TWC-003
St. Valentine's Ledger
Patron: Nickels Costigan
Date: Aug 6th, 1923 – Gold Coast District
Location: St. Valentine's (Dressing Room #3)
Proprietor: Nickels
Tried to draw the whole mess out on a napkin while Aggie finally cleaned up this sorry room. Three names in, the pen exploded. Fitting. Let me try again here, on this damned typewriter. That's how Ginny would prefer it, anyway.
Finch was killed.
Old Scratch sent the bugs out to do it but they were beaten to the punch. By who or what? We don't entirely know but, it's likely my own master had a bloody hand in it seeing as Finch was trying to kill me.
The night before I sang a song I shouldn’t have. A song about a yellow canary down in the mines. A song taught to me by my master. The first song he taught me.
Elsewhere Old Scratch called the Orders to attention to stop a lost city from rising out of the water. So, he had the Bugs go to stop it. Except, according to our good Father of the Flip, I'm the one who's supposed to be bringing this city back with my songs. Finch was moving against me. He was fixing to kill me. But either the Bugs missed the memo, or Old Scratch doesn't want me dead. Doesn't matter. I figure I'm untouchable as of right now. My master did Finch in before I even knew he was behind me.
Either way, I’m the verse that keeps getting repeated.
I made deals.
God, I made so many damn deals. Not just with demons. With old barkeepers. With fiddlers under bridges. With ghosts of friends who promised second chances in exchange for something I don’t even remember giving. And of course, I made a deal with my master for a golden voice. A voice that hums power. A voice that sings spells softly into reality.
And every one of those songs was a nail in the plank of this bridge we’re hanging ourselves from, ain't it?
Gallowsbridge.
The name tastes like rust in my mouth. Something real vile. Father says it wants to rise. Ginny’s patron says that Old Scratch doesn’t want it whole again. But if that’s true… then what am I? A keystone or a crack?
I want to run.
Again.
Just take the next midnight train going nowhere and sing to the shadows till my voice gives out. But I can’t. Not anymore. Because if I am the one holding the melody together… then maybe silence is the last mistake I get to make.
God help me.
Or don’t.
Just keep the bridge from singing back, let the chorus ride, and give me a second chance before the break.