Betrayal
There is a moment when I think that I am going to be falling out of the window too. I have already been shot in the leg, but you grab me and pull me back in. Let him go! you scream and I pull off my jacket and the Russian falls.
I don't know why he's Russian. I have forgotten why they were here in my flat, waving guns about and demanding money. I remember the blur as my best friend tackles the biggest one and the two of them fall ten storeys to the cold hard pavement in a shower of glass and gunfire.
We panic.
What else is there to do? We have just murdered three people, albeit in hot blood. We'll be okay, you assure me, we'll just explain what happened, they'll understand.
...
My father narrates the story, as if reading from a children's book. Apparently we run, there are a series of close encounters, I manage to get an automatic weapon from somewhere and am too afraid to use it. You remain strong, by my side and our companion is foolish and wayward.
There are arguments - he resents our love - as if we do it to spite him, feels that we cut him out of command decisions. Reluctantly we hand over responsibility for a shopping trip and nearly die in the process. They catch up with us at the train station and we have to leap from the moving carriage onto a train going the other way. I nearly lose you, but manage to haul you inside before we hit the tunnel.
It all ends with the three of us spending days and days in the basement of a huge old house. We live comfortably, but inevitable the little group fractures and our companion, embittered by constantly being the gooseberry, sneaks out one night to give our position away.
There is a final stand, we are cornered in the playing fields of my old school and I am consumed by the need to exact revenge on our betrayer. As he falls I can only watch with regret and realise that we are now truly alone at last.
The scene fades, the camera zooms out and the narrator takes over. You and I are safe, apparently, but not without cost.
