Your eyes dart from the church doors to the hedgerow and beyond to the house. Your head is murky, your sight growing dimmer and your shoulder throbs. You stagger away from the church steps, bearing toward the hedgerow, lifting the gun preparing for an ambush. Periodically, you use the back of that hand to wipe the sweat, now pouring down your brow from the intensity of the fire. The fire casts dancing shadows around you, confusing your weakened senses. You need to stop this bleeding before it is too late.
The hedgerow seems to move away with each step forward. When you finally reach it, you don't even check for Dennis. You must get to the house, the bathroom, and the bandages. Reaching the car, you lean against it for support. The front doors are ajar and the fading dome light illuminates dried blood all over the seats. You glance back at the church and wish that for her family, you could have removed the body before the inferno started.
A guttural noise emerges, startling you at first until you realize you are making the sound. It erupts from your throat when you observe the church doors are now open. All around you, there is movement, flickering shadows playing tricks on your narrowed vision. He could be anywhere. You push off from the car and stumble to the front porch, up the stairs, through the open front door and down the hallway to the bathroom. You flip the switch.
The floor is littered with empty bottles; their contents down the drain or caked inside the sink basin. Around the open toilet, there are boxes and wrappers for gauze, which now float in soiled water. Despondent, you flip the switch off, stumble into the arcade and use its wall for support as you slide toward the main room.
Pausing at the foot of the stairs, you wonder if there might be another bathroom or medical supplies upstairs. You stretch for the banister as you step across and lower yourself onto the steps. The consequences of your wounds are definitely worsening and you require a moment to rest. You set the pistol on the stairs, dig into your pocket and pull out the crumpled cigarette pack. You extract a crooked one, slightly broken near the filter. You can still light it though, if you just hold a finger over the crack. You smile and reach for your lighter, forgetting you left it in the crawl space of the church. The smile fades and you look around as if a magical lighter will materialize.
Through the banister posts, you inspect the once darkened dining room. Its windows now glow from the fire. You see the form of the playpen discovered hours ago. Recalling the stiff object inside, you are afraid to know what it is. If only you had left them. Something else clicks in your head and you remember the ditch. Wondering what that was, you finally notice that the front door is closed. Did you shut it when you came into the house? It was all such a blur. The hairs on your neck perk up and you drop the cigarette to retrieve the gun. Your break is over.
If you go upstairs in search of medical supplies, turn to page 82.
If you go to the playpen to see what is really inside, turn to page 86.
If you leave the house, turn to page 88.
