And Blue Skies From Pain (2 page)
Read And Blue Skies From Pain Online
Authors: Stina Leicht
A small child’s coat lay discarded in a heap. The faded pale blue wool was torn and stained with blood. Given the briefing, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Still, it was a shock. He swallowed the sudden rush of anger and willed his heart to slow.
Demons. Spawn of fallen angels.
Empty shelves lined the walls. A crude wooden door was half hidden by a filthy curtain. He moved closer and paused to listen. Switching the flashlight to his knife hand, he gently tugged the door open left-handed. The hinges made very little sound as he slipped through. He returned the flashlight to his left hand and found himself in a primitive hallway with four doors—two on each side—nearest to the entrance. Peering inside the first on the left, he discovered it was being used as a supply cupboard. A shovel, broom, and several buckets as well as coiled rope and rolls of thick tape were neatly arranged against the wall. Cleaning supplies and jars of murky unknowable liquids were stacked on the shelves. He entered the second little room on the left and was almost overcome with the stench of human excrement. The room was empty but for a set of child-sized manacles fixed to chains bolted into the stone wall. A bucket in the corner was the source of the stink. That and the dark stains in the hard-packed dirt floor were all that remained of the room’s former occupant. Narrow lines had been repeatedly clawed into the earth around the steel drain sunk into the floor, traces left by small bloody fingers. Combined with the coat, the scene was too easy to imagine.
He fled the room, eyes stinging. He leaned against the closed door and wiped his face in an attempt to rid himself of the images. He’d been warned, but he hadn’t thought it would hit him this hard. He swallowed his emotions—
now isn’t the time
—and wiped his face again, centering on the reality of beard stubble scraping against his palm.
Calm yourself. Think of the others. Think of Mary.
With a last steadying breath, he nodded to himself and then investigated the other two rooms. They contained trash and clothing remnants. A half-burned doll stared up out of the mess. Still disturbed by what he’d found earlier, he purposely didn’t study the contents—merely checked to see if either room was occupied and continued on.
now isn’t the time
—and wiped his face again, centering on the reality of beard stubble scraping against his palm.
Calm yourself. Think of the others. Think of Mary.
With a last steadying breath, he nodded to himself and then investigated the other two rooms. They contained trash and clothing remnants. A half-burned doll stared up out of the mess. Still disturbed by what he’d found earlier, he purposely didn’t study the contents—merely checked to see if either room was occupied and continued on.
The rough corridor appeared to join a naturally formed tunnel located underneath the orphanage. Sharp, man-made cuts gave way to smooth water-worn walls. Ten feet down the passage another harrowing scream raked his nerves. “Oh, Jesus! No!”
Cruel laughter echoed up from the end of the hallway.
Demons will prey upon your darkest fears.
He closed his eyes and swallowed his terror again. It tasted of bile.
He closed his eyes and swallowed his terror again. It tasted of bile.
A majority of what he knew about the Fallen consisted of what he’d read and heard from the others. His only actual experience had been that fateful night, years ago. In truth, it hadn’t lasted long. Others had more harrowing stories. Everyone within the Order had a tale to tell—if it could be told at all. The Order only recruited those whose lives had already been destroyed by demons or their spawn.
He kept his pace slow and careful. Dingy light flickered ahead, and now he could hear the whispering roar of butane camp lanterns and the distant boom of the surf slamming the cliffs outside along with the sounds of the enemy intent upon torture. The ground had grown damp and felt slightly sticky under the soles of his combat boots. A new smell reached his nose, overshadowing the others.
Fresh blood. Vomit.
Fresh blood. Vomit.
The passage curved to the left. He placed his back against the left wall and put away the flashlight before continuing to inch forward. The rough surface was cold against his back—even through the thickness of his anorak. Soon he came upon another door. Checking, he found it locked. He was unable to secure it, and so, he moved on. The tunnel walls widened, eventually becoming a cave. He’d gotten almost to the end of the passage when the soft sound of nearby movement froze him in place with a shuddering heart.
Someone grabbed his right arm. Turning, he tensed for a fight. The hand trapping his bicep released it, then made the signal for silence in front of a shadowy face. Joseph got the impression of light military-cropped hair, sharp features, and an aristocratic nose in the gloom. Recognition flooded in along side a surge of relief.
Father Jackson.
Father Jackson.
Father Jackson gestured for him to retreat. Joseph followed orders, slowly shifting back down the hallway until he was instructed to stop with a hand signal. He opened his mouth to whisper an explanation, but Father Jackson again signalled for silence.
“We’re all that’s left, I’m afraid,” Father Jackson said, speaking quietly in his ear. “You’re a trainee and aren’t cleared for field duty. Not yet. Therefore, you’ve the option to refuse—”
“I’m ready,” Joseph whispered.
This is what I’ve waited for. Ever since Mary—
This is what I’ve waited for. Ever since Mary—
“Knew I could count on you,” Father Jackson said. A relieved expression flashed across his aquiline features in the dim light. “The door behind us leads to an observation area. Take your position there. I’ll handle the situation down here.”
“Don’t you need my assistance?”
“I need you in that observation room,” Father Jackson said. His dark eyes were sharp. “After a count of one hundred, I’ll throw a stun grenade. Then I’ll go in. If it’s necessary, I’ll give you a signal when to start firing. Whatever you do, don’t reveal your presence unless you absolutely must. Wait for my signal. Understood?”
“But how is that—”
“Am I understood, Probationary Guardian Murray?”
Sighing, Joseph nodded.
He knows what he’s doing. You don’t.
Frustration tightened his jaw.
Be patient. One day. Soon.
He knows what he’s doing. You don’t.
Frustration tightened his jaw.
Be patient. One day. Soon.
A passage from the Bible came to mind.
Whoever exacts vengeance will experience the vengeance of the Lord, who keeps strict account of sin.
Whoever exacts vengeance will experience the vengeance of the Lord, who keeps strict account of sin.
A thirst for revenge is the easiest means for a demon to get through to you.
“You’re only to observe,” Father Jackson said. “It’s possible I can handle this alone. If so, I will. Don’t take any unnecessary risks. Someone has to survive this mess and report. Where’s your rifle?”
Internally, Joseph cursed. “Father Drager told me to leave it in the van. Didn’t think it would be necessary when I went back. But I should’ve—”
“It’s all right. None of us expected this.”
“I’ve my pistol.” Joseph sheathed the dagger and then drew his 9mm Browning left-handed. Although he’d worked right-handed since his first day in grammar school, he was still a slightly better shot with his left—particularly under stressful conditions. He glanced at his wristwatch. “The range isn’t as good as the rifle’s but—”
“It’s good enough.” Father Jackson started to move away.
Joseph stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve radioed for help. They should arrive in ten minutes, Father. It isn’t proper procedure but—”
“That was wise. I’m glad you did so.” Father Jackson gave him a curt nod of approval and then signalled that he was ready. Holding up his index finger, he started the count.
1–2–3….
1–2–3….
Joseph reached into his pocket and continued the silent count by fingering the beads of his rosary right-handed. He trailed behind his mentor, gun at the ready. When they reached the door leading to the observation room, Father Jackson gave him a silent blessing and then gestured for him to go in.
20–21–22…
20–21–22…
God go with you too, Father,
Joseph thought and headed up the tunnel.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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. “Ahhhh, I see.” It held out a hand and muttered something again. “Some things can’t be forgiven. Stand, and together, we’ll make everyone pay.”
Father Jackson stood.
“Drop your weapons,” the tall demon said.
To Joseph’s horror, he watched as Father Jackson did exactly that.
They use your weaknesses against you,
Joseph thought. A chill shivered through him, and he finally understood why Father Jackson had sent him upstairs.
They use your weaknesses against you,
Joseph thought. A chill shivered through him, and he finally understood why Father Jackson had sent him upstairs.
Kill the half-demon first.
Joseph settled into position, assuming a two-handed stabilizing grip on the pistol and then carefully aimed the Browning at the Fallen armed with the dagger. He didn’t want to risk missing. He was near the limits of the pistol’s range. So, he aimed for the chest.
I can do this.
He’d scored quite high in marksmanship from the start, surprising even himself. However, this was the first time he’d actually pointed a weapon at a human be—
Fallen. It’s a demon. It isn’t human.
He took a deep breath, hesitating for an instant.
This is it. There is no going back after this. I’ll have taken a life.
He thought of the worst night of his life in spite of himself—
this is why I lived and she didn’t
—and slowly squeezed the trigger.
Joseph settled into position, assuming a two-handed stabilizing grip on the pistol and then carefully aimed the Browning at the Fallen armed with the dagger. He didn’t want to risk missing. He was near the limits of the pistol’s range. So, he aimed for the chest.
I can do this.
He’d scored quite high in marksmanship from the start, surprising even himself. However, this was the first time he’d actually pointed a weapon at a human be—
Fallen. It’s a demon. It isn’t human.
He took a deep breath, hesitating for an instant.
This is it. There is no going back after this. I’ll have taken a life.
He thought of the worst night of his life in spite of himself—
this is why I lived and she didn’t
—and slowly squeezed the trigger.
The effect was instantaneous. The recoil sent a shock up his left wrist and arm. At the same time, the creature stumbled. Bright red blood splashed the wall behind it. Its knife fell away from Father Drager’s throat and clattered to the floor. Joseph didn’t wait. He placed two more shots—a second one in the chest and one in the head—then changed targets. The full-blooded Fallen whirled, searching for the source of the shots. There wasn’t much time. Joseph knew he’d be spotted in seconds. If the thing could control Father Jackson so easily, then he was certainly no match for it. Joseph steadied himself as best he could and fired another four rounds. The first went wide. The second clipped the demon on the shoulder. The last two struck home, creating dark patches on the creature’s chest.
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