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

based on our knowledge of Agent Smith’s abilities, may be flawed.”

“What makes you think so?”

“You did not tell me Banzai was Madelyn’s roommate.”

“Well, I didn’t know it was her until fifteen minutes ago,” he said. “And, I mean, it’s not really her, right? The real Kathy’s still wandering somewhere around in … what, West Hollywood last time we saw her?”

“It is,” said Stealth. “Madelyn never met Banzai while she was alive, and has never encountered her as an ex-human. Neither has Captain Freedom. Banzai died nineteen days before Cerberus was deployed to Los Angeles, so Danielle has only known her as an ex.”

“So?”

The corner of Stealth’s eye tightened. She was frustrated with him. He was missing something.

“George,” she said, “how could they be seeing and hearing an actual person they have never met? The illusion cannot be based on memories they do not have.”

He glanced back up the stairwell, toward the dorm room. “Maybe Smith planted the memories the same way he plants suggestions.”

“Smith has also never met Banzai. How would he know so many precise details of her appearance, voice, and personality?”

“Maybe it’s a perception thing,” he said. “Maybe what we’re seeing isn’t what the others are seeing.”

Stealth shook her head. “There are too many common references for us to not all be seeing the same things.”

They stepped out into the sunlight. The sounds of the campus washed over them. There was a faint breeze from the west. St. George’s street sign lay in the freshly mown grass by the door with Stealth’s broomstick crossed over it.

“So, you mean … this really is another world?”

Stealth’s eyes tightened again, harder this time. “I do not know,” she said. “Either conclusion is inconsistent with the evidence.”

“Which means what?”

“Which means there is a third conclusion which is consistent with all the evidence. Unfortunately, at the moment I do not know what it is. Even our clothing is inconsistent. Ours and Danielle’s remain the same in both worlds, yet Freedom’s uniform changes.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.” He picked up the improvised weapons and handed the wooden stick to Stealth. “Are you okay?”

“Of course.”

“I just ask because I know illogical things drive you nuts.”

She took in a short breath. “It is … frustrating,” she admitted. “I appreciate your understanding.”

“Hey,” shouted Madelyn. Freedom had already pushed her a dozen yards down the sidewalk. “Come on! We’ve got to go be superheroes.”

“THIS WOULD BE a lot easier if we had a car,” said Danielle. “Or got a cab. Or just took the bus.”

“Until we switched over,” said Freedom, “and realize we’ve been standing in a derelict bus with twenty or thirty exes.”

They’d made their way back to the recruitment office and were headed up the steep climb into Beverly Hills. St. George had the lead, while Stealth had fallen back to bring up the rear. Freedom had Madelyn’s wheelchair.

They’d been walking for twenty minutes when squealing brakes echoed across Wilshire. Half a block ahead of them, a car whipped across from the eastbound lane, cutting off half a dozen vehicles in the process. It pulled up alongside them, double-parked, and revved its engine. Then it honked its horn twice. St. George glanced over. It was a Hyundai, just like his. The driver was …

There was no driver.

The horn went off again. The passenger’s-side door popped open.

“That is your car,” Stealth said to St. George.

Two cars slowed down to veer around the Hyundai. The third didn’t slow at all, but its horn blared as it went past them. The next lane wasn’t slowing, and more cars started to honk. A few brakes screeched. The Hyundai’s hazard lights popped on.

“No,” said Danielle. Her eyes widened. “It’s Cesar.”

The horn let out three long angry blasts.

She smirked. “I am not calling you ‘the Driver.’ ”

St. George looked at Stealth. “What do you think?”

“I do not know,” she said. “I am unsure why Cesar retains his powers while the rest of us are still limited.”

“I meant, do we risk getting in?”

“I am aware of your question, George. I do not know.”

“I do,” said Danielle. “I’m tired and my feet hurt.” She glanced over at Freedom. “I’m guessing you’re going to want shotgun?”

He smiled. “I’d prefer to drive, but it’s not my car.”

Danielle flipped the seat forward and crawled into the back. Freedom and Madelyn looked at St. George, then at Stealth. “Are we doing this?” Madelyn asked.

“There is no room for our weapons,” Stealth said.

St. George tossed the signpost on the sidewalk. “At the worst,” he said, “twenty minutes from now we’re sitting right here in an abandoned car. At the best, we’re at the hotel.”

“At the worst,” corrected Stealth, “we abandon our weapons, switch, and find four exes in the car with us.”

Another car honked at them as it drove by.

“There’s no exes,” shouted the voice on the radio. “I’m clean, ma’am.”

“As far as you know,” said Stealth. She tossed her broomstick away.

The captain helped Madelyn out of her wheelchair, then crouched to set her into the back of the Hyundai. Danielle helped her in. Stealth slipped in next to them while St. George folded the wheelchair and stashed it in the trunk. The suspension squealed as Freedom squeezed himself into the passenger seat and pushed the seat back. It still left his knees against the dashboard.

St. George stepped around the Hyundai and watched the cars whip past him. He could smell exhaust and feel the wind as they passed. He picked little details off each one—chipped paint, flyers trapped under windshield wipers, one driver talking on his cell, another plucking at her hair.

If it was an illusion, it was an amazing one.

There was a lull in the traffic. He stepped over and pulled the door open. The moment he closed it, the Hyundai leaped back into traffic. The steering wheel moved on its own.

“Missed you guys!” said the radio. “The past few weeks have been really weird, y’know?”

“Kind of, yeah,” said St. George.

“Where we headed? Want me to take us back to the Mount?”

“First to the Four Seasons on Doheny,” said Stealth. “Has it been