A Very Special House

The smoke from her gun was followed by a burning pain in my side and a gush of red. Dizzy and suddenly cold with terror, I fell to the ground. It hadn't been personal. Not this time.Stray bullet. Wrong place, wrong time, and all because I came back.The last thing I heard was the man, Al, screaming at her to drop the weapon and call 911.I was nearly overpowered by the damnedest urge to laugh. Paramedics busting in to save me, finding the gun, calling the cops while I bled out. She dropped the gun and stared down at me. "Can't you bleed somewhere else? God, my deck!"I patted her arm, or thought I did. "Don't worry, dear. Your cell will be squeaky clean," I said, or thought I did. She didn't respond, just looked at me in horror.The last thing I felt was my temperature dropping, and such awful weakness, plus a strange sort of thinning, a widening, as though I were spilled water, as if I were melting into the rough wooden boards.The last thing I thought was, Who will find my journal, and how will my kids know what I've written for them to see?