Grim

by Gavin McCallion

  The door to the flats pushed open. There was an 'out of order' sign attached to the lift. The beekeeper lived on the top floor.

  'Lovely, absolutely lovely,' Derek muttered, eyeing the stairs.

  He used the bannister and started his slow ascent.

  Each hop shook his knackered spine and caused him such debilitating pain that he blacked out a bit every time.

  Hop. 'Oh!' Blackout.

  Hop. 'Oh!' Blackout.

  He sweated a lot (the exercise-sweat) he could feel it soak his undergarments. Hot, awful, dry-wet sweat beneath his beautiful suit, drenched by the rain.

  When he made it to the top, he hobbled to the beekeeper's front door. He wouldn't be so polite as to knock! He needed his entrance to be surprising! His K.O victory over two men relied on it! He shoved the front door open as hard as his absolutely-knackered spine would allow and tumbled into the hallway.

  Rolling along the wall to the door, he heard voices coming from the living room.

  He ignored the pace of his heart and the adrenaline it brought.

  With a victorious thrust, he grabbed the handle for the living room and launched it open.

  Grim stood before him, fully cloaked.

  'Oh!'

  'Surprise!' Derek lunged at him, left fist in.

  Crack.

  It could've been Grim's jaw. More likely, it was Derek's ankle as he put his full weight on it.

  He crumbled atop Grim.

  Both men fell, with only the coffee table at their backs to stop them.

  Crash, bang, and Derek fell asleep.

  ~

  That was the easy part.

  When he woke up, he had the job of getting Grim back down all of those stairs. He searched briefly for Tom but found him nowhere. He was in equal parts relieved and disappointed; he needed to take both men away, but doubted his ability to fight another man as he lay amongst a shattered table, half-asleep. He got up (slowly), politely declined a cup of tea from the little girl to whom the house belonged, and got to dragging Grim into the close.

  The stairs were an issue, but the most efficient way to get Grim down them, it transpired, was to roll him down like a sausage. Derek doubted he made it to the bottom in one piece, but he got there.

  Following the labour of getting Grim into the boot, he stood back and said aloud, 'now, where is your friend...'

  One thing at a time, he thought. He could always come back out for the filthy gentleman, but this Reaper missed a send. He was officially a liability to the whole Court, he needed picked up and put away somewhere, now.

  He shut the boot - and made sure it shut right - before driving back to Rabbit Manor.

  On the way, he took the short-cut through the trees. The weather had taken its toll on them. Each tree leant into the clearing, obscuring his vision. By the time he made it out the other side, the window was covered in the kind of foliage that made driving tedious. As he activated the window-wipers, he went over a bump that wouldn't have bothered the car were he not speeding, but of course, he was, so the bump caught him, threw the boot open and shifted something more in his back.

  'Oh!' Again, the politest little statement for something awful happening to him.

  He stopped the car outside the mansion and leant over in agony, favouring his spine and desperate for more medicine to destroy his kidneys with.

  He cried for a bit (again) and then got back to work.

  He got Grim upstairs (putting to use the as of yet unused steam-punk-inspired elevator monstrosity The Judge kept in his RETRO-FUTURE ROOM), into the attic and tied him to a chair.

  Derek was so very, very sore when he got a hold of Judge Rabbit on the intercom.

  He wished he would hurry.

  There was another man out there with evidence stored in his poorly-fitting trousers. He needed to be on the hunt for that other repulsive fellow.

  Where was he?

  Oh, that question had a lot of upsetting answers.

  Maybe the filthy gentleman was but a helpful stranger. He had no further business with The Reaper, and he went on his merry way after stabbing a filing cabinet for a while.

  'Thanks for your help!' The Reaper would wave him off.

  'No worries! Good luck busting the Murder Gala open!'

  That was the best-case scenario. Much more likely, and dead on the money in most ways, is they split up, with The Reaper going on his send while the filthy gentleman went to the police with the damaging information.

  He calmed himself.

  He just had to get back out without arousing too much suspicion. The Judge didn't need to know any of this, not yet. He just had to get out and find the other man, alone, and save the day.

  Easy.

  ~

  After a painfully long time, Derek heard the clicking of Judge Rabbit's shoes ascending the stairs.

  Derek straightened his back (ouch), pulled his feet together (Jesus) and lifted his chin (dizzy!).

  The clicking got louder and stopped on the other side of the attic door.

  It shot open.

  There he was. Judge Hugh Rabbit Jnr. Looking great, all changed into his party gear; black and purple tartan trousers and a pink blazer. Perfect.

  Derek couldn't resist a smile.

  'Where! Is! My! Lovely! Reaper!?' The Judge exclaimed, throwing his arms out and sloshing whisky to the ground.

  He looked great, but he was positively wasted.

  'Sir.' Derek held an arm out, indicating The Reaper tied to the chair not five feet in front of him.

  The Judge thrust a finger. 'There he is!' He sauntered over and gave Grim a playful nudge.

  His head bobbed around.

  The Judge frowned. 'Hrm, this won't do.' He pulled down Grim's hood, took a sip of his whisky and chucked the rest into his captive's face.

  Grim stirred.

  'Aloha!' Judge Rabbit slapped him.

  Grim stirred further, adding grunts and bothered expressions.

  'Up you pop, young man! I bring wonderful news!'

  Grim's eyes fluttered open, and his face morphed to dread.

  'Oh, dear,' The Reaper murmured.

  'Oh dear indeed, my man!'

  'You- y-you.'

  'Yes! It's ME! HOORAY!'

  Grim found his bound hands and gave them a weak shake.

  'I'm not sure if you're at all aware, but someone has been using your face as a punching bag...' Judge Rabbit squinted. 'Is that a staple?'

  'You've got- sorry- no, I'm not. My daughter? Cora. Where is she?'

  Derek's arse cheeks clamped together.

  Judge Rabbit stood up straight. He ran a tongue across his canine teeth and glanced back at his man-servant with a kinked eyebrow, only for a second.

  Derek swallowed.

  Casually, The Judge smiled at Grim. 'I'm sorry?'

  'Cora, y-you've got her, don't you?'

  'I'm not sure what you mean.'

  'Cora and the missing people, all of them, you took them. That's why people forget. Y-you make them forget.'

  'Oh-ho! I make them-' The Judge started to laugh the accusation off, but stopped himself mid-sentence.

  Derek watched him carefully. He waited for the next move, feeling sure it would bring him some form of grief.

  'Y'know what, why not. Yes, I have her. She's downstairs with a few others, getting ready to play for my friends and me.'

  Grim's head dropped. 'Why,' he stated.

  'I don't see it's any of your business, fellow. But rest assured, I plan on killing her. I plan on killing a lot of people. I like to kill people. To get away with it, I need a Reaper that will take a lot of money and keep his mouth shut, catch my drift?'

  'I won't.'

  'Well I bloody know that, don't I? Of course you won't! I knew you wouldn't be shifted when all you asked for was some time to see your daughter this morning, oh no, you were never going to be my guy.'

  The Judge went for a sip of his whisky, but he had emptied it in Grim's face. With a tut, he held the glass
back for Derek to step forward and take it from him, which he did.

  'Thank you, Derek, another please.'

  Grim shook his head. 'No, no, no, oh dear - you can't. I won't. You can't make me retire, I won't sign the resignation. I won't send anyone you kill.'

  'Don't be a fool, boy. I don't need you to retire, I don't need you to sign anything, I don't need you at all. The ghouls can take the rest of them for all I care. I only needed you to stay out of my way for the day. So thank you.'

  The Judge jabbed an empty hand back at Derek, who'd refilled his glass with the last of the hipflask.

  The Judge snatched it back without looking, he kept his eyes on Grim as he sipped.

  With a smile puckering his professionalism, Derek saw Grim's world collapse around him. Derek didn't know how he figured out Judge Rabbit was behind the kidnappings, but he knew now the secret would go with him to his grave.

  Of course, The Reaper knew, so the filthy gentleman would know. The thought dawned on him with all the subtlety of THE STAIRS when they almost killed him. Derek swallowed, his feet itched with much more enthusiasm.

  Of course, Judge Rabbit - unaware of Derek's plight - carried on, waxing lyrical. 'The game's been rigged against you, son. Your deaths today were designed so you'd fail. You didn't understand when you extorted me this morning that I, my boy, am God and you are just the nearest equivalent of Death. Now, I'm killing a lot of people later - big fire, it'll be grand. But you rest assured now, I'm going to have a word with David about shifting young Cora's death to the front of the line, and I'll be shooting her right here in front of you. She won't make it to my bonfire. That’ll teach you to do as you’re told, yes?’

  Derek shut his eyes. He loved The Judge, he really did, but his lust for theatrics baffled him sometimes.

  The Judge rambled, 'oh! Won't it be poetic? A ridiculous Reaper brought back, vowing to save his daughter, only to have to send her in the end.'

  'I won't.'

  'Oh I'm sure you will, I don't doubt it. Have you seen what the ghouls do to ghosts? Eugh!' He leaned over and tugged Grim’s hood up to cover his knackered face. 'Better! Now, I must be off, I'll be seeing you later. You should be thrilled, my boy, you get to see your daughter!'

  Then he clicked off out the attic, leaving Grim in his wake.

  Derek, with as much of his professional walk that he could salvage, chased the clicking of The Judge's heels like he would never stop.

  ~

  In the hallway outside, Derek struggled with the lock on the door. He took his time getting it to stay shut. When he managed it, he turned around to find Judge Rabbit standing closer than he expected. 'Oh!'

  Judge Rabbit smiled, but not the menacing, horrible smile. The nice one. The one Derek worked to see, with old, sweet eyes and a grateful nod. 'My boy...'

  'Sir,' Derek replied.

  'You did me well here, you truly did. I don't know how The Reaper knows about his girl. He could've ruined everything with that information... but you brought him back.' He shut his eyes. 'Thank you... I'm to assume we no longer have a problem? You feel better after your little lie down earlier?'

  'Indeed sir.'

  'Grand. Just Grand. Thank you, from the deepest depths of my little black heart, for staying with me.'

  Derek fought back the tears. The medicine must've been making him emotional. He couldn't cry in front of The Judge.

  'Are you alright?' Judge Rabbit asked, noticing his effort.

  'Yessir, I... I took a nasty tumble in my travels, in a bit of pain, is all.'

  The Judge grinned. 'Well let's see what we can't do about that.'

  ~

  The doors opened and guests started to arrive. The lobby welcomed a startling amount of well-dressed people into Rabbit Manor, all primed for the kind of good time they had back in the day. The Reaper’s Gala of old - banned for being a public nightmare - wherein high-ranking officials of the Court got incredibly drunk and disgraced themselves in ways I'm uncomfortable disclosing (bearing in mind I had no trouble disclosing - in explicit detail - my father publicly shitting himself).

  This edition of the Gala, the revival of the event, was set to be no different. Judge Rabbit's bias towards a drink on a Tuesday night was well-known and his weekends were legendary, but if he were to actually throw a party? Oh, the chaos.

  Judges of all immortal ages snatched up the invite to such an affair, a chance to relive their youth and do some absurd things to their bodies to keep them awake. Biologically they couldn't die, so their heart would never give out. These parties were a matter of 'don't stop until you're done,' and that could take days.

  The party started, and with it started a tedious air, an anticipatory air, an air that said the pleasant chit-chat and mingling with co-workers was just hours off of becoming borderline anarchy.

  It was an air begging for a crack of thunder.

  ~

  Back in his room, Derek knocked back a couple of pills The Judge gave him from his own medicine cabinet.

  He smiled doing it. Nothing quite beat the rush he got from The Judge’s appreciation. Plus, Judge Rabbit didn't usually share his painkillers.

  With the pills in his mouth, he needed something to wash them down (they were huge). He had taken a couple of steps towards his bathroom before he noticed the remnants of Judge Rabbit's whisky on the mantel. The ice had melted, creating a diluted double he could use instead.

  He hopped over to it, swigged most of it down and planted the glass back on the mantel, over beside Daddy. 'Cheers, Daddy,' he said, 'thank you for all your help, I know what I'm supposed to do now.'

  The swell of pride he allowed himself died down as he refocused on his work.

  He had one more job to do before his retirement.

  David confirmed, by tracing the tablet that still lay in the foot-well of Tom's car, Tom was at the police station. David ranted on the other end of the phone, but Derek hung up on him.

  If he was already at the police station, game over.

  David panicked, considering leaving the country.

  Derek didn't give up so easily. Yes, if Tom was at the police station, then an investigation into his findings would be on its way.

  All he had to do was beat the evidence.

  He needed time more than anything, and could only hope that any investigating officer would be reluctant to come to work on a Saturday night for a case he should have forgotten about. Or maybe, instead, that Tom was an intolerable, angry man, on his last nerve, and he would find a way to bollocks-up the simplest part of his day so far.

  Heh.

  ~

  Thirty-Eight

  Nobody Wants to Pay Tom his Damn Silver

  The hard part should’ve been the betrayal.

  In Tom's head, he did most of the work when he got out the car. It should've been easy after that.

  But Tom was unbearable.

  The reception area of the police station was small - a couple of benches filled a corner opposite a desk barely big enough for a swivel chair and a woman to man it. Double-doors surrounded by sinister woodwork championed the back wall.

  Tom recognised the woman behind the desk. Her name was Kim. She was always there, looking knackered beyond belief. She was one of those people who scowled over the top of her glasses all day. She was not a force to be trifled with.

  Tom knew to approach her delicately. Kim would no doubt be there the whole night, dealing with eejits. He had to be careful and, importantly, calm. That part would be hard because he had done this dance with Kim several hundred times. Kim, like most everyone else on the island, didn't remember the missing-persons case that should've been dominating the station's workload for the past year.

  Even thinking about it, as he took the four steps towards her desk, boiled him over with hot anger.

  The feeling brought smug Derek back, his face reflected in the glossy floor at his feet. Tom hadn't seen him in a while, what with all the good news he had been getting.

  'She won't reme
mber. She hardly remembers her breakfast! Ask her about The Reaper's Gala, though. Please!'

  Tom took a breath.

  Twenty minutes later, he couldn't give away crucial information about an unsolved case.

  'Fourteen kids? Are you sure that's one of ours?' Kim said, through a bubble of very real disgust; a look that suggested she would rather not be dealing with the fat, wet and bloody man who thought he had solved a case that didn't exist.

  Tom snorted a laugh. 'Ha! Am I sure the case of fourteen missing residents of Wilson's Well belongs to the only police station on Wilson's Well? Hm? Yes I'm fucking sure! Run this reference for me.'

  'Don't swear at me son, there's no need.'

  'Oh don't swear at her, Tom! That won't jog her memory!'

  'Well there clearly is, Kim. I've been here for twenty minutes. I'd love to dive into conspiracy theories about magic amnesia, and shitty Reapers, and crooked Judges, and screwy talent agencies that kidnap people, but it's no bloody use if you don't remember the case. I need you to run this reference, discover it's an Inspector Craig fucking Harris that's handling it, and give him a call!'

  ‘As I said-'

  'Aye, he's not working this weekend, you told me!' Tom's restraint went clean out the window. 'But how about you give him a phone anyway, eh? I feel like since I'm trying to tell him critical information about a massive case, he might be talked into working a bit of overtime, don't you?'

  Tom's stance had been one of authority, with two palms making bloody hand-prints on the counter and a ruined piece of crippling evidence between them. He spewed sarcasm all over Kim like he was the one in control.

  He wasn't.

  When Kim stood up, he shrunk.

  He felt the room darken. His hands slipped from the counter. He retreated.

  'I won't tell you again, sir. It's not happening. You're in a police station, staffed with armed men and plenty of cells for dickheads. Shout at me again.'

  Tom raised his arms in submission. 'Okay, okay, aye. We're getting a touch heated here, let's take a step back. Let's start again. You have kids, right?'