Dr. Naseley.

The night air was crisp, and the gunshot in my leg was morphing from an adrenaline dampened

throb to a sickening pain.

I was lying on a slightly sloped roof awning.

My face, a ball of pain from the blow I'd just taken from an empty pistol.

The man who was out to kill me pulled himself all the way up onto the roof, the empty gun

no longer in evidence.

I scrambled to my feet and ran up the steeply sloping roof, knowing that in a hand-to-hand

fight I would lose.

A scrawny teenage kid like me, against a full-grown man in a murderous rage, there was no way.

The man in the suit in tie chased me, as I made it to the crest of the roof, and slid down

on the other side, toward the front of the two-story house.

There was a dormal window protruding from the roof near the front edge of the house, which

stopped my descent and prevented me from falling off the roof, but the man was coming down

after me.

I flipped around in the roof to face him, unsure what to do.

There was another dormal window about ten yards to my right, but the roof was so steep.

I thought I might just fall off if I tried to run to it, especially with my injured right

leg.

I glanced down.

It was at least thirty feet to the front yard.

If the fall didn't kill me, it would surely break some bones, and the man could simply

...