And Blue Skies From Pain Read Free

Joseph thought and headed up the tunnel.
    The observation room was a small open balcony looking down upon the area below. It also contained a desk, a chair, several television monitors, and the body of a man dressed in a dark suit. His throat had been cut, and the cooling blood was forming a large puddle on the stone floor. Arterial spray coated much of the far wall. 42–43–44…. Looking down at the monitors he felt a chill. One of the screens showed the very hallway he’d just travelled down.
    They would’ve had me too.
    He checked his pistol to see it was loaded. Save for the color, the custom-made ammunition appeared normal. However, each silver-coated hollow-point bullet housed a blessed rosary bead made of jet. Taking care not to be seen, Joseph risked peeking over the ledge. He got the impression of a gloomy thirty-foot by fifty-foot room with a tall ceiling, rough concrete floor, pink fiberglass insulation, and half-finished cinderblock walls. 59–60–61…. With the second glance he noted a large white bathtub near where the tunnel emptied into the room. Next to it were several buckets, chains and manacles as well as a coiled water hose. A body lay sprawled in the center of the floor. Based on the clothing, Joseph was fairly certain it was either Father Drager or Father Wright, but the head and face were lost in a mass of gore. Another priest hung suspended by his feet. Joseph wasn’t sure whether the man was still alive or not. 86–87–88…. His targets were at his far right, tearing at the hanging priest. Joseph swallowed an urge to kill all three at once and then looked away.
    A bright flash lit up the room.
    When he peered over the ledge he spied Father Jackson hiding behind the cover provided by the large cast-iron bathtub. He kicked at the tin buckets. They rolled away, banging and clattering against the concrete floor. The men— Fallen, they’re Fallen —were dressed as orphanage attendants. One wore a priest’s collar. However, the words they shouted at Father Jackson were foul and in Latin. New to the Order and the priesthood, Joseph wasn’t quite proficient enough in Latin yet to translate. He had a feeling he didn’t really want to understand anyway.
    Father Jackson aimed his pistol around the edge of the tub, squeezing the trigger twice in quick succession. One of the Fallen dropped. Its screams of agony filled up the room and echoed through the tunnels. Joseph watched the demon convulse on the concrete until its body dissolved into so much ash and smoke.
    “Stop this, priest!” The demon’s voice was heavily accented with Eastern European and difficult to understand, but the force of command behind it was powerful enough that it gave Joseph a start. Although tall, its back was bent with a large hunch, and its movements were short and jerky like that of an animal’s. Unnatural. “You are alone. We have your friend. Do you not see this?”
    The other remaining demon rotated the hanging priest on the rope so that his bloodied and bruised face was revealed.
    It’s Father Drager, Joseph thought.
    Father Drager’s shirt was gone, and blood oozed from several wounds in his arms, stomach, and chest. One arm hung at a bad, twisted angle. He was breathing and flinched when the man with the Eastern European accent placed a curved knife to his throat, but his eyes were wide and blind with internal horror.
    “Put down your weapons, or I will kill him,” the taller demon said.
    “You have no hope of leaving this place. Reinforcements are on the way,” Father Jackson said.
    “Reinforcements?” The tall demon in the priest’s collar laughed. “Isn’t that wonderful? More human fodder.” It stepped toward Father Jackson. “So fragile. So easy to manipulate.” It muttered something under its breath. Once again, Joseph couldn’t understand the words—this time because he couldn’t hear. “You and your friend on the rope will be long dead. Or….” It cocked its head as if listening.