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

Another needle of pain stabbed George in the back of the eye and he winced. Her father raised an eyebrow. George let go of her hand.

“Forgive me,” said Karen. “It was a slip of the tongue after my father’s earlier reference. It was not intended as an insult.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s safe to say I deserved it if it was an insult. You’ve been very generous with your time.”

Her father put a hand on George’s arm and guided him back to the door. The suite flew by in a blur and George was in the hallway again. He met the thin man’s gaze again and then the door closed. There was a double click as the dead bolt locked and the safety bar hinged shut.

While he waited for the elevator he considered going back and knocking on the door. Then he thought about banging on the door and demanding another few minutes, but by that point he was already stepping into the elevator. He considered going back up and trying to force his way past the thin man, but some part of him understood this was the absolute worst possible plan to act on. And by then he was already walking out the front door.

The doorman watched him exit with chalky eyes above a mouthful of ruined teeth. George made a point of not looking at the man, but he heard the teeth gnash together like glass splinters. He got a few feet away when the dead man called out, “Have a good afternoon, sir.”

He walked back to his car and tried to figure out his next move. Something in the back of his mind was telling him to give up on the whole stupid idea, but he forced past it. He’d have to talk to Madelyn. Maybe he could call Barry Burke again, too. He should’ve called him already.

And then he got mugged.

The young man in the black hoodie appeared from nowhere in front of him. The way the oversized sweatshirt flapped around him, George guessed the teenager had leaped down from somewhere, although he didn’t think there was anything around to leap down from. He raised his fists and the mugger slapped them away before he even got them all the way up. And then he saw the cleavage and the satin skin and the blue eyes and he realized the slim figure wasn’t a young man.

“I would like to offer you another ten minutes to explain yourself,” Karen said.

GEORGE LOOKED OVER his shoulder, then back at the woman in front of him. She was still wearing the sweats and tank top, but had pulled on the hoodie and a pair of what looked like combat boots. “How the hell did you get ahead of me?”

“You are wasting your ten minutes,” Karen said.

“Seriously,” said George. “I walked straight out here and you didn’t pass me. How’d you get down here so fast?”

“I went down the side of the building. It was the most direct route.”

He looked up at the pastel building and considered the columns of balconies. There were over a dozen of them, one on top of another. “No, really.”

The corners of her mouth went up. Just a bit. “Perhaps I chased you in the next available elevator, then.” She stepped to the side so they could walk next to each other. “You now have nine minutes, fifteen seconds.”

He fell in next to her and they walked down the street. “Why am I getting another ten minutes?”

An older couple approached them from the far end of the block. Karen tugged her hood down another inch. The shadows against her dark skin hid her face. George found himself thinking it was kind of a creepy look, but she pulled it off.

After the couple had passed, she raised her head. “Forgive me,” she said. “It is sometimes difficult for me to have a private conversation. I would prefer if this one remained so.”

He looked around. “Paparazzi or something?”

She gave the front of the hood another tug. “There were two outside the hotel, and a third on the street. They did not see me leave, but I could still be recognized by regular citizens.”

“So,” he said, “why are you here?”

“The matter of George Romero’s monsters intrigues me,” she said. “As I told you, I am not well versed in matters of popular culture. However, I have studied several mythologies and folklores from across the world and have near-perfect recall. It is unlikely I could not come up with at least a comparative name for these cinematic creatures, yet I can think of no name for them.”

“If it makes you feel better,” George said. “you’re not the only one.”

“The dreams you spoke of with these monsters? You are having them?”

“Yeah. Me and a few other people.”

“Interesting,” she said. “Are you a fan of Romero’s work?”

He shook his head. “I’m more of an action-movie guy. Some comedies.”

“So you have not seen these films, or others like them?”

George thought about it. “I’m pretty sure I haven’t, but I seem to know a lot of them. Maybe I was at a party or something and they were on in the background.” He gave her a look.

“What?”

“I just think it’s kind of interesting that I blabbed on for ten minutes and the thing that got your attention was realizing you didn’t know something.”

“It was not the only thing,” she said.

“What else?”

She didn’t answer him. They walked on for a few more yards. Eight concrete slabs passed by under George’s feet.

“Is this counting toward my ten minutes?” he asked.

“In the past eight years,” she said, “I have received over one hundred marriage proposals of a semi-serious nature. I would estimate close to seventeen thousand men and women have professed their love for me in e-mails or on various web pages. There have been substantially more declarations of a strictly sexual nature.”

“That sounds like more of a reason to avoid me than follow me,” George said.

“You did not