Deliver Us From Evil Read Online Free PDF Page B

a definitive account of where the name came from—was used as a hospital for wounded soldiers. After that it lay
     abandoned for several decades until the government had been compelled to take it over and make minimal repairs. Mallory had
     discovered the place and finagled the use of it. To the outside world it was merely an informal gathering place for eccentric
     academics whose work was as esoteric as it was innocuous.
    Reggie passed by columns of ragged English boxwoods, their urine odor sweeping over her. Even though it was very late in the
     spring, a chilly breeze nudged at her back as she trudged along. She zipped up her worn leather jacket, which had belonged
     to her older brother. Though he’d only been twelve at the time of his death, he had been over six feet tall and the jacket
     enveloped her, even as his death had shattered her. She still felt emotionally brittle, like a pane of cracked glass that
     would disintegrate with the very next impact.
    After a walk of a quarter mile she pushed open the door of what had once been the estate’s greenhouse. The smell of peat and
     mulch and rotting plants still drifted into her nostrils even though there had been no gardener or gardening here for decades.
     She passed by broken glass and loose boards that had dropped from the ceiling. Shadows were cast in all directions as the
     sun continued its descent into the English countryside. The chilly breeze turned still colder as it was funneled through the
     small openings in the windows and the walls, fluttering spiderwebs and rustling the disintegrating remnants of a horticulturist’s
     paradise.
    Reggie reached the set of double doors set at an angle into the corner of the structure. She inserted her key in the heavy
     padlock, tugged open the doors, and pulled the chain on the bare lightbulb set just inside the revealed space. A moment later
     the passage she stepped down into became dimly illuminated and smelled strongly of damp soil, making her feel slightly sick.
     She touched dirt, walked downward at a twenty-degree angle for another fifteen paces where the tunnel leveled out. She had
     no idea who’d carved it out of the earth or why, but it did come in handy now.
    She reached the end of the passage where a number of mattresses had been placed on end and positioned front-to-back. A small
     table was set against a dirt sidewall. On the table was a stack of paper and a small battery-powered fan. She picked up the
     top sheet and, using a clip, fastened it to a cord that hung between the two sidewalls of the tunnel. Next to the stack were
     a number of ear mufflers and safety goggles. She slipped a pair of mufflers around her neck, where they dangled loosely, and
     put on the protective eyewear.
    On the sheet of paper was the blackened image of a man with black rings running around it. She paced off thirty feet, turned,
     took out her pistol from its belt holster, checked the load, slipped the ear mufflers on, assumed her preferred firing stance,
     took aim, and triggered off her full mag. There was very little ventilation down here and the acrid burn of the ordnance was
     immediately absorbed into her nostrils. Bits of dirt dislodged by the gun’s discharge fell from between cracks in the weathered
     boards forming the tunnel’s beamed ceiling. She coughed, whipped the air with her hand to clear the smoke and dust, and walked
     forward to examine her marksmanship, pausing for a moment to turn on the fan. It lazily oscillated back and forth, but took
     its time in clearing away the haze. So much for first-class shooting facilities.
    Seven of her eleven rounds were placed where she wanted them, in the torso. All would have hit vital organs if the target
     had been real. Two shots were in the head, also where she had aimed. One round had fallen outside a proper kill zone by a
     millimeter. The last shot had missed by an unacceptable margin.
    She replaced the target with a fresh one, reloaded, and did it again. Ten