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

George gestured at his Hyundai. “Sorry to bother you,” he said. “I stopped here last week. I’ve been having car trouble. It just died again.”

“I remember. Do you need another jump?”

“I’m not sure. I can’t figure out what’s going on with it, to be honest.”

A sound echoed down the street. A foot slapping against the pavement. There was a faint scraping sound, then another slap a few seconds later. George looked down the street. A handful of homeless people were shambling up Wilshire toward them.

Something about them gave him a chill.

“We should go inside,” said the soldier with a nod at the approaching group. “I’ve been generous in the past and now they can get a bit demanding. I’ve found it best to avoid them.” He unlocked the door and waved George inside.

The giant flipped the dead bolt and tapped out a quick code on a keypad near the door. His fingers were very nimble for their size. He flipped on the lights and walked across to his desk.

“Thanks,” said George.

“Not a problem,” said the soldier.

“I’m George.”

“Lieutenant Freedom,” said the giant. He held out a broad hand.

George’s fingers barely reached across the palm. He smiled as they shook. “Freedom? Is that some recruitment tool or something?”

The officer’s face tightened. “It’s a family name, sir.” He turned away and headed toward a door in the back corner. “Sergeant Harrison’s not in for another half hour or so, but we might have some jumper cables in the back. There’s a junk closet with a lot of odd supplies in it.”

A thump came from the front of the office. One of the homeless people was pressed against the window. His teeth were a rotted mess and his eyes were filled with cataracts. He was muttering, but George couldn’t hear him through the glass.

His eyes swept back around and Freedom had a pistol out and pointed at him. The muzzle was enormous. George stumbled back with his hands up, tripped, and fell on his ass.

Freedom blinked. “Are you all right, sir?” He held out an empty hand. Both his hands were empty.

George looked at the huge man, then back over his shoulder. The homeless people were shuffling away. The one with bad teeth had left a smudge on the glass. “You had a gun,” he said.

“Sir?” Freedom looked at his bare hip. “I’m not armed.”

George climbed back to his feet as the pieces fell together. “You shot me,” he said. He gestured back at the window. “Those things were all around and you shot me with some big-ass pistol.”

The soldier’s gaze didn’t waver, but his face shifted.

George stared back. He sounded crazy. He knew that. He tried to ignore the endless pen-clicking and focus his thoughts. “I think I know you,” he told the other man. “I think we’ve known each other for a while.”

Freedom straightened up. He was almost a foot taller than George. “I’m pretty sure we just met for the first time last week.”

The sound of his voice freed up something else in George’s mind. It came rushing out so hard and fast it made his head ache. “You were a captain,” he said. “Harrison said you’d been demoted and I didn’t make the connection. You’re Captain Freedom. John Carter Freedom.” The words spewed out, as much of a surprise to him as they were to the lieutenant.

The officer pressed his lips together. George wasn’t sure what kind of expression the man was biting back. He also wasn’t sure where he’d pulled the name from. He glanced over his shoulder at the empty office and then back to the giant.

“Sir,” said Freedom, “I think you should leave now.” He crossed his arms across his chest. He wasn’t making a request or suggestion.

George wandered outside. A few of the homeless people saw him and switched direction, but he was back in his car before they came anywhere close. He checked his pockets and the dish under the emergency brake, but he didn’t have any change to offer them.

He flopped back in the driver’s seat and pressed his hands over his eyes. He couldn’t believe he’d babbled on like that. He’d accused an Army officer of trying to kill him! His lack of sleep was now officially making him act like a maniac. He wondered if he should take a sick day or two and just try to get caught up on rest.

A thump made him look up. A filth-covered woman pressed herself against his window. She had pale blue eyes, almost gray. She would’ve been pretty if not for her stained shirt and all the dirt on her face.

George glanced at the time. He was going to be late for work. He started his car and pulled back out into traffic. If the lights were in his favor, he could still make it on time.

He was parking on campus when he realized his dead car had started back up with no problem.

GEORGE SPENT THE morning cleaning windows. It was a mindless job, and on a normal day he’d have been glad for it and let himself sink into the Zen of window washing. Today, though, he didn’t want any extra time to think.

His eyes kept drifting over to one of the other buildings. It bothered him for some reason. He had a nagging sensation he’d forgotten something about it. There were lecture halls in there, a bunch of biochem labs, and two or three of the larger storerooms. He couldn’t shake the feeling there’d been a fire there at some point, or maybe some kind of explosion.

Something in the back of his mind insisted he’d been in a fire in one of the buildings.

It was almost noon when he heard two kids chattering away as they passed his ladder. What they were saying didn’t make sense to him, so he pulled out his phone and shot a quick text to Nick. The answer came back a minute later.

Hugh Laurie