
'Lady, I am not above punching you.' It had been ages since Tom punched something. His anger needed out.
'You can leave my office now,' Judge Red said, lifting a piece of paper from atop the pile.
'This is such fucking bullshit, why are you doing this!? It's my destiny to save her! Destiny picked him! There must be a thousand much-fucking-better people in the pool, but he got picked. It wasn't luck, it was destiny. He was brought back yesterday to kick me into gear so that we - together - could save our daughter. That means something!'
'Oh, destiny, I see.’ A smirk. ‘Mr Quinn, Judge Rabbit's associate has told us this Reaper was selected very much on purpose because they were drunk and reminiscing about the day they met. It was the day they interviewed him. Not luck, not destiny. A poor coincidence? Oh yes. Rabbit happened to kidnap the daughter of the man he interviewed years ago, but he kidnapped a lot of people, so the odds aren't that bad.'
Tom collapsed back in his seat. 'Well...'
The Judge scribbled on a form, talking robotically. 'There is no such thing as destiny, I'm afraid. Now please leave my office.'
Grim, who'd been sitting quietly since they arrived, tagged Tom out. 'If I... I'm sorry for him, but my sentiments are the same. Please listen to me. Judge Rabbit's biggest mistake, and what led to his downfall, was bringing back the wrong man. That got lost in amongst all the horrible things he did on purpose - it was an accident that caught him out. I don't doubt there are dozens of people who shouldn't be dead because of him, but there's also someone who shouldn't be alive because of him.'
'Fired is fired. You won't be around for much longer.'
'Oh for fuck's sake.' Tom dumped his head into his hands.
Grim continued, 'o-okay, but... Miss Judge Red, I was brought back for a reason.' He paused, took a breath, and briefly glanced at Tom. 'I only ever wanted to make sure my daughter was safe because the last thing I did before I died... was reach into the backseat of my car to get my mobile phone off of her lap.'
'YOU WHAT!?' Tom bellowed.
'I was excited about my new phone, and I left it in my daughter's hands, and she was trying to chew it, and I reached back, and I guess I crashed. I thought I killed her... that's the last thing I thought. That haunted me when I got brought back, I-'
'AS WELL IT FUCKING SHOULD.'
'I just want her to be okay...'
'I HATE YOU.'
'And she isn't. She got shot in front of me. I can't go back knowing that. I can't. Please fix this.'
'I'M GOING TO KILL YOU ALL OVER AGAIN.' Tom shot to his feet, thrashing his limbs around the room.
Grim held an open hand towards him. 'This man, believe it or not, is the rightful father of my daughter. I won't be missed. It's a simple trade, someone who's not supposed to be alive, for someone who's not supposed to be dead.'
Judge Red stayed still.
She thought about what Grim said.
Eventually, when Tom had calmed, and as Grim willed his little heart to settle, Judge Red sighed. 'Do you know if she applied to be a Reaper?'
~
Fifty-Two
The Worst Club in Town
So, Purgatory.
I've been.
It fucking sucks.
And – like I said, a hundred percent non-metaphorically - it’s a horrible night club.
I woke up (I suppose) in the queue. I knew exactly where I was. I knew exactly what had happened. It was raining, I was cold, and I wasn't dressed very well.
'Awesome,' I said, looking ahead.
The queue stretched for miles, and I got to wait in the whole damn thing.
I must have been there for weeks. I felt aged by the time I could even see the front of the club - a building made of black bricks with a neon violet sign in a tacky font.
Another few days passed before I got to the front, where the bouncer - who looked suspiciously like Mute, by the way - gutted my handbag.
Eventually, he let me in.
There was a queue for the coat room.
Fucking forever later, I entered the club. I remember feeling - when I was alive - like some clubs just played the same song over and over again and hoped we were too shit-faced to notice. That's what happened in Purgatory. One beat, one continuous WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP and no other discernible music layered on top.
I tried to dance. When in Rome, right? But the dance floor was a sticky, hot, overcrowded disaster, full of people who wouldn't stop spilling drinks on me.
And then, in some excellent news, it turns out that I had walked into FOAM PARTY night at Purgatory.
Bubbles rose up around my knees, climbing me further every time the machine in the ceiling spewed them out. Soon, they covered me up to my waist, and chest, past my shoulders and to my neck.
Before it got as far as my mouth, I gave up on dancing and elbowed my way to the bar.
Oh my God, the fucking bar queue in this place. Two members of staff working, in an eternity of damned souls wanting a fucking vodka. Every time I tried to flag the gormless-looking barman down, he'd serve the guy next to me and start working
his way down the bar that way. I tried everything. I even leant over and squeezed all I had together in a poor effort to seduce service out of him, but it didn't work.
When I got served, I had to repeat my drink order seven or eight times - WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP - before they told me they didn't have it. Five denied drinks later, I walked away with a Bacardi and diet lemonade that tasted awful.
I went to the bathroom, but I'll only summarise my findings: another queue, unlimited drug use and spew-covered toilets.
Before long, I found myself back on the dance-floor, shuffling around to the beat.
The foam kept coming.
‘…Fuck it,’ I muttered.
Soon I was surrounded by hot, awful, whiteness, slowly suffocating me, but I didn't care anymore.
Lying down, I let the foam absorb me, filling my mouth, my eyes, my ears…
The foam became the walls around me, and the beat faded to silence.
Suddenly I wasn't drowning, but choking.
I struggled to fight air into my lungs and sat up, spewing dust everywhere in a room made of blinding light as far as I could see.
Fifteen feet from my box, hovering in the middle of the whiteness, I recognised the woman in red. She stood with her hands behind her back, thoroughly unimpressed.
Beside her, about twenty pounds heavier than I remembered, wearing a clatty, white, blood-stained tee shirt and poorly fitting jeans showing me the top of his pubes, was Tom. My Dad.
He ran towards me.
I held an arm out to keep him from getting too close, halting him dead in his tracks. 'Underwear, Dad?' I rasped. 'For fuck's sake.'
He smiled.
'Wh-who, my-my name, I-'
Tom crouched down by the box, with one hand wrapped around a scrunched-up photo of me as a kid, held tight in the prayer that they couldn't get to the name scribbled on it.
'It's Cora,' he said.
~
Fifty-Three
Just My Dads Being Dumb
Before my grand reawakening, Grim had to go back.
My Dads stood by the box with Judge Red a few yards behind them.
They were so awkward, shuffling about, nudging each other, almost saying thanks and shit like that.
Boys are the fucking dumbest.
'Listen...' Tom started, looking at his feet.
'Yes?' Grim replied, with his hands firmly in his pockets.
'Well... I said you suck at everything, and that everything bad that's ever happened to you was your fault... but, well-'
'Well, you were right about how I died, I crashed because-'
'Don't bring it up, mate. I will flip out and- I honestly have no recollection of throwing anything before but- it doesn't matter. Listen. You're doing absolutely the best thing here, you're- you don't suck at this, is what I'm trying to say.'
'I don’t suck at dying.'
'Exactly. And, if I brought it with me, I eh... I'd give you my World's Best Dad mug.'
Grim smiled. 'Thank you for saying that. But, because you're taking over the mantel, with you being around and stuff for her from now on and... well, everything you did today. I would give the mug back to you. Symbolically. Because you're the World's Best Dad.'
'Right, but... you're making the ultimate sacrifice, so I would give the mug back, and you take the mug with you to the afterlife. I mean-'
'Yes, but Thomas, you need to carry the mantel of-'
'Why are you like this? Just take the fucking mug, I mean-'
This went on for a bit because they're the dumbest.
They agreed to disagree in the end.
Grim extended a slightly cupped hand, and Tom thought the goofy bastard didn't even know how to perform a decent handshake.
He didn’t know The Reaper was doing his best to pass something to him without Judge Red noticing - it was the photo of me that had been in his suit since his interview in 1998.
When Tom accepted the handshake - along with its contents - Grim whispered, 'don't forget.'
~
Before Grim lay down in the box, he asked a favour of Tom. He asked if Tom would sit down with me and watch Star Wars. The new one, from 1999.
'Sure, man. Of course.'
‘Thank you,’ Grim said. He lay down and shut his beaten, black eyes. ‘I hope she likes it.’
The lid went on and Grim was gone, less than twenty-four hours after he arrived.
'Lovely.' Judge Red said, and Tom couldn't tell if it was sarcasm.
'I fucking hate Star Wars,' Tom replied.
~
Maybe it was a bit of an anti-climax. I dunno.
I had fought a cyborg, jumped off a building, been shot, spent some time as a ghost, spent a lot of time in a nightmare of a club and then the Court brought me back to life as the next Reaper of Wilson's Well.
Finding out Tom wasn't my birth dad was pretty weak sauce in comparison.
Tom told me everything about Grim, and he sounds lovely.
A bit of a wimp, definitely... but a lovely wimp.
I shouldn't say that; I owe him one.
~
My new life is different.
Tom makes much more of an effort to love me or something.
He keeps taking me for ice cream. It’s weird.
~
I've still got all those pictures around my mirror, but I'll get rid of them, in time.
~
The RabbitFootFour are broken up.
Judge Rabbit put together a spectacular band, but he killed kids to do it. We wouldn't give him the pleasure of playing together ever again.
We still meet for the occasional drink, though, just to keep in touch.
Keys still irritates me, Six and I still hate each other and Vox still isn't madly in love with me, or whatever. I'm over it.
Bass is back on his feet, reunited with his family who are very-much alive. I still technically owe him a flash of my boobs, he won't let me forget.
I don't know why we keep in touch.
~
Three weeks passed before Tom did two things that scared him.
He needed to man up.
The old Tom would never behave like such a useless prick.
The old Tom was so defiantly sure he would marry a girl that he went around telling everyone while she still had a boyfriend. He didn't fear defeat or disappointment. And he had a six-pack.
He phoned Mum.
He phoned the gym.
Mum didn't pick up, but she would.
The gym welcomed him back with open arms.
~
Fifty-Four
Death of a Professional
Get this.
It's my second week on the job, right? And whose name pops up on my tablet, but Derek's.
So I broke the rules a bit and went to see him early. He wasn't in prison yet, but still laid up in a hospital bed. He had some pretty serious injuries, after all.
I waltzed in and listened as he told me every little detail about his side of the story.
He said he would do it all again.
Judge Rabbit - and he swooned when he said that name - hired him to do a job, and he would do it to the height of professionalism.
I called him a greedy, awful little man. I told him his Daddy would be ashamed of him, regardless of how he tried to spin his story.
He didn't seem to care.
A knock came at the door and in walked a giant. A machine. A shadow looming over the basement in Rabbit manor.
Derek never stood a chance.
I sent him on his way, and when I turned to leave, his killer was still there, watching me.
He watched me like he knew who was under the hood.
'We're aimed at each other,' I said, nodding sort-of confidently.
He tilted his head.
Not keen to spend too much more time near him, I left the room.
I'm still not scared of him, and I'm immortal now so he can't kill me, but I'm not fucking mental; I can still feel pain.
~
Fifty-Five
Oh! And One More Thing!
Sorry, sorry, just one more thing, I swear.
Tom told me that on the day I died, Grim - before he was Grim - planned to take me to see the new Star Wars flick. It was the last thing he wanted to do before he died the first time, and the last thing he asked of Tom before he died the second time.
Like I said before, I owe him one. He's the reason I'm back. I had to at least grant his dying request.
Tom said that when he went to the door to shoo Grim off, he would usually go without too much of a telling, so this film had to be some kind of big deal if it made him grow a spine.
So we turned all the lights out and sat down with some popcorn.
We watched the film my birth-father felt so passionately about, that he insisted on taking me away for the day, on the day he died.
And... well...
Fucking hell.
~
The Book’s done. You can go now.
OR
You Could Tell Me What You Think!
I had so many plans when it came to asking for a review.
I had a rough draft of a flow-chart that you could follow to reveal your preferred method of reviewing me and everything.
Sadly, there’s no easy way to get a full flow-chart on a Kindle. It was turning out to be a lot more effort than I was willing to put in.
So here it is, just me, asking a for a review.
Do you have thoughts on my book you’d like to share with me?
Amazon is ideal for such a thing. Reviews on Amazon bring in more downloads, so if you could spare just a few minutes to write me up, I’d be grateful as hell. You heard me.
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