Demonic Designs (To Absolve the Fallen) Read Online Free PDF Page B

shots, one into each man’s forehead, before they had completely stood up.
    He looked regretfully at the bodies slumped over the chairs and table and sighed.   “I guess further business with you gentlemen is completely out of the question now.”
    Wasting no more time, he ran to the exit.   Within seconds of that, he reached the stairwell he’d come up to get to the floor where the meeting would be held.   There were about fifteen steps between each landing, but there was no time to calculate the distance.  
    He grabbed the handrail and jumped over.   His footing wasn’t steady when he hit the next level of stairs, and he tumbled to the next landing.   Rolling down the stairs hurt like hell, but he knew he couldn’t think about the bruises that were already forming.   He stood up, and confident that he hadn’t broken any bones yet, grabbed the hand rail and propelled himself over once more.
    This time, he landed solidly.   The tingling in his head was stronger.   His enemy was closer.   Two more times, he jumped over the railing before making it to the bottom.   The last time, something broke in his right foot, and he fell again, tumbling down six more steps to the ground floor.
    A grunt escaped him as he hit.   The wind was knocked out of him, and his guns went sliding across the floor.   He thought he may have also broken something in his left forearm in that last roll down the stairs.
    Only barely acknowledging his newly acquired injuries, Matt deftly moved to retrieve his guns.   He ran, as well as he could with the injuries he’d sustained, to the door he’d come in.   His car should only be about thirty feet from the exit.   Provided no one was waiting for him there, it should provide a pretty easy getaway.
    The door was open when he got there, casting an eerie glow of moonlight into the room.   He couldn’t remember if the men who had brought him in left it open or not.   It seemed a little too inviting.   With a .45 in his right hand and a .38 in his throbbing left, he approached cautiously.   Matt wasn’t sure he could fire straight with his arm messed up, but he might have to at least bluff it.
    As he feared, someone was standing at his car.   The man who now leaned against the passenger side of the car was at least six inches taller than Matt, had dark hair, sported a drab gray overcoat and a pair of glasses, and peered at Matt through them with intensity.   This was, undoubtedly, the cause of Matt’s mental alarm.
    A deep voice, devoid of warmth and a human soul intoned, “Matthew Hartley, I presume.”
    Matt leveled his guns at the demon and walked slowly toward his car.   “How the fuck do you know my name?”
    “I’ve heard of you,” the other retorted blandly.   “And you fit the description,” he added, looking Matt up and down.   “You’re 5’9”.   You weigh close to one hundred seventy pounds.   Your hair’s light brown, and your eyes are blue.   You’re also—I must say—dressed to kill.   But the most telling fact is that you are walking out of this building, armed with no less than three guns and a hand grenade.   What, no blade?   You also have a little blood on your shirt from one of those four mafia goons you just gunned down.   Now, how about you give me a chance, huh?   All I want to do is help you.”
    Matt laughed and stopped where he was.   “You want to help me?   You have three seconds left on this earth, motherfucker; you better do what you can.   Since you know me so well, you probably know that I’ve killed every demon who’s come to me looking for a fight.”
    Without missing a beat, the other replied, “Jeremiah has lied to you.”
    “What?”
    “I see my time has been extended.   Jeremiah is using you and others to accomplish something that he is unable to do himself.   He will try to make himself king, and the three of you will be lucky to make it out alive.   I know Jeremiah well.   I used to work very closely with