And Blue Skies From Pain (19 page)
Read And Blue Skies From Pain Online
Authors: Stina Leicht
Another thump was followed by a crash and a muffled shout. His fear of being trapped was forgotten in a frozen spasm of dread.
Something bad is about to happen.
“Father?!” Liam grabbed at the doorknob again, rattling it. It didn’t budge. He went to the bed, quickly pulled on a pair of discarded socks and jammed on his work boots. Then he rushed at the door, giving it a good kick and then another, leaving a grey boot print on the pristine white paint. The steel door shuddered inside its wooden frame. The door frame splintered and cracked. Another muted shout filtered in from the other side of the wall.
“I’m coming, Father!” He stepped back and smashed the sole of his boot on the space next to the doorknob a third time. The lock’s steel bolt shredded the door frame. He shoved through the narrow space and staggered into the sitting room, scraping his arms and back in the process. His shirt tore, but he didn’t notice it much because of the stench of week-old burned corpse.
The door to Father Murray’s room gaped. Liam rushed to help but stopped when he saw the blond screw named Father Jensen crash into a bookshelf. The bookcase teetered, and a cascade of books dropped to the floor of Father Murray’s room. A picture smashed, shattering glass all over the rug. Dressed only in brown plaid flannel pajamas, no shoes and unarmed, Father Murray closed on Jensen. As Liam watched, the priest executed a head butt that would’ve been at home in any bar fight. Liam winced at the crunch of bone and cartilage as Jensen’s nose was pulped. Blood gushed down the screw’s face. Father Murray followed that move up with a knee to the groin, and Liam was impressed with the priest’s utter lack of scruples when it came to a fist-fight. Father Murray then dove for a pistol lying on the floor, but Jensen moved with an unnatural speed and grace for a man of his size. Darting over to the gun, Jensen kicked it out of Father Murray’s reach. The priest rolled onto his back. Jensen stomped on Father Murray’s chest, pinning him under a big black boot.
Do something, you idiot.
Liam bolted into the room. Spying the pistol on the rug near the chest of drawers, he picked it up and without conscious thought, checked the safety and then pointed it at Jensen. “Get the fuck off him!” He paused, considering whether or not to fire the Browning.
I gave up the fighting. I swore I would. Toss it to Father Murray. Jensen is a priest. And fucking screw or no, I can’t murder a priest.
Liam bolted into the room. Spying the pistol on the rug near the chest of drawers, he picked it up and without conscious thought, checked the safety and then pointed it at Jensen. “Get the fuck off him!” He paused, considering whether or not to fire the Browning.
I gave up the fighting. I swore I would. Toss it to Father Murray. Jensen is a priest. And fucking screw or no, I can’t murder a priest.
At that moment, Father Murray snatched up a piece of splintered furniture leg and stabbed Father Jensen in the calf. Father Jensen screamed. Father Murray swung the piece of wood again—this time with both hands and a great deal of force. Father Jensen stumbled. Father Murray was free and on his feet again.
“Run, Liam! Get out of here!” Father Murray waved him out of the room.
Father Jensen whirled. To Liam’s surprise, the screw charged at him with a snarl. Father Jensen reached for the pistol. Liam’s reflexes made the decision for him. His finger twitched against the trigger. In the same instant, Father Jensen slapped the gun barrel. The gun went off. Liam smelled blood mixed in with the smoke of spent cartridge but didn’t take the time to see if he’d hit his target. He ducked under Father Jensen’s arm and darted past. However, Liam was brought up short by the sight of Father Murray sprawled on the floor near the washroom. A small bottle of clear fluid was on the carpet next to his hand. A dark stain expanded in the carpet underneath him. With a blink, Liam knew it to be blood. It had soaked through the right side of Father Murray’s pajama top and splattered the wall. The priest’s brown eyes stared up at Liam, wide with shock. Liam’s heart stopped, frozen solid.
Oh, fuck. I’ve done for him,
he thought. Dropping to his knees, Liam put a hand to the wound to stop the bleeding.
he thought. Dropping to his knees, Liam put a hand to the wound to stop the bleeding.
Jensen trotted to the telephone that had been upended on the floor and pushed the button a couple times to ring off before dialing. “Hello? This is security.” His accent was layered with something foreign that Liam couldn’t identify. “The creature in OR has escaped. It killed everyone on this level. It’s armed. Get help down here.” Jensen slammed the receiver onto the base with a smile, and with a salute, he fled the room.
The alarms started their whooping.
Liam automatically wiped his prints from the gun before dropping it onto the carpet.
Father Murray wheezed. His mouth moved to form words, but nothing came out. His eyes squeezed shut against a spasm of pain. He sputtered.
“Father?”
“Go, Liam. After him.”
“But—”
“Keys. They’re on the chest of drawers.” He seemed to take in as much air as the hurt would let him. “Follow him. Find out where he goes.”
“I shot you.”
“Was an accident. I’ll explain.”
Father Murray didn’t look much like he was going to live to do much explaining. If that were the case, it’d be Liam’s word against Father Jensen’s phone call.
The camera. Is there a fucking camera in this room?
Liam searched the ceiling and found the damned thing smashed.
The camera. Is there a fucking camera in this room?
Liam searched the ceiling and found the damned thing smashed.
Father Murray grabbed his arm and tugged, bringing Liam back to the problem at hand. “After him. Ring for me at St. Agnes. Leave a message. Trust only me, Father Thomas, or Bishop Avery. No one else. Got it?”
“You’ll bleed to death.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s only the shock setting in. Go.”
Liam got up from the floor. The screw was long gone. It was too late to follow him. How much longer before the others showed up? Liam needed a few things if he was to get far. It’d been freezing the last time he’d been outside. He couldn’t go dressed in his pajamas. He pulled the blanket from the bed and draped it over Father Murray. Then Liam grabbed the keys from the top of the chest of drawers and ran back to his room. He shoved the warped door on its now twisted hinges. It made an awful sound as it gave away. His laundry bag was where he’d left it, leaning against the foot of the bed. Stuffing clothes lying scattered on the floor back into the bag, he jerked the string tight and secured it with a quick knot. That done, he slipped into his anorak and then shouldered the laundry bag. Two kicks forced the door open wide enough for him to exit with the awkward burden balanced on his left shoulder. Pausing to look in at the priest one last time, he saw that Father Murray appeared to be unconscious. Liam prayed that help would arrive in time and trotted to the outer door. The alarm’s whoops were loud enough to hurt his ears.
The short hallway was empty of guards, and he wouldn’t have known they’d been there at all save for the drying crimson stains and lumps of flesh decorating the white cinderblock walls. Smudged lines of blood traced a path to the bodies, or what Liam assumed were bodies. Two legs jutted out of an open supply closet.
A door slammed.
Liam started and turned toward the sound. The “Fire Exit” sign glowed an angry red. Bolted to the ceiling tiles above it, the remains of the security camera dangled in a mass of broken glass and twisted metal. His nose picked up Jensen’s fading corpse-stench. The trail led straight to the fire exit. Sprinting, Liam expected the stairwell to be locked, but it wasn’t. He didn’t stop to think of why. He threw the door wide and bolted up the stairs two at a time. At the top of the next riser, he was greeted by yet another broken camera. A loud bang echoed from above. Another set of alarms joined the shrill chorus a few beats off-cant from the first. Small weapons gunfire punctuated the screaming alarms, and someone shouted. Up there, someone emptied an entire clip of rounds. The gun battle paused. A long shriek of agony was cut off by another slamming door.
Liam paused.
Go the fuck back now. See to Father Murray. Needs you, he does. No one should have to die alone. He doesn’t deserve that.
Go the fuck back now. See to Father Murray. Needs you, he does. No one should have to die alone. He doesn’t deserve that.
What if he’s dead already?
A more pragmatic aspect of himself took up the argument.
And if he is? There’s fuck all you can do about it. Stay, and you’re bound for Long Kesh. Without Father Murray, it’s fucked you are. You know it. He knew it too. That’s why he wanted you away. Your only chance is to get the fuck out.
And if he is? There’s fuck all you can do about it. Stay, and you’re bound for Long Kesh. Without Father Murray, it’s fucked you are. You know it. He knew it too. That’s why he wanted you away. Your only chance is to get the fuck out.
Liam reached the door labelled “Ground Floor.” Once there, he paused to zip up his coat. He wasn’t winded. The daily run had its advantages, and while he hadn’t worn his trainers for almost a week, he hadn’t lost much of his stamina. Pushing the door open a crack, he peered through to gauge what he was up against.
Alarm lights flickered. The main entrance hall was empty. One of the paintings hung crookedly off its wire. He estimated the glass doors serving as the entrance to the building were about a hundred feet away, and if he ventured farther from his hiding place he’d see the street from where he stood. As it was, he had a good view of the hulking reception desk positioned against the back wall. On the left side of the desk, a riser of stairs led to the upper floors but didn’t access the lower levels.
No one there.
Two steel elevators were located to the right of the reception desk. The lights above the sliding doors indicated that the elevators were unoccupied, or at least not in use. All was quiet. He would’ve risked bolting to the exit were it not for the crimson pool spreading across the grey-flecked tiles from under the desk. Electronics hissed and popped, hidden behind dark oak panels. The reception desk was as tall as a bar counter, and based upon what Liam had seen upon entering the facility, the two priests who manned the station regularly stood up in order to greet the guests entering the building. Liam had wondered about that on Sunday, until he’d turned and spied the television screens displaying security camera feedback inside.
No one there.
Two steel elevators were located to the right of the reception desk. The lights above the sliding doors indicated that the elevators were unoccupied, or at least not in use. All was quiet. He would’ve risked bolting to the exit were it not for the crimson pool spreading across the grey-flecked tiles from under the desk. Electronics hissed and popped, hidden behind dark oak panels. The reception desk was as tall as a bar counter, and based upon what Liam had seen upon entering the facility, the two priests who manned the station regularly stood up in order to greet the guests entering the building. Liam had wondered about that on Sunday, until he’d turned and spied the television screens displaying security camera feedback inside.
He breathed in layered scents of spent bullets, sweat, fear and blood. Father Jensen’s stench lingered among them. So, the screw was gone—otherwise the stench would’ve overpowered the others. Where were the guards? Liam had counted three on Sunday. At least one was dead. He knew that from the smell and the blood. Perhaps they were pursuing Father Jensen?
Far off sirens added to the cacophony. The Peelers were on the way. It wouldn’t be long before the situation became more complicated.
Liam inched farther from his hiding place to get a better view of the exit. The floor-to-ceiling bullet-resistant panes of glass were cob-webbed with glittery cracks and circular pock marks. Somehow the glass on the far right had escaped damage and formed an empty black rectangle. Two bodies lay sprawled on the tiles. One was missing an arm.
The left.
Both appeared to have been ripped apart. Liam avoided looking at their faces and focused on the clear window for some sign of Father Jensen instead.
The left.
Both appeared to have been ripped apart. Liam avoided looking at their faces and focused on the clear window for some sign of Father Jensen instead.
No moon,
he thought.
It’ll be dark.
But the lack of light wouldn’t pose too much of a problem, not for the likes of him. Other factors would, however.
The bloody cold, for one. You’ll freeze your bollocks off for certain.
Liam thought.
No time to do anything about that now. Go now while there’s the chance. Think yourself a shadow. No trouble at all. It’ll be no different than those late night strolls through the Shankill.
he thought.
It’ll be dark.
But the lack of light wouldn’t pose too much of a problem, not for the likes of him. Other factors would, however.
The bloody cold, for one. You’ll freeze your bollocks off for certain.
Liam thought.
No time to do anything about that now. Go now while there’s the chance. Think yourself a shadow. No trouble at all. It’ll be no different than those late night strolls through the Shankill.
Right. You thought that when you had that run-in with those smugglers. Look what happened?
Fuck that. Was angry. That’s what it was. Stay calm. Keep your head. You’ll do.
Taking a deep breath, he prayed himself invisible and concentrated until he felt his skin prickle with it. He tugged his coat closer and decided to look in on the dead at the reception desk.
What would be the harm?
Once he knew their fates, then he’d head for the exit.
What would be the harm?
Once he knew their fates, then he’d head for the exit.
He walked hunched inside his anorak with the laundry bag perched on his left shoulder and had gotten half across the room when he heard a groan and a scratching sound from behind the reception desk. Upon hearing a second moan, he rushed to the desk. A young priest sat slumped in the second of the two office chairs—the source of the oxygenated blood oozing across the floor. His upper body was sprawled across the desk’s surface, and his right cheek lay against the paper blotter. The television screens in front of him were smashed. The young priest’s hand twitched, and it took a moment for Liam to register the consciousness in the one pain-filled brown eye. Half of the man’s face was lost in a mass of torn flesh.
Liam searched the top of the desk for what the young priest might want and winced at a sickening mound of gory viscera glistening on top of papers stacked in a file bin labelled “Out Box.” His stomach did a lazy flip and the back of his throat grew slick.
What kind of sick bastard does something like that?
The monster was muzzled and trapped in the darkest corner of his brain and had been for days, but Liam somehow sensed its amusement nonetheless. His jaw tightened in disgust.
The priest let out another soft moan, and his fingernails scratched the desk. Liam finally understood that the man was reaching for the rosary draped over the appointment book. Pulling the rosary beads free, Liam placed them in the priest’s hand with a gentle motion. An expression of relief poured over the man’s features.
Liam sicked up a reassurance out of reflex. “H-help will be here soon. They’ll have you right again before you know it.” It was clear the poor man was a goner. As it was, Liam didn’t know how it was he was still alive.
Dying alone is bad.
Dying alone is bad.
He has his God. No time for this. Must go.
It was the monster’s distant whisper. Liam didn’t understand why he felt relieved.
It was the monster’s distant whisper. Liam didn’t understand why he felt relieved.
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