Ex-Purgatory, Peter Clines [top ten books of all time .txt] 📗

teeth snapped together, as if the dead thing thought it could bite him from twenty feet away.

George spun away and stumbled back against the dumpster. It made another loud clang. He looked back at the dead thing.

Mark popped open the door of the truck. “Hey,” he called out. “What the heck are you doing?”

George looked at the dumpster and at the empty trash bin, then back at his coworker. He straightened up and looked in the dumpster. The garbage was all still more or less centered. None of it looked tilted or piled up as if someone had just lifted one end of the dumpster three feet in the air.

He felt very stupid and sleep deprived. Mostly stupid. The girl’s stories had gotten into his head.

“Think I strained something,” he said. “Trying to stretch my shoulder.”

“Want me to pop your back?”

“No, that’s okay.”

“I’m really good at it. Seriously.”

George shook his head. He shot another look at the truck. It was clean and shining. Both front tires were fine.

Mark walked over to him. He made fists and put his knuckles under his chin. “Put your arms like this,” he said.

George held up a hand. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Just trying to help, man.” He gestured at the plastic trash bin. “Didya hurt yourself trying to flip it?”

“Yeah. It was full of tiles and crap the plumbers had dumped in it.”

“Lazy bastards. Why didn’t you just call for some help?”

“Ahhh, you know. I didn’t want you calling me a lazy bastard.”

Mark snorted out a laugh. “C’mon, get that thing put away. We’ve got to get one of the courts pretty in the gym for tonight.” He gestured across the street.

George grabbed the trash bin. Both its wheels were worn flat now. It lurched along as he dragged it. “What’s tonight?”

“I don’t know.” Mark shrugged. “Something that isn’t football. Get a move on.”

THE CLUB WAS somewhere in Hollywood, east of Highland but north of Sunset. They’d parked Nick’s car in a lot and gone on foot for two blocks. The line stretched halfway down the sidewalk, but Nick guided them past it. The doorman smiled at him and shook his hand. George was pretty sure money was exchanged in a subtle, professional way. The velvet rope lifted away and George followed Nick into the club, along with three women he was pretty sure were just old enough to be inside. Years on campus had given him a good eye for ages.

The club was loud and dim with flashes of colored light. There was more open space than he’d expected, but it was still far from empty. Nick guided them through the crowd to the bar and exchanged a few quick gestures with the bartender. A moment later she handed them two drinks and they were seated at a side booth that fell beneath the blast of the speakers.

“Why don’t you ever just want to go out to a bar?” George half shouted to his friend.

Nick gestured behind them. The spinning lights flashed off his sunglasses. “They’ve got a bar.” He pulled the tiny straw from his Seven & Seven, tossed it on the table, and took a deep drink.

“They’ve got a cover charge.”

“Which you didn’t pay.”

“Yeah, because you bribed the doorman.”

Nick waved him off with a smile. “There’s better girls here,” he said. He tilted his head at two women dancing with each other. “You wouldn’t see that at a bar.”

George shook his head. The crowd on the dance floor parted and across the room George caught a glimpse of white eyes and messy hair. He straightened up, but the dancers swayed and shifted and hid the sight from him.

“Truth is, I shouldn’t be here,” said Nick. “I’ve got to do a phone meeting in the morning. And I think the owner here doesn’t like me. I helped set up a party here for one of our dumb-fuck clients and it didn’t end well.” He had another mouthful of whiskey and soda. “So what’s gnawing at you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You suck at hiding your feelings, George. You always have. Something’s been bugging you all night. Ever since I picked you up.”

He shrugged and sipped his own drink. “Weird stuff.”

“Weird kinky or weird strange?”

“Not weird kinky,” George said. “I’ve just felt really … off, lately.”

“Sick?”

“No.”

“Good. Get me sick and I’ll beat the crap out of you. So what is it?”

George shifted on his side of the table. A new song started and a few people in the crowd cheered. He raised his voice. “Have you ever had one of those dreams that were just … real? One of those ones that’s so real, when you woke up it took you a while to figure out if it had happened or not?”

“This is about a dream?”

“Answer the question.”

Nick settled one arm on the table. He was good at leaning in and not making it look awkward. “Once or twice, I guess. I remember once when I was a kid I dreamed my dog was dead and I freaked out in the morning when I couldn’t find him.”

“Where was he?”

“My brother took him for a walk.”

“What about one of the ones that are fresh and solid in your mind when you wake up, but then a couple minutes later they’re gone. Wiped clean. There’s just a … a dream-shaped hole in your memories.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

George took a sip of his drink. “I’ve been feeling like that for a few days. Maybe a few weeks. I’m not sure.”

“Feeling like what?”

He tapped the side of his glass. “Like I’ve forgotten something. I pretty much always feel like there’s something I should remember and I can’t. Something right there that I just can’t see, y’know?”

“You’re acting weird because you forgot a couple of dreams?”

“No.” George shook his head. “It’s not dreams, it’s life. I feel like this when I’m awake. I’ve got this constant, nagging feeling I’ve just forgotten something.”

“Like a dream?”

Over Nick’s shoulder, a gap opened at the bar. There was a woman there with stringy blond hair. It looked like she hadn’t