IN PACE REQUESCIATE
A "Great Mouse Detective" Fanfiction By The Mouse Avenger
The autumn air rustles against my fur, stinging the flesh underneath with a bitter chill. The grass & trees have lost their summer beauty, tainted with tints of brown in varying shades. The sky is covered with a blanket of gray clouds, not yet dark enough to signal an oncoming storm...yet a tempest is already raging wildly in my heart, as I make my way among the rows of tombstones in an isolated part of Mouse London Cemetery. Hardly anyone ever comes to this area-then again, can they really be blamed for that? After all, this section of the graveyard is the final resting place of Mouse London's most-notorious fiends & felons...including two in particular that I maintain a rather reluctant relationship with.
Before long, I finally approach the two tombstones that bear the names of the fursons in question...none other than the criminal couple who gave birth to me: Alan & Sheila Ratigan, together forever in life & in death. Both gravestones have been carefully crafted in white marble-though, perhaps, black would be a far more fitting color-& underneath the etched engravings of their names, life dates, & epitaphs, there is a Celtic symbol of love adorning the otherwise-blank spaces. Love...hah! Love was a completely foreign concept to my parents-their hearts only felt hatred, rage, & wickedness towards the world around them. The only rodents they cared about, were each other...&, perhaps, their boss Mouses Fiennes. Though that loyalty didn't do them much good in the end...
Sporting a somber look on my face, I kneel before the tombstones of my so-called "mother" & "father", glaring at their remnants with the golden eyes I was blessed to inherit from Alan Ratigan's side of the family. Now, when fursons look into said eyes, they see nothing but warmth & kindness...but during my dark days, they could give the phrase "if looks could kill" a whole new meaning! Come to think of it, I didn't inherit many visible traits from my mother-no wonder Alan & I looked so much alike! Sheila definitely got the short end of the genetic stick...
Ah, well, no matter. None of the three mouselings Alan & Sheila kidnapped, bore any resemblance to their "adoptive mother", either...but I digress.
Mother, Father...I call you by these names, but only out of begrudging respect for the dead. I never knew you. I don't even really know why I'm here...Scratch that. I know precisely why I'm here-I'm here to give you my final goodbyes. Then again, we never really said "hello" to each other in our lives, did we? My friends Slick Willie, Jellybean Jameson, & Yoko Bono told me the whole story about my birth, & everything that took place before & afterwards...so don't try & tell me anything different. I can still remember the sinking feeling in my gut when Yoko told me what you said as soon as I came out of the womb: "I cannot believe that my own son...is a hideous, disgusting SEWER RAT!"
You never loved me, Alan, & neither did Sheila. In fact, you forced Slick Willie & his friends-the very children you had stolen from abroad, & raised as your own offspring-to take me outside, & leave me to die in an alleyway! For that, Mouses Fiennes punished you with execution that very night, & he took off to retrieve me from the couple who had found me alive & well in that miserable garbage can...which would have been my final resting place, had Sally & Andrew McBride-who I am fortunate to count among the many members of my family-not come along.
And, yet, when I was a young lad under Mouses Fiennes' care, he wove a remarkable tale about you two-just to give that one final push needed to make me into a criminal at the tender age of 8. He told me how much you loved me, & how they sacrificed their lives to protect me from Basil Of Baker Street. It was all a pack of lies, but it certainly got the job done-I turned to the dark side the very next day, & I never looked back...not for another 9 years. But, through a remarkable twist of fate, the very mouse I was so determined to destroy, ended up helping me on my journey back to a life of goodness & righteousness. Even after our acrimonious history together, Basil was still eager to aid me in my quest for redemption, for which I owe him my undying thanks & gratitude. Of course, I have nothing to thank either of you for! Tell me: how does it feel, knowing that a stranger can show more love & affection to me than you, my "precious" mother & father?
Mother...Father...Hah! Why do I even waste my breath calling you that? There are fursons far more deserving of those titles than you ever will be! Basil Of Baker Street is my father, Victoria Holmesington is my mother, & the rest of the Baker Street Family are the only other loved ones I'll ever need in my life. I have no room for either of you in my heart, & I don't particularly wish to spare any. It'd just be an unnecessary waste of space...
I finally break off from my mental musings to regard the three initials at the bottom of each tombstone's block of text: "R.I.P." for "Rest in peace..."-or, as they say in Latin, "In pace requesciate." The more I think about it, the more appealing I find the idea of replacing that last word with "pain". Yes, "rest in pain"...it suits you two much better.
Rest in eternal pain, dearest Father & Mother. It's what you get for being so evil during your time on this mortal sphere. Especially you, Alan; I hope you receive 125 lashes from the Devil's scourge every day-one for each furson you've killed during your lifetime! And you, Sheila, should be forced to walk through a hot pool of liquid gold from molten-down coins-that precious thing you loved so much...
The anger, bitterness, & heartache are swelling in me now. With a growl, I kick at both of your tombstones over & over again, never letting up until all the emotional steam has run out of me. As I'm kicking, I picture my foot crushing your slimy, serpentine spirits, & everything they represent. I am good now. I am a reformed rat! I don't need you, Mouses Fiennes, or any other scoundrels in my life anymore! That part of my existence is over now, & I thank God (& my lucky stars) for that!
Finally, all of my negative energy is released, & I stop pummeling your gravestones with my boot. I then take a moment to adjust my mussed-up clothes, before laying a large bouquet of weeds at your resting place...& proceeding to spit on both of those marble markers with ironically-placed Celtic love symbols. You never showed any love, affection, or respect to me-your own flesh & blood-so why should I do the same in return? It's only fair; after all, do unto others as you would have done unto you...
After a few more minutes of lingering in thoughtful silence, I decide that I've spent quite enough time here. With that, I turn to start making my way out of the cemetery, & back home to Lower 221B Baker Street...where I rightfully belong with my real family. As I exit the burial plot, though, I can't help but cast one more glance at the text upon your tombstones...& savor the delicious irony of those last three initials.
Cheerio, Mommy & Daddy dearest. May you forever rot in the flames of Hell, never to harm anyone again with your wicked ways! May your shadows on the pages of history books fade away, & your legacies be doomed to languish in obscurity! And may your cold corpses continue to provide a feast for lowly worms, while your souls suffer in eternal anguish & agony!
In Pace Requesciate!
THE END
