On Broken Wings Read Online Free PDF Page A

me, much less talk about them. When I thought he was about to catch me again, I was ready to kill myself right then and there. I owe you more than my life for getting me away from him. I just hope he doesn't find me here."
    He had become a spinning blur, barely touching the floor between kicks. The furious pounding he inflicted on the big bag began to pull the top anchor loose from the ceiling joist. He paid it no mind. When it did come loose, the bag flew into the wall and slid to the floor. He aborted a kick just in time to avoid following it. He stood staring at it for a moment, breath coming in enormous draughts, uncertain of what to do.
    "I couldn't have stood it even one more day. I would rather have died. The surgeon said I nearly did. But I was willing to kill, and I did, and if a faceful of scars is all the price I'll have to pay for my escape, I'm the luckiest woman on Earth." Her head drooped and a deep shudder ran through her body. When she looked up again, it was with little-girl eyes that were filled with defiance. "There's nothing that's worse than what I did, but I'm not sorry, and no one can make me be." Her face had puffed with blood, making the scars stand out like vampire worms. Her voice was rising toward a scream. "I only wish I could have killed them all!"
    Fury had risen in him as her narrative began. It had grown all through the night. He had never known this kind of rage before, the lust to hunt and kill for the sake of killing, to bathe in a victim's blood and howl triumph at the sky. He knew it now. Malcolm had warned him about it, had told him how important it was to avoid surrendering to it. He had failed to understand, then. He understood now. He would not leave the basement until he had quelled it.
    "Aren't you scared yet, Louis? You probably thought you were doing a good deed. But I'm a walking sperm bank who's also a murderer, and you've taken me into your nice quiet little home. Plus, there are about two dozen real big guys who ride motorcycles and hurt people for a living, who'd probably kill you as soon as look at you, and they're all looking for me. You saw them. What's it worth to you to see me disappear forever, right away, tonight?"
    He hoisted the bag from the floor, propped it against the corner of the room, and began to punch it, alternating hands. Malcolm would not approve, he knew. Malcolm had drilled him for years on never throwing a punch. Malcolm would have tossed the bag aside and invited Louis to throw a punch at him. If Louis had been foolish enough to try, Malcolm would have thrown him into the next time zone.
    He sat beside her then and took her awkwardly in his arms, and she crumpled against him. Her tears began again, as copious as before. She wailed a wordless song of pain that might have come from Buchenwald or the Gulags. It seemed to go on forever. He held her and waited.
    When she had passed out against his chest, he carried her to his guest room, laid her on the bed, and covered her with a light blanket before going to his own bed to toss the night away in nightmares culled from her decade of torment.
    His right fist split the canvas bag at its seam. A puff of its shredded stuffing sprayed into his face. He halted himself and forced himself to sit. It was almost beyond his powers.
    They had visited every abuse on her that a twisted mind could conceive, yet would leave her alive to suffer another day. She knew they were searching for her. God alone knew what would happen to her if they should find her. She did not know who she was. She had nothing and no one.
    He shook his head furiously, as much to clear it of the nightmare visions as to fling away the hot fluid that had pooled in his eyes.
    It would not be. He would not permit it. She had him, now. No further harm would come to her while he lived.
    Even as the thought formed, an arc of pain passed through his abdomen that bid fair to bisect him. He doubled over, clenching himself around it, gasping for