This is a disclaimer.
Oranges and Lemons
The house is dark silent but for the creak of the floorboards under your feet your harsh breathing. Every step is agony fire lancing up your leg the denim of your jeans clinging wet to your skin how did that happen it wasn't so deep merest scratch but seemingly your leg thinks different.
Gun too heavy to hold in your hands but you have to anyway.
Lean against the door frame one foot in the living room one in the hall this is what's called being in two places at once the toe of your right boot slips and slides on the hallway floor and even in the gloom you make out the shape lying by the foot of the stairs object like a football but not and you know know know what it is.
No time for grief the world is spinning crazily lost too much blood already can't stop now. Must get out must get back must get home but there is no home anyway anywhere so better stay and see it through a knife in the dark a beeping of monitors suddenly silenced feels too much like murder but no chance to reach the room because there's a light.
Dances on the stairs, a candle cradled in small delicate hands little girl whirling on the steps with her flame bare feet pattering on the wood nightdress a-swirling.
She sings high and sweet. Oranges and lemons say the bells of St. Clements...
Ragged breath groan when you move your leg only way to go is forwards no no no you won't die here too soon too much to do.
... you owe me five farthings say the bells of St. Martins...
Stagger forwards slipping in the wet she stops dancing turns to look down at you bright bright eyes in her flame holds it tight in one hand and beckons with the other hurry hurry hurry this way.
... when will you pay me say the bells of Old Bailey...
Hand on the bannister foot on the lowest step she pirouettes above you again seeming delighted flashes a smile that lends you strength what a woman she would have been strong compassionate fearless and free second step third fourth.
.... when I grow rich say the bells of Shoreditch...
Light under the door there a strip of gold your destination now the beeping loud and clear takes up a tune the child sings louder not to be outdone each footfall deliberate each word defiant beckons you higher you follow her blindly he's waiting at the top.
... when will that be say the bells of Stepney....
An old man scrawny and cold psychopath when awake even crazier now fixes the girl with a look of hatred your hand clenches on the bannister her father this is suddenly you don't feel so badly about your plan wish you could have been there to put a bullet in his heart before he did this to her but she doesn't look afraid, waves a hand at you in encouragement sings louder still her father howls and rushes forwards.
... I'm sure I don't know says the great bell at Bow...
Knife pure iron cuts through him easily you couldn't have done it without her help last ditch effort reach the door fling it open there he is lying still and pale hooked up to machines that whirr and beep and fall silent when you cut his throat long smooth slide effortless red blooming behind it the little girl stands on the other side of the bed and raises her candle to you in something like a salute one soldier to another job well done thank you.
Here comes a candle to light you to bed here comes a chopper to chop off your head.
Finally finally you pick up the phone call for Dean to bring the lighter fluid and the salt.