Present: The Queen of Hearts Memorial, London
W hile the world fell apart, the Cheshire, now dressed in the Joker's outfit, dug up a grave.
That would be putting it mildly, as he wasn't using a shovel. Neither was he using a hammer, or even a steel mallet.
He was running over the Queen's tomb with a bulldozer.
"Out of the way!" he waved at the people staring at him.
"You can't bring down the Queen's tombstone with your bulldozer!" a few men objected, trying to stand in his way.
"Why do you care? It's the end of the world," he pushed the pedal.
Like rats, they skidded all around him.
"That's better now," he grinned from under his Joker mask.
"He is crazy!" someone shouted. "This Joker is a madman."
"We're all mad here, aren't we?" he ran over the tomb, bringing down the marble construction over the Queen's grave.
Then he reversed. He needed three runs over the Queen's grave.
"Not the Queen, please," an older woman pleaded.
"Trust me, hag, you've got no idea what this woman did," he jumped out of the bulldozer and grabbed a shovel and began digging in hopes to reach the Queen's coffin.
"Why in God's name would you want to dig out her grave?" the woman insisted.
"Have to talk to her," the Cheshire said nonchalantly and kept digging.
"She is dead," the woman said.
"I know how to possess her body and get her to talk," he said.
"Oh my God, you're the devil himself," she whimpered. "I should’ve known, it's the end of times."
"Don't insult me, woman," he reached the coffin and hurled the shovel away, ready to pull the coffin out. "The devil is a pussy."
Her eyes popped wide with surprise.
The Cheshire stopped, rethinking his sentence. He grinned again from under his mask. The devil is a pussy must have been his favorite play on words. Pussy is a cat, and he was one. Some would think the devil is pussy, as in a coward. But he actually meant he was the devil himself. The Cheshire had never been treated to a proper education, but in nonsensical Wonderland mumbo jumbo, he was proud of his literary achievement.
"How dare you swear in my presence," the woman said. "I'm as old as your mother."
"You'd help me pull that coffin up if you were a good mother," she panted.
But she didn't need help. The job was done. The coffin lay at his feet. He whistled a melody of excitement then pulled the coffin open. And there lay the Queen of Hearts, headless.
"I don't like the Pillar, you know," he talked to the dead corpse. "But him going off with your head , that was a touch of ironic genius karma, I have to admit."
"She is dead. Stop talking to her," the old woman protested.
The Cheshire was fed up.
He ambled, sure of himself, back to the bulldozer, the woman not taking her pestering eyes off of him.
A minute later he came out with a mallet and approached her.
She shivered in place.
"You think you're the Joker, eh?" she mocked him. "He isn't real, you know?"
The Cheshire pulled the mask off and grinned in Father Cardone's face. "But this grin, darling," he lifted up the mallet and chopped off her head. "Is real."
Devoid of guilt, the Cheshire ambled back with the dead woman's head and jammed it onto the top of the Queen's body. "Here you go," he talked to the dead Queen. "A brand new head for the Queen."
Then he recited a few purrs and meows, part of an ancient Cat magic used back in ancient Egypt to temporarily resurrect dead cats.
The Queen was no cat but she began to purr a few blood clots out of her mouth.
"We don't have much time," he told her.
"What the heck do you want from me," she said. "I'm dead."
"But of course you are, my Queen," he knelt down. "The Pillar killed you."
"The bastard," she spat blood in his face.
"I can avenge you," the Cheshire said. "I want to kill him."
"Why now?"
"I just had this discussion with Jabberwocky, so spare me," the Cheshire said. "We're characters from a book, Queen. Why do you expect my actions to all make sense? Now tell me how I can kill him. I know you're the only one who knows how."
"I only know what my sister, Fabiola, told me."
"Fair enough," the Cheshire said. "And don't tell me about his fourteen lives and all that crap. I need a specific, swift, and irreversible way to kill him."
"He is sick and might die soon, you know that?"
"I do, but I'd like to look in his eyes while I kill him. It's not about his death. It's about my satisfaction."
"And the curse?" the Queen spat out, her tongue twisting and eyes icy like round ice cubes from a freezer.
"What curse?" the Cheshire tilted his head.
"The Pillar made a deal with the Looking Glass. Whoever kills him is cursed with having to wear his face and body for life."
The Cheshire felt a thick lump in his throat. Why was the Pillar always ten miles ahead of him? But then he realized his thirst for killing his nemesis only escalated.
"I never knew about that," he said. "But I don't mind wearing his face for life after I die," he then smirked at his own self. "I've never had a certain face anyways. I don’t even know if I’m Father Angelo or the Joker. I guess he knew I'd kill him eventually and wear his face for life."
The Queen coughed more blood and went limp.
The Cheshire slapped her hard to wake her up, "Not yet, my Majesty," he watched her icy eyes shine up and curled tongue twist. "How do I kill him? What's his weakness?"
"His hookah."
"Pardon me?"
"Choke him with his own hookah, right after he puffs it. Use the hose. It will glitter when ready. In fact, he doesn't smoke the hookah only to get high, but it's a Persian magic smoke, holy smoke you can say, that makes his sick lungs operate. Fabiola said if you choke him with his own hookah, he dies."
The Cheshire stood up, not bothering to clean the mess he left behind. He was eager to find the Pillar, now that he knew his weakness.
But where would he find him?
Ah, of course, he remembered. The Pillar always goes where Alice goes.