by Al K. Line
“It all started…”
A Strange Confession
“Whoa! I said, holding my hands up, needing time to prepare. “We’re really doing this? You’re going to sit and have a chat with me? Tell me your troubles, that kind of thing?”
“Yes, if that’s agreeable? It gets very lonely here, you know. Nobody to talk to for ages, then when people do come, they just moan about it.”
“Hardly surprising, they are dead. And what do you mean, nobody to talk to for ages? I figured you’d be kept pretty busy. People are always dying.”
“I know, I blame the TV or computers. Truth is, I’m not as popular as I once was. Anyway, that’s for another time. No, this is about something different.”
“Okay. What?”
“It’s boring.”
“What’s boring?”
“This. Being Death. Hanging around here. There’s no variety, nothing changes. I know every pebble on this beach, even counted them.”
“I thought it was infinite?” I asked, dubious.
“It is,” he said, sounding so down in the dumps I had to resist giving him a cuddle.
“Oh, right.”
The silence stretched out again, and I stared at the pebbles, large and small, shiny or dull, and tried to imagine a life spent counting them all, stretching out for eternity. It was definitely enough to make you depressed, even resentful.
Death sighed like a bored teenager and slumped in his chair. That seemingly wasn’t enough, and he leaned back and put his legs up on the table. It was a very strange sight, because although I was sure he had feet, I couldn’t actually see them. It was hazy, a blur of wispy shadow where the cloak ended, hinting at bone and maybe even flesh, but the gaps merely filled in by my imagination.
“So?” I ventured.
“So, what’s the point?”
“To what?” I asked, getting more confused by the minute.
“To all of it. What’s the point?”
“I think you’re supposed to be the one answering that, aren’t you? Death can’t have an existential crisis, you were never alive.”
“Wasn’t I?” he asked cryptically.
“Were you?” I was intrigued now, despite my predicament.
“Can’t say, it’s against the rules.”
“What rules?”
“The rules, emphasis on The. I’m not allowed to tell humans anything about the afterlife, certainly not about me. Which makes it all the more tiresome. There’s no variety, it’s a real design flaw.”
“Maybe take up a hobby? What about jigsaws? That’s a good way to while away the hours, or days.”
“Done them.”
“Done what?”
“The jigsaws,” said Death. “All of them.” He waved a hand and the beach before us was transformed into a sea of completed jigsaws, stretching out as far as I could see.
“Oh, right. What about, um, knitting, or painting?”
“No good at it. I’m Death, I don’t have the skill set.”
“Right. So, what happened?”
“Can’t say. Not allowed. Things were good, I was happy, which I was surprised at as I’d never had much in the way of emotions before, then I was in a bit of a funk.”
“Dude, I think you’re just having a mid-life crisis. It has to be hard, only seeing people after they die. Not a happy experience.”
“Oh,” he said, brightening, “that part isn’t so bad. It’s interesting sometimes, seeing new faces, hearing their stories, getting a glimpse of what comes next. But it gets rather stale after a while, and I keep remembering things, from before.”
“What things?” I was getting a bad feeling about this, like I was on the cusp of learning secrets I ought not to learn. Something inside told me it would be very bad for me to know such secrets. This was Death, you didn’t have chats, you got pissed off for being dead.
Which reminded me.
“I want to see the ledger,” I said, voice firm.
Death lowered his feet to the ground then straightened. He looked at me, or I assume he did, and said, “You don’t need to see it.”
“I want to. This doesn’t feel right at all. This feels, dare I say it, like I haven’t actually died. I feel different to usual, as though I’m not meant to be here. I’ve got a lot of crap happening at home at the moment, so I could really do without this.”
“The end comes for all humans,” said Death, back to sounding dramatic and in control.
“I know that!” I snapped. “But this feels out-of-whack. Show me the ledger.”
“Will not.”
“Will too. You better, or I’ll report you.”
Death leaned forward and growled, “You dare report me? I’ll make your afterlife a misery.”
“It’s already pretty shit,” I mumbled. “I want to see you put a cross through my name for the last time. If I died, then that will be easy, right?”
“You don’t own me. I’m Death, the Grim Reaper. And anyway, don’t want to.”
I changed tack, tried a different approach. “Look, I’m just asking is all. If you’ve done something you shouldn’t have, I won’t be mad, and I won’t tell. But I am kinda busy.”
“That stuff with the fae, and the Hangman?”
“Yes, that.”
“Don’t worry about it, he’s a joke.”
“Maybe to you, not to me.”
“So you want to go back? You don’t have to, you know. You could stay, chat with me.”
“For how long?” I asked, feeling very nervous about where this was heading.
“How long? Forever.”
“I knew it!” I shouted, pushing away from the table and standing.
Death stood too; the chairs and table shot up into the ashen sky and vanished.
“I just wanted someone to talk to. I thought you’d understand. Something’s gone wrong. I’m not meant to be feeling these things, feeling anything. Thought you could help.”
“That’s very sweet and all, but I’ve got my own problems. Take it up with the higher powers. I can’t believe this. You killed me so you could have a chat! Why me? Out of all the souls on the planet, why me?”
“Because you’re the only one who understands. You’ve been here before, and besides… No, doesn’t matter, can’t say.”
“What? What were you about to say?”
“Let’s just say you should read your contract.”
“What contract? Nobody gave me a contract.”
“You should have a word with a faery. Your extra lives, it means you’ve spent more time here than anyone in a very long time. There’s a clause.”
“You mean Sasha? There’s no contract. She gave me the lives, they’re mine.”
“No,” boomed Death. “They are mine!”
“Just send me back, and sorry you’re feeling down in the dumps.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” groaned a very depressed sounding Death. He swung his scythe halfheartedly and I was chopped in two, very poorly if you ask me.
I gasped then clutched my heart, pleased to find it beating again. I lay on my patio, heart hammering, wondering what the hell that had been about.
There was a scream from inside.
An Eyeful
With no time to ponder the significance of a suicidal Death, and the dread his words had instilled in my already overloaded mind, I ran into the kitchen as adrenaline surged, Wand already out of my pocket.
“That Death guy is weird,” said Wand.
“Tell me about it.”
“Okay. He shouldn’t give you a heart attack just for some company. And I’m pretty sure it’s against the rules and—”
“I didn’t mean actually tell me about it.”
“Oh, right.”
In the kitchen, I pulled up short as I took in the scene. Vicky’s dressing gown, or rather George’s, was gaping open and Juice was backed up against the fridge, ogling her.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” shrieked Juice, foot on the belt, clearly th
e reason why Vicky was baring her panties and her boobs to a transfixed Juice.
“Move your foot, you pervert,” shrieked Vicky, tugging at the belt to the silk dressing gown with rose motif.
“Sorry, sorry,” said Juice, still staring, and smiling. Nonetheless, he moved his foot and Vicky hurriedly covered herself up.
Just another day in the madhouse.
“Morning,” I said, walking in and closing the doors.
“This guy’s a total pervert,” accused Vicky, pointing at Juice in case I didn’t know who she was talking about.
“Morning, Arthur, nice to see you after saving me yesterday. Why no, I did not have a nice sleep. Yes, I did stay awake worrying and trying to figure this whole mess out.”
“Oh, sorry. Morning. Thanks for saving me.” Vicky came over and gave me a peck on the cheek.
“What happened to the pajamas?”
“I got hot so I took them off. I wasn’t expecting this weirdo to try to molest me.”
“I did not try to molest you.”
“Did too.”
“Vicky, please go and get dressed,” I said with a sigh that felt all too familiar. Looked like things were getting back to normal already, which felt wrong, as no way was this the end of it.
“Pervert,” accused Vicky as she wandered off to get dressed.
“Honest, it was an accident.”
“Whatever.” I really wasn’t interested.
“What did you do to me? I woke up and here I was. You drugged me,” accused Juice.
“You’re a fine one to talk about drugging. Just shut up and sit down.”
“Arthur, you are very grumpy in the morning. What’s for breakfast? I’m starving.” Juice took a seat and stared at me hopefully.
And then realization dawned. The stuff I’d figured out before Death nabbed me for a chinwag crowded into my mind and I saw red.
I finally understood exactly what had been going on. It all made sense. Or, some of it did anyway.
“You utter bastard,” I shouted as I lunged for Juice with every intention of strangling him slowly and watching his eyes pop out of his annoying, skinny face.
Big Reveal
“It was you!” I accused Juice as he scrambled to his feet and tried to fend me off with the chair.
“Whoa! Dude, what are you talking about?”
“All of this, it’s all been you. Don’t try to deny it. Ever since Vicky and me got the artifact for you, there’s been nothing but trouble. You’ve been a part of it all. You’re behind this whole nightmare.” I was certain, there was no other logical explanation, and the fact he’d always been around made it obvious.
Juice had been playing me from the very start, having some fun at my expense. Guess maybe he thought once he got his mum out of the way he could go nuts and there would be nobody to stop him. He thought wrong.
“Arthur, this is me, Juice. You know I wouldn’t do that. Look,” he said, sweat dripping into his eyes, his oily skin ashen, “why would I? And you know me and kids, I’d never hurt them. Never put them or their mum in danger. Plus, Vicky’s hot.”
“I know nothing of the sort. All I know is you’ve been around for it all. You’re doing this. I should have known when you said about getting a bloody helicopter from my house to Vicky’s that something was wrong. And you knew about the body upstairs.”
“You told me. What is wrong with you?”
“I did no such thing. And even if I did, which I’m sure I didn’t, that doesn’t explain the fact you were around when George and Vicky were taken, you were there when I got taken by the portals, and when I came back. You set the Hangman loose, you pretended to be dead when George and Vicky were taken. You played me.”
“But… but… I got taken too. I’m fucking here with you! Are you insane?” Juice was really panicking now, searching for an escape route. No way was he getting away.
He was leading me around by the nose, acting, and I would not stand for it. Everything slotted in to place and there was absolutely no way on earth it was coincidence. This scrawny, dirty, weak, pathetic excuse for a man was the reason for all this trouble. He was pretending; nobody could be this pathetic in real life. Nobody could be like this and have built the empire he had. He had men, he had money. Sure, he’d been a mommy’s boy, but the way he acted was too much, too ineffective.
For a moment, as I watched this pathetic creature back up against the counter, I had second thoughts. Was I barking up the wrong tree entirely? Was I looking for someone to blame? No, it had to be him. He kept being there, involved in everything when he should have run a mile in the opposite direction. He fooled me with the death spell, and a citizen with magical artifacts, even a gifted spell like that, shouldn’t have been able to use it so convincingly.
“Nope, it’s you,” I said, mind made up. I stormed toward him, Wand held firmly, pointing at what was soon to be ex Juice. Nothing but goop and a weight off my shoulders.
“Arthur, please?” he begged, tears falling.
I loomed over the scrawny, pathetic excuse for a man as he sank to his knees, babbling and crying. Snot ran from his nose.
“Hell, have some self-respect. I’m gonna kill you, not torture you.”
“But I don’t want to die,” he whined.
“Tough, because once you tell me what you did, and why, then I’m going to kill you. Don’t worry, I won’t make it long and slow, although I should. So, spill it.”
“But it wasn’t me. You got it all wrong.”
“No, it’s you, I can feel it. You are responsible. Trouble follows you around; you’re like a fucking curse. Ever since you killed your mum…” I thought for a moment, and something clicked. “Shit.” I panicked, the true extent of this madness hitting me. I didn’t know why, or even how, but certain things became obvious.
Was I wrong about this too? No, didn’t think so. It felt right, more right than it being Juice.
Juice’s head turned a little to look past me. His eyes widened.
“Mum?”
I was right, and I was too late.
Pain flared across my back as the world exploded and I was sent sailing through the air, heading right for Juice. Then I blacked out.
A Tangled Mess
Consciousness returned instantly and I just had time to activate Wand and let him do the rest, putting a bubble of protection between me and Juice so I didn’t crash head first into his face, although breaking his nose would have been most satisfying.
As it was, I bounced back and landed on his legs, sprawled in an undignified heap.
With no time to lose, I untangled myself from Juice’s stork-like legs, still not having set eyes on my attacker.
Juice didn’t move, just stared past me. I jumped up, spun, and there on the other side of the room was, as expected, Juice’s mum.
“H… how are you here?” stammered Juice as he began getting up.
“Stay right where you are, you terrible child,” admonished Martha. She looked anything but dead. She looked scary, all uber-sinister with dark clothes, pale face, hair hanging loose, like the perfect bad faery.
“Hey, Martha, nice of you to join us. But you didn’t knock, and I don’t like uninvited guests.” Wand was up and flaring in a surge of ninja-like speed, and magic streamed from his eager tip as my will focused and my anger turned supernova. “You hurt my friends.”
“Oh, do behave, you stupid boy,” said Martha as she waved a hand and the magic dispersed, seemingly ineffective against this old woman.
“What the hell?” I gasped as Wand stuttered and the power failed. This shouldn’t be possible, she shouldn’t be able to do this. My hunch was right. The moment I’d realized that maybe it wasn’t Juice, but someone much more powerful and it would have to be fae, I somehow knew it was her. I just knew. Sasha had said a woman had visited her in her prison in the castle, and it was Martha.
“Be quiet, you ridiculous man,” ordered Martha as she stepped forward. Faery dust danced around her, and I felt her p
ower. She was brimming with vitality and faery strength.
“Mum, I’m sorry. It was a mistake. An accident. I didn’t mean to do it.”
“Child, you are in serious trouble for what you did. But I still love you.” Martha smiled down at Juice and held out a hand. He took it hesitantly then she pulled him to his feet. She held his shoulders and stared into his wet eyes. “You are a very naughty boy, but Mummy still loves you. You aren’t to blame.”
“I’m not?”
“Of course not, you silly child. Mummy just let you have the adventure you’ve always wanted. Was it fun? Did you get it out of your system? Have a nice exciting time?”
“Um, yeah, I guess.”
“Good. Now, what shall your punishment be, hmm?”
“What the fuck is this all about?” I shouted, past caring what happened, just wanting to know why. I knew it was her, figured it out too late, but I sure as hell didn’t know why she’d done any of this.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked as she shoved Juice away and turned to me, snarling.
“Nope, not really.”
“Revenge.”
It was then that I noticed something in Martha’s hand.
“Where did you get that?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“What, this little thing?” Martha grinned fiendishly as she held up a Teleron.
A Confrontation
“Revenge for what?” I asked, trying to keep her talking, hoping a plan would form in the interim. I had nothing.
“For so much. To teach that bitch, Sasha, a lesson, then get rid of her for good. You too, with your interfering, always causing trouble. And your vile offspring had to be dealt with, obviously. I don’t want any little girls trying to get back at me when they’re powerful enough.”
“But why? We’ve never done anything to you. Never interfered in your business.”
“You don’t know what my business is!” spat Martha, positioning herself so she could see if anyone came into the kitchen.
“Mum, I’m sorry,” babbled Juice, tears flowing like a naughty child.
“Be quiet, you idiot boy. I know you’re weak, it didn’t take much to implant the idea in your head, give you a few false memories so you’d try to kill me. Worked like a charm.” She smiled with sympathy and a little bit of disappointment at Juice; she played him all along, just to get this to happen. What kind of a monster was she? I’d thought Juice was bad, this was on a whole other level of cruelty and spitefulness.
