He enters the dark maw of the stairwell and his eyes burn from the acid stench of urine and bleach and he does not care. He feels his genitals leap in his fist as he squeezes them through his sodden trousers and mounts the stairs three at a time even though he cannot really recall speaking to Georgia at all. He shivers in his freezing, waterlogged suit and works the night. He does not care.

Bunny winds his way down the gangway but must retrace his steps because he has missed Flat 95 due to there not being any lights on. He presses his face up to the window and thinks he can see the lambent flicker of a candle or nightlight or something in a back room and he smiles because he knows he feels it humming all along his spine more than he knows anything in his entire life, that Georgia is waiting in that dimly lit back room, naked and on all fours, knees spread wide apart, b.r.e.a.s.t.s swinging, backside raised to the heavens and her f.u.c.king p.u.s.s.y hovering in the air like the most wonderful thing imaginable in this rotten, stinking, infested f.u.c.king f.u.c.king world, and all he has to do is reposition his erection in his trousers (which he does), then push on the door (that has been left on the latch) and it will swing open (which he does and which it doesn't), so he taps on the door and whispers 'Georgia', through the keyhole. This has no immediate effect, so he bangs on the door with his fist and then gets down on his hands and knees and calls her name in the loudest whisper he can muster through the cat-flap. Then he calls her name again. world, and all he has to do is reposition his erection in his trousers (which he does), then push on the door (that has been left on the latch) and it will swing open (which he does and which it doesn't), so he taps on the door and whispers 'Georgia', through the keyhole. This has no immediate effect, so he bangs on the door with his fist and then gets down on his hands and knees and calls her name in the loudest whisper he can muster through the cat-flap. Then he calls her name again.

Suddenly, very suddenly, all the lights go on. The door opens and a man appears in his underwear with a large, empty, Teflon-coated saucepan in his hand. Bunny has a very good view of an extremely crude representation of a depraved-looking Woody Woodp.e.c.k.e.r, leering and smoking a cigar, tattooed on the inside of the man's ankle. Bunny sees, also, that the man has an infected toenail.

'Who are you? you?' says Bunny, looking up from the floor.

He sees Georgia in an ugly bombazine dressing gown standing behind the man with the saucepan, and Bunny shouts, pointing at the man, 'Who is he? he?'

Georgia, her hand resting protectively on the man's broad and ill.u.s.trated shoulder, peers down with a look of genuine confusion on her face and says, 'Mr Munro, is that you?'

Bunny shouts, 'I thought he was f.u.c.king gone, gone!'

The man with the tattoo on his ankle where did he get that? Prison? Primary school? hands the saucepan to Georgia and leans down and says in an end-of-things whisper, 'Who the f.u.c.k are you?'

Bunny, who is attempting unsuccessfully to stand and who is not in any way concentrating on details, thinks the man simply said, 'f.u.c.k you,' and instantly regrets replying, in kind, 'Well, f.u.c.k you too.'

The man actually yawns, scratches his stomach, then backs up four paces, runs down the hall and boots Bunny so hard in the ribs that he spins in mid-air and lands, with an expulsion of air, on his back. Bunny places an arm over his head to shield himself from the next blow.

'Please, don't,' he says quietly.

But the blow does not come and he takes his arm away in time to see the door kick shut by a purulent yellow toe.

Back in the Punto, Bunny opens his trousers and undertakes a w.a.n.k of truly epic proportions it just goes on and on and when at last he goes over the edge, Bunny lets his head fall back and opens his mouth as wide as he can and exhales the last remnants of reason, in an elephantine bellow, that echoes through the weather-beaten night, across the Wellborne estate. He realises, in a shadowy way, for a brief moment, that the weird imaginings and visitations and apparitions that he has encountered were the ghosts of his own grief and that he was being driven insane by them. He knows more than he knows anything that very soon they will kill him. But more than any of that, he wonders what was wrong with that b.i.t.c.h Georgia anyway. Jesus.

24.

When Bunny enters the lobby of the Empress Hotel he is pleased to see things have returned to normal the world seems to have rea.s.sembled itself. For some reason the Empress Hotel reminds Bunny of a sad and unsuccessful comb-over but he is too f.u.c.ked-up to work out why. It is six o'clock and the early risers move through the lobby like the living dead. These scrubbed and scoured lobby-lurkers exude from the pores of their skin an eye-watering miasma of raw alcohol but Bunny doesn't recognise this as his own private funk is such that people naturally keep their distance. His sour and sodden clothes, the metallic stench of abject terror and the bouquet of his own substantial hangover, form a force field around him. He also looks like a maniac. He feels a real sense of achievement that he has managed to cross the lobby in the manner of a biped and not on all-fours. He wonders whether this may work to his advantage as he leans across the reception desk and says, 'I need the key to room seventeen. I've locked myself out.'

The man sitting behind the counter has a smudge of dead hair plastered across his skull and a nose that reminds Bunny, with a redux of dread, of a cat-flap. On a TV mounted on the wall above his head the news plays out. He is reading the local newspaper through a 'Mystic Eye' magnifying card and he looks up at Bunny and lays the newspaper and the 'Eye' on the counter.

'The c.r.a.p they print in these things. It's enough to make you want to slit your wrists. Day after f.u.c.king day ...' he says.

He performs a dentured smile and, without concern, enquires, 'What happened to you?'

'The key to room seventeen, please,' says Bunny.

The receptionist picks up his 'Mystic Eye' and peers at Bunny.

'f.u.c.king hurricanes, avian flu, global warming, suicide bombers, war, torture, ma.s.s murderers ...'

For a moment Bunny thinks that the receptionist is giving a terminal prognosis based on Bunny's appearance, but realises that the receptionist is tapping at the newspaper with his finger.

'Plagues, famine, floods, f.u.c.king frogs ...'

'The key ...'

'Little children murdering other little children, bodies piling up in mounds ...'

'The key ...'

The receptionist swings his arm around in a dramatic arc and jabs his finger at the TV.

'Look at that f.u.c.king guy,' he says.

But Bunny does not need to look, because he knows. He recognises the familiar shrieking, stampeding crowd, and even though he knows what the receptionist is about to say, it doesn't stop a chill wind clawing its way up his spine and circling around his tortured skull.

'He's here!' says the receptionist, and then points his finger at Bunny and says, 'It's biblical! It's Reve-f.u.c.king-lations! If we could all just be a bit nicer to one another!'

Bunny lifts his head back and notices an antique chandelier hanging greasy and fly-spotted from the ceiling. The crystal teardrops make patterns of ghastly light across the walls. Bunny leans across the counter and looks at the receptionist.

'Listen, you loopy old c.u.n.t. My wife just hung herself from the security grille in my own b.l.o.o.d.y bedroom. My son is upstairs and I haven't the faintest f.u.c.king idea what to do with him. My old man is about to kick the bucket. I live in a house I'm too spooked to go back to. I'm seeing f.u.c.king ghosts everywhere I look. Some mad f.u.c.king carpet-muncher broke my nose yesterday and I have a hangover you would not f.u.c.king believe. Now, are you gonna give me the key to room seventeen or do I have to climb over this counter and knock your f.u.c.king dentures down your throat?'

The receptionist reaches up and turns down the television, then directs his attention to Bunny.

'The thing is, sir, it is against hotel policy to give out two keys.'

Bunny gently lays his head on the counter and closes his eyes and points of refracted fairy light orbit around his skull.

'Please don't,' says Bunny, quietly.

He stays like that for a time until he feels the key to Room 17 slipped into his hand.

'Thank you,' he says, and picks up the newspaper. 'May I have this?'

Bunny moves across the lobby and cleaves apart a team of tracksuited table-tennis players who look to Bunny like they come from Mongolia or somewhere.

'Ulaanbaadar!' shouts Bunny, despite himself.

The guy who is possibly the coach breaks into a smile and the whole team cheer and give Bunny the thumbs-up sign and pat him on the back and say, 'Ulaanbaadar!' and Bunny sadly mounts the hotel stairs.

Bunny walks down the hall and looks at his watch and sees the time is 6.30. He puts the key in the lock and, as he does so, he becomes aware of a strange sound coming from Room 17. It is non-human, conversational and very scary. He thinks, as he opens the door, that it is also oddly familiar.

Bunny enters the room and sees two things at approximately the same time. First, the eccentric and unsettling sound that has frightened him is coming from the Teletubbies, who are on the TV. Po is engaged in a freakish, mutant conversation with Dipsy. Then Bunny notices that Bunny Junior is standing motionless in the centre of the room, between the two beds. He is staring at the television set and his face has drained of blood and his eyes are wide in his head and he is standing in a pool of his own water, the front of his pyjamas soaked in urine. The boy turns to his father and makes a fluttering gesture with his left hand and says, in a faraway voice, 'I couldn't find the remote.'

's.h.i.t,' says Bunny, beneath his breath.

He walks past his son and sits on the edge of his bed. The bed is hard and unforgiving and covered in tiny, empty bottles. On the floor lies the b.u.t.t of a dead cigarette.

Bunny moves his hand across his face and says, 'You better change.'

The boy pa.s.ses his father, holding the tops of his pyjamas with one hand and covering his mouth with the other, and says, 'I'm sorry, Dad.'

Bunny says, 'It's OK,' and the boy disappears into the bathroom.

Bunny tosses the newspaper onto the puddle of urine. He looks at the television and sees Po and Dipsy holding hands in a violently green field full of oversized rabbits. Bunny looks down at the newspaper and sees a black-and-white CCTV grab of the Horned Killer and a headline that reads, 'HERE AT LAST'. He trances out, in slow motion, on the water absorbing into the newspaper and tries not to take it personally when he sees that the soakage is taking on the shape of a rabbit.

He looks up and finds his son standing in front of him dressed in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. The boy climbs up onto Bunny's lap and puts his arms around his neck and rests his head on his chest. Bunny places a cautious hand on the boy's back and stares out.

'It's OK,' he says.

The boy squeezes his dad close and starts to cry.

'I'm ready,' says Bunny, obscurely, to n.o.body in particular.

PART THREE.

DEADMAN.

25.

The boy thinks his father looks weird, sitting there eating his breakfast in the dining room of the Empress Hotel, but it's hard to really know for sure as it seems a long time since he has looked anything else. His eyes keep darting all over the place no sooner have they looked over there, than they look over here, and as soon as they look over here, they are looking somewhere else. Sometimes he is rubbernecking over his shoulder, or searching under the table, or checking who is coming through the door, or squinting at the waitress like he thinks she is wearing a disguise, like a mask or veil or something. He keeps holding his ribs and sucking air through his teeth and wincing and generally making strange faces. Sometimes he does these things sped-up and sometimes he does them slowed-down. Bunny Junior feels time is playing tricks on him. For example, it feels like he could grow from a little boy into a wrinkly old man in the time it takes his father to lift his cup, bring it to his lips and take a slurp of tea, and other times it seems like his father is doing everything revved-up and super-fast, like racing around the breakfast room or running off to the bathroom. Bunny Junior feels like he's been 'hitting the road' for a million years but realises with a chilly, drizzly feeling that this is only the third day.

His dad keeps saying something about the client list but as far as Bunny Junior can see the list is pretty much finished. He wonders what will happen when there are no more names left on the list. Will they go home? Will they just get another list? Does this just go on and on for ever? What did life have in store for him? What will he amount to? Is there some alternative life waiting to be lived? Then his dad forks an entire sausage into his mouth and the boy can't help but smile at this truly impressive display. That's the thing with his dad thinks the boy just when you're about to get really angry with him, he goes and does something that leaves you completely awestruck. Well he thinks I love my dad and that's a good thing. I mean he thinks you've got to hand it to him.

Bunny Junior watches a glob of ketchup run down his father's chin and land on his father's tie. This particular tie is sky-blue and there are cartoon rabbits printed on it, with little st.i.tched crosses for eyes, lounging around on white cotton clouds. Bunny is too busy scanning the breakfast room to notice the mess he is making, so the boy reaches across the table and dabs at the spot with a damp napkin.

'That's better,' says the boy.

'I don't know what I'd do without you,' says Bunny, looking around the place like his head was on some kind of crazy, floppy spring.

'You'd be a bit of an old pig,' says the boy.

Bunny stands up and looks under his chair.

'I said, "You'd be a bit of an old, f.u.c.king pig",' says Bunny Junior, a bit louder.

The boy has been reading his encyclopaedia at the breakfast table and, as well as 'Apparition' and 'Visitation', he has looked up 'Near-Death Experience'.

The boy looks at his father and, for no particular reason, says, 'Hey, Dad, it says in my encyclopaedia that a Near-Death Experience is a striking occurrence sometimes reported by those who have recovered from being close to death.'

His father stands abruptly and b.u.mps the table and there is a rattle of crockery and the little white porcelain vase falls over with its sad and solitary flower and they both watch, in slow motion, the water soak into the tablecloth. Bunny Junior picks up the flower (a simulated pink English daisy) and puts it in the b.u.t.tonhole of his father's jacket.

'There you go,' says the boy.

'We've got work to do,' says Bunny. He sc.r.a.pes back his chair and says, 'We've got important business to attend to.'

Bunny pulls up the collar of his jacket and wraps his arms around himself.

'Is the air conditioning up too high in here?' he says, with a shudder.

'I guess,' says the boy, and he picks up his encyclopaedia and follows his father out of the breakfast room of the Empress Hotel.

At the reception desk, Bunny hears a pretty Australian backpacker chick with pink highlights in her hair and a dusting of translucent powder on her freckles say to her friend, 'Hey, Kelly, did you see this?'

She points to a tabloid newspaper on the counter.

Kelly has blue hair and wears a loose cheesecloth dress and Tibetan beads around her neck. She looks at the tabloid and sees a photograph of the Horned Killer, flanked by two overweight policemen. The killer is shirtless and six-packed and smeared in red paint, his hands are cuffed, his fake joke-shop horns still perch on his head. He stares resolutely into the camera. The headline reads, 'GOTCHA!'

'Wow, Zandra, they got the guy,' she says.

Zandra traces the contours of the killer's body with one plum-coloured fingernail and says, 'Looks kind of cute, though.'

Kelly looks over her shoulder at Bunny, who has moved in close and is craning his neck and trying to see the front page of the newspaper.

'Who?' she says, distracted.

'The devil guy,' says Zandra.

Kelly elbows Zandra and says, under her breath, 'My G.o.d, girl, you are incorrigible!' then looks over her shoulder at Bunny again.

'Wash off the body paint. Lose the plastic horns ...' says Zandra.

'Girl, you are rampant! rampant!' says Kelly, from the side of her mouth.

'Yeah,' says Zandra, 'I know,' and with a little grunt adjusts her backpack, adding, 'I wouldn't mind his shoes under my bed at all! at all!'

'Sssh,' says Kelly, under her breath.

'Sorry,' says Zandra, 'I mean, hooves! hooves!'

Kelly turns around and faces Bunny.

'Could we have a little room here, please?'

Bunny raises his hands in the air and takes a step backwards.

'Sorry, Kelly,' says Bunny, 'It's just that I think we are having our childhoods stolen from us.'

Bunny moves across to the receptionist, with his wisps of white hair and his catastrophic hinged nose, and pays his bill, and as he turns away the receptionist shoots out his hand and grabs Bunny by the wrist. He looks at Bunny through his 'Mystic Eye' and points at the newspaper.