Present: Ferris Wheel, London
T he Cheshire was trying to explain the Pillar’s devious plan to Fabiola proved futile. He almost choked her, pulling her away while the Pillar lay face down against the asphalt.
“Leave me alone,” Fabiola shouted. “I’ve always known you like the Pillar. You admire his evil and now you don’t want me to kill him.”
There was no point in defending himself, the Cheshire thought. No one wanted the Pillar dead as much as him. But the Queen had told him about the plan—which he actually began remembering in detail. He could remember faint glimpses of him and the Pillar standing over the Hatter’s grave after the Pillar killed him, and talking about it.
Such a vague memory, it was.
Fabiola stumbled backward and rolled sideways, freeing herself from the Cheshire’s grip. The Cheshire could finally breathe. He stood up, about to celebrate his success. For some reason, the Pillar’s hose ended up in his grip.
As for the Pillar, he spat mucus and blood as he began to stand on all fours, scurrying away like a rat.
Light bulbs from the Ferris wheel shone over their sweaty and reddened faces, not really reflecting the gravity and tension going on.
“Phew,” the Pillar rubbed his bleeding neck. “That was hardcore.”
The Cheshire couldn’t help but laugh. “Was it good for you, darling?”
“Shut up, both of you creeps!” Fabiola couldn’t stand up yet. Whatever strength she had left was withering away.
“We should do this more often,” the Pillar dead-panned. “May I?” he stretched out his hand toward the Cheshire, pointing at the hose.
“Easy, butterfly,” the Cheshire stepped back. “I didn’t say I’m not going to kill you. I just need a moment with Fabiola to discuss the means of doing it. We need to settle on which one of us will end up wearing your face.”
Fabiola protested. “Stop playing games.”
“I’m not. You would have ended up wearing his face and body for life."
"Nonsense," Fabiola stood up. "Long ago we realized it is a myth.”
"How do you know it's a myth?" the Cheshire said.
"Because it's bonkers," Fabiola said. "Why would I look like the Pillar for life? No magic can do that. I believed it at some point and spread the word, but I can assure you it would never work.”
“You don't know that." the Cheshire said.
"Even if it were true, I don't mind," Fabiola said. "So what? I’ll have his face on me. As long as this cockroach is dead, life will be better."
"Butterfly," the Pillar corrected her politely. "Or Cocoon."
Fabiola ignored him. "Give me back the hose, Cheshire. I need to finish this."
The Cheshire mused from under the Joker’s mask. "Well, I was thinking if anyone should look like him after his death, it should be me."
"So that's what it's all about," Fabiola said. "Did you forget that I will kill you eventually after killing him?"
"We're not sure of that," the Cheshire said. "I mean, to be honest, who doesn't want to wear the Pillar's face, and have his mind? I could get a lot of stuff done in this world."
"I'm flattered." the Pillar said with a scoff.
"You know what?" Fabiola said. "I don't care. Just do it."
The Cheshire let the hose loose, dangling from his hand, and then whipped it against the ground. Lightning sparkles all around him.
"Ah, we’re going Fifty Shades of Grey now?" the Pillar asks.
"Do it, Chesh," Fabiola said.
The Cheshire swung the hose back to ready himself. He was pleased to see the hose glimmer.
"Do it!" Fabiola's demanded in an unusually dark voice. Almost demonic.
The Cheshire whipped the hose against the asphalt one last time and then swung. It spiraled like a poison snake in the air. Surprisingly, sharp edges appeared.
The Pillar didn't move.
Fearless?
Sure of his own whip not hurting him?
None of that.
He waited in place until blood spattered on his face.
Not his blood, though.
Not the Cheshire's.
Fabiola's.
The Pillar watched her severed head roll on the ground until it met his boots.
He nodded emotionlessly at the Cheshire who felt mischievously good about killing Fabiola and then said, "I think I changed my mind. I never really liked threesomes.”