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

“So she’s still out there somewhere?”

“I believe she did not intend to hurt you, George. She believed you would not be harmed and was attempting to prove it.”

“She could’ve just pricked me with a thumbtack or something. Next time I may not be so lucky.”

Karen gave him an odd look.

He gestured at his chest. “Like I told you, it was a million-to-one shot. The next bullet could’ve—”

“The next bullet did nothing,” said Karen.

“What?”

She stared at him over the car’s hood. “I told you I examined the scene of the shooting,” she said. “I discovered eleven bullets and shell casings. All were on the floor in the doorway of your apartment, all flattened from impact. Based on estimated range and damage to the surrounding walls, it was clear all of them struck some impenetrable object which had been removed since the shooting occurred.”

George looked down at his chest.

“At this point,” Karen said, “I believe it was taken away in an ambulance.”

His hand slipped up onto his ribs. Even through the fleece and the crisp new shirt, he could feel the sore spot fading. “You’re lying.”

“All the evidence suggests Madelyn Sorensen fired eleven rounds into your chest. Six while you stood, five more once you were on the ground.”

He rubbed his chest. His head was throbbing again. “The police would have said—”

“The police report said multiple shots fired. Their training tells them the bullets could not have hit you because that number of gunshot wounds would be fatal.”

George shook his head. He could feel moisture swelling in his nostril. Another nosebleed getting ready to go.

“Were they all lucky shots?” Karen asked. “Did each and every one of them hit a bone and bounce off?”

“There was only one bruise,” he said. It felt like a stupid excuse.

“I believe your doctor has succumbed to the same line of thinking as the police,” said Karen, “rationalizing something she cannot explain with traditional knowledge. She claims one bullet hit your sternum and was deflected. I believe only one bullet struck a bone. The rest hit soft tissue in your shoulders, abdomen, or throat which absorbed the impact.”

George remembered the huge pistol in Madelyn’s hands. The sound of it going off in the narrow hallway. The punch in his chest. Had it been dead center? He’d been looking right down the barrel, so shouldn’t the bullet have hit him …

Had she shot him in the head?

The pain behind his eyes faded a bit. He sniffed once, hard. The blood flow dried before it got severe enough to leak.

“Get in the car,” he told her.

She looked at the Hyundai and raised an eyebrow. “My vehicle is better suited for any—”

“Just get in,” said George. He got back into the car. The radio started to babble and he slapped it off. “I need to think, and it’s not going to happen here.”

UNDER OTHER CIRCUMSTANCES, George would’ve been having fun. Traffic had been heavy on the 101 and at a near standstill on the 405, but his Hyundai wove in and out of the lanes, slipping between other cars without a moment of hesitation. He considered turning on the radio for some driving music, but didn’t want to risk more religious-show shouting in front of his passenger.

“You are an excellent driver,” said Karen.

“Thank you, Rain Man,” he said with a faint smirk.

The corner of her mouth trembled. It was the closest he’d seen her get to a smile. “Have you taken defensive driving courses?”

“Not that I remember.”

The ever-so-faint smile vanished and he realized what he’d said.

In truth, the Hyundai was responding like a high-end sports car, as if it knew just what he wanted to do and predicted his moves. The steering wheel almost moved by itself. The car didn’t slow down once until they pulled off the freeway in Santa Monica and waited on a red light.

A group of pedestrians made their way across the crosswalk. It was a large group for such a late hour, even in this part of town. They walked as if they’d all had a few too many drinks. Most of their clothes were ragged and soiled. A few of them stared at the Hyundai’s windshield with chalky eyes.

The engine growled at them.

Karen turned her head to him. “Are you attempting to kidnap me?”

“What?”

“You are driving in an evasive pattern, to throw off followers. You have not told me our destination. I would be worth a considerable ransom if this was your plan.”

He met her gaze and tried to figure out if she was joking. Then he shook his head. “The car’s stopped,” he said. “Your door’s unlocked.”

“I am aware of that.”

“I think if you thought I was kidnapping you, I’d be unconscious in the backseat or something like that, right?”

She turned her eyes back to the road. “Something like that,” she told him. “The light is green.”

The gas pedal dropped away from George’s heel and the steering wheel turned left in his hands. They wove around another car and headed west.

“Okay,” he said. “There’s a guy out in New Mexico. Barry Burke. He’s been having the same dreams as us.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know. Madelyn told me about him. I know he’s in a wheelchair, and I think he’s a scientist.”

“Have you contacted him?”

George nodded. “I talked to him on the phone for a few minutes. He works at a lab out there. Sands? Sandy?”

“Sandia Laboratories,” she said. “Located in Albuquerque, New Mexico.”

“Yeah. That’s where I got hold of him.”

The clock on the dashboard said it was one in the morning. Karen pulled her own cell from her pocket. “Do you have a home or cell phone number for him?”

George shook his head. “I was having … head issues.”

She tapped three buttons and put the phone to her ear. “Albuquerque, New Mexico,” she said. “The number for Barry Burke.” There was a pause, and a distant, tinny voice. “May I have the street names for all five?” Another pause. “That one, please.”

“You found him?”

“I have. They are connecting me.”

“Are you sure it’s