Ex-Purgatory by Peter Clines (best book club books TXT) 📕

“Of course not,” I said. “Could you come over and help me, please?”

That was enough. She walked over next to me and I pointed at one of the blankets. “Don’t you want to take a nap? You can sleep on St. George’s other side, if you like.”

She blinked and trembled for a moment.

“Don’t you want to go to sleep?” I asked her again.

Her eyelids drooped down, sagged lower and lower, and then snapped open. She glared at me. It was kind of eerie with the dead eyes.

I smiled and laced my fingers together. “Now, don’t you look at me that way,” I said to her. “Are you a little overtired, maybe?”

And then I hit her across the jaw with both hands.

She staggered back, and almost fell. Then she straightened up and her thin fingers rolled into fists.

I let my own fingers come apart and shook them out. I suck at fighting. I think I may have broken a finger. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

She winced and reached up to touch one of her cheekbones.

“Are you too dizzy to stand up?”

The Corpse Girl swayed and dropped to one knee.

I watched her try to keep her balance and tapped my fingers against my leg. One of Christian’s odd muscle memories that shows up now and then. “You were sick when you were little, right? Muscular dystrophy or something? Your dad would mutter about it now and then after I killed you the first time.” She teetered back and forth, trying to fight the questions. “He did something to fix you, didn’t he?”

She fell over on her side. I took her by the arm and half led, half dragged her toward the circle of heroes. She struggled for a minute and I clucked my tongue at her. “You don’t want to act that way, do you?”

She stopped fighting.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just relax?”

She rolled down onto the blanket. She ended up on her side, then tipped over onto her back. She stopped breathing again.

I whispered to her as she settled down. She struggled a bit, but the questions sank into her brain and the ideas took hold. She blinked a few times and then went limp. Her blank eyes stared up at the ceiling.

She was going to be the wild card in all this. I wasn’t sure how long I could hold her, and I wasn’t sure if holding her would have any effect. I don’t think she can starve to death. I was tempted to just stomp her head in, but if the bodies were found that would lead to questions.

And I didn’t want to deal with questions. Not yet, anyway.

For now, it’s just a nice, peaceful sleep.

ST. GEORGE TRIED to get out of the chair. He strained his legs, tensed his back, forced his arms to push up. He focused on the spot between his shoulder blades and tried to hurl himself at the ceiling.

Nothing happened.

Christian grinned at him, then leaned forward in her seat. “Keep quiet for a minute, would you? And were you thinking of trying something?” she added. “I can see the smoke coming out of your nose.”

His mouth went dry and his lips pressed together. He glared at her.

“Todd,” she called out.

The young man appeared in the doorway. “Could you get on the radio and call the special channel for me? Tell them the word is ‘prodigal,’ and I’ll be coming to them. I’ll be there in …” She glanced at St. George. “Let’s say half an hour or so.”

Todd’s head bobbed up and down. “I’m sure they can make that happen, Ms. Nguyen.” He vanished back to his desk.

She settled back into the throne-like seat. “I’m sure you’re dying to ask some questions,” she said to St. George. “And your minute’s just about up, sooo … go ahead. But stay in the chair, okay? And I can trust you not to hurt me, can’t I?”

“It’s just us,” he said. “You can drop the act. Or the illusion. Whatever you want to call it.”

Christian blinked.

“Making me see Christian. Is she dead? Or is she just asleep somewhere, too?”

She laughed. “You weren’t paying attention at all.”

“What did you do to her?”

“Ahhh,” said Christian. “Now that’s a smart question. I don’t think you know it, but it’s a good one.” She tapped the side of her head. “Really, all that matters is that a few weeks ago the annoying Ms. Ngyuen went to sleep with a headache, and I woke up the next morning.”

St. George stared at the woman. The faint accent had dropped out of her voice, and some of her words had a mild twang to them. She sounded younger. The muscles of her face flexed in odd ways. It just wasn’t the way Christian held her lips or eyes. He remembered Smith’s fake smile. “So you killed her,” he said.

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “It’s not like the ex-virus got her or something. Heart’s still beating, lungs are breathing, brain’s active. It’s my brain now, granted.”

“She’s going to be the last one.”

“I doubt that very much. So do you. And let’s be honest—there’s no love lost between you guys. There was a lot of serious hatred for you and Stealth and the others floating around in here.” Christian tapped her head again. “Don’t try to convince me she was your best friend and you need to avenge her or something.”

“She was a person. We didn’t always agree on everything, but she still mattered.”

The woman sighed and shook her head.

St. George tried to stand up again, but his limbs were frozen. “So you’re … what, controlling her body from Groom Lake?”

“Nope.” Christian looked at her reflection in the mirror and adjusted her collar over the tie. “I’m a mental clone, if that makes any sense. Me and the other-me, our lives split right there when the idea of me got yanked into Christian’s brain. So I don’t know what’s going on with him, he doesn’t know what’s going on with me. I’m Christian Smith, if that