Dylan's eyes began to flicker, and there's one thing I knew from a first aid course I did, was, that you have to prevent a seriously injured person from going to sleep, "No Dylan, talk to me, don't close your eyes, stay with me I pleaded.

His eyes pinged back open wide and stared at me; he tried to speak, but I could see that the effort was sapping his fight. Josh continued to massage his heart with one hand while stemming the flow of blood with his other. I looked at my phone, still no signal, "Josh, he's dying, what can we do?" I asked, trying to remain calm.

He didn't answer, instead his head swiveled towards the sound of rapidly running feet against old floorboards, "All we can do is hope that this is help on the way," he said, continuing to tend his friend.

I felt a shot of relief when I saw the black clad mystery man sprint onto the stage. My relief was mixed with a hit of hope and a pinch of pride, because this was oh so typical of my dad, racing to help a person in need.

The man sprang into what was experienced action, "Get outta the way, he said with assertion. Josh and I complied as he knelt down and started to feel all over Dylan's chest, he settled on a place below his right shoulder, "This is encouraging, the entrance wound suggests he's missed all vital organs." He removed a coil of narrow black fabric from his pocked, lifted Dylan's head and shoulders and began binding his shoulder and upper torso, pulling the fabric tight with a huge strength; all the while, intermittently slapping Dylan's face, "Stay with us, no shut eye for you, not yet," he said.

His words were music to my ears, they soothed me, instilled a sense of safety in me; the kind I only ever got from my father – this was my dad, I was now sure!

As he worked, I looked back to where he came from, hoping to see Granny Grace, but she didn't appear. Dylan's words, "Don't believe her," swam round my head, and I wanted to be certain she didn't creep up on us while we were distracted and finish us all off with her new toy – the bang bang.

While I stared into the shadows, I became aware of the man and Josh talking, "I've got a bike outside, but you'll have to prop him on the front; King's College Hospital is only about two miles away, you'll get him there in minutes," said Josh.

"Good to hear, help me carry him, " said the black clad man.

When I turned back to offer my help, I was hit by the most astonishingly alarming sight. The man was crouched down, and the fabric of his suit had become free from his boot, exposing his lower leg – his skin was white!

As Josh prepared to lift Dylan, the man halted, "Wait, we're losing him," he said, grappling with clips at the side of his helmet.

Josh's eyes glanced at the man's leg, then flicked over to me, the same question written large across his bewildered face – who was this man?

The man continued to slap Dylan's face with one hand, while struggling to unclip his helmet. Aware he need help, Josh honed in and un-clasped the helmet.

The man slapped Dylan's face again, "Open your eyes!" He shouted, while forcing the helmet up and off his face. He threw it across the stage floor and it bounced and bounded over the boards, settling upright a few feet from us.

He grasped Dylan's face in both hands and cupped it up towards his, "Open your eyes son, look at me – it's your daddy here."

I recognized him, as did Josh. Our eyes locked and I could see the same repeat of recent events flashing through his head as was mine: meeting Mr. Goodie in the Paddock field flat, Granny Grace informing us she'd murdered him, Josh and I disposing of what we thought was his dismembered body.

Yet here was this self same man, very much alive and tending with a fatherly tenderness to his dying son.

"The old lady – she lies – don't believe her." Dylan's last words to me, now rang oh so true, and at that moment all I wanted was to get Dylan to hospital and for Josh and I to get far away from this mayhem.

Mr. Goodie shouted, "Come on kids, help me get him to the bike!"

I didn't think twice, and as Josh and Mr. Goodie hoisted Dylan's upper body, I grabbed his legs.

The sudden sound of gunfire invaded the stage as we scurried with Dylan's body into the darkness. I flinched as I heard bullets slamming into human flesh and the resultant scream of searing pain. "Ignore what's going on back there, we need to get Dylan to hospital – believe me!" Shouted Mr. Goodie.

But a thought smacked me as I tried to blot out the sound of violence and struggled to carry Dylan towards life saving treatment –'If Granny Grace lied to us about Killing Mr. Goodie, then he's complicit in her lie.

Why should Josh and I believe in him?