Free End of Days by Frank Lauria Page B

behind and wrestled her to the floor.
    â€œGet the fuck off me—help!” Christine yelled, kicking and flailing. Another man came to help. He grabbed her arms while the other intruder took her legs.
    â€œHelp! Goddammit— help! ” Christine shouted desperately as the two men dragged her to the bed.
    â€œWatch the door!” one intruder ordered gruffly. One of the intruders hurried from the room.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Christine yelled when she saw the silver knife in one man’s hand. “Help!”
    â€œThere is no sanctuary except heaven,” the man declared, raising the silver dagger above his head. “You must go now!”
    To Christine’s surprise the man hastily drew the sign of the cross over her forehead and mumbled a strange prayer. “I commend you to almighty God, and entrust you to your creator. May you return to Him who formed you from the dust of the earth…”
    Numbly Christine realized it wasn’t a prayer. It was a death sentence.

C HAPTER SEVEN
    Chicago was a bit intimidated by the affluent row of Upper East Side town houses when they reached the address on the driver’s license. Every house comes with three lawyers, he noted darkly.
    â€œDoesn’t this qualify as interfering with a police investigation?” Chicago inquired.
    Jericho climbed the brick stairs. “We’re private citizens having a private conversation with another private citizen. They haven’t found a way to outlaw that … yet.” He pushed the doorbell.
    â€œSounds like something you end up explaining to the judge,” Chicago warned.
    No one answered the doorbell.
    Jericho looked around and noticed broken glass on the stoop. There were also pieces of a broken table strewn about. Alarmed, he pounded the door hard.
    They heard a faint scream from somewhere above.
    â€œGoing in!” Jericho yelled.
    Chicago didn’t hesitate. They hit the door together, kicking it in. With practiced efficiency they covered each other as they sprang inside. They moved swiftly across a marble hallway, weapons cocked.
    A muffled scream drew them to the stairs. A man stood on the upper landing with his back to them. Without warning he whirled and fired, spattering them with debris as they dove behind a wall.
    â€œYou wearing your vest?” Chicago asked tersely.
    â€œNo. You?”
    â€œNo.”
    Jericho peered around the wall. “Remember, it’s your turn to get shot.”
    Another scream jerked him into action. “Stairs!” Jericho yelled. The moment he sprinted for the stairs, Chicago stepped into the open, gun blazing.
    The man on the landing ducked for cover, and Jericho headed upstairs. A sudden cluster of bullets spattered the wall above Chicago’s head. He turned and fired blindly at a second intruder coming across the hall.
    *   *   *
    At the sound of gunfire, the man pinning Christine to the bed paused.
    The dagger poised above her throat wavered and he glanced at the door. Someone entered. Christine tried to wrench free, but the man put his weight on her limbs. He turned and jerked his head toward the hall.
    â€œI need time to finish the rites,” he said with a trace of urgency.
    The other man nodded and left the room. Christine continued to buck wildly, but the man pinning her down was too strong—and too fierce. His dark eyes blazed with manic fervor as he lifted the dagger.
    â€œMay Christ, the true shepherd, acknowledge you as one of his flock,” the man intoned. “May he forgive all of your sins and set you among those he has chosen. May you see your redeemer face to face and enjoy the vision of God forever— amen! ”
    On amen he swung the dagger down.
    Desperate, Christine twisted, and the dagger punctured the mattress. With savage intensity she bit her attacker’s knife hand, and heaved him aside. Wrenching free, she rolled to the floor.
    The man jumped after her,