Level Zero Dan McDowell (books to read in your 20s female .TXT) 📖

do what we can, ma’am,” Penske answered. “Thanks again for your cooperation.”

They climbed in the car, and Herbert questioned Penske, “Well, Detective… where do you want to go now?”

“Creepy Nights.”

“Do we have to go over there? I’ve done my time in there already,” Herbert said as they headed westbound across Riverton.

“I don’t like it either. We need to.”

Herbert looked over across the front seat at Penske. His eyes lacked twinkle, worn from years of sleepless nights and no proper outlet for his feelings.

“Penske, you ever think about giving it all up…? You know, just start things over.”

“You mean the badge? Life as a detective? City-employee perks? I need some more time in the job before you burn me out.”

“That’s what I mean. Maybe one day, we just go partners and open one of those frozen yogurt shops. That stuff always sells.”

“Maybe so.”

Or maybe you do, and I keep climbing the ladder. The chief’s up for retirement soon.

“Just a thought,” Herbert said.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

TODD ADAMS regained consciousness.

Some kind of nightmare.

Dressed as a call center agent and sitting in a cubicle, it seemed that he worked for Creepy Nights in the moment.

Yes, Todd, you are going psychotic. Floating above your body and watching yourself take a call. Find the padded walls. Yes. This is a real proper… existential crisis.

“Thank you for calling Creepy Nights. This is Todd Adams. How can I help you today?”

The voice on the phone spoke with a notable southern drawl, “Yes, I’d like to hear a story, please, alternate reality.”

Todd heard himself speaking as if someone or something other than himself was in control.

“Once upon a time, there was a special property — one full of many tales… Stories, mysteries, and people, but, perhaps, the most interesting part was just beneath it all, Level Zero. It housed fifty-four — all victims of October 29th, 1928 — wayward souls who never left their place on this earth before greedy hands stole away their lives. Their bodies long dead, their souls forever restless. The property protected them because of the injustices they faced. They hovered in and around it, aimlessly wandering…”

Wow. I’ve officially gone off my rocker.

The WGBO jingle came through the phone.

“Now, that… is an interesting story! What do you think, folks…? Should we tell him? Ladies and gentlemen, how about a great round of applause for Todd Adams? The best storyteller of them all. Manning ‘Apocalypse and Alternate Reality,’ all by himself and broadcast all over the eighth most-listened-to radio station in Riverton, WGBO 530AM. I’m Ramblin’ Ron Richards signing off for this special edition of the Dynamic Duds show. Good night, DUD-heads! Stay deplorable.”

My imagination never stops. Time to punch my time card. I’m back in my own skin again. That’s better.

The lights in the room flickered, and the ground shook beneath, giving validation that he unsettled things in ways he never should have. Proceeding toward the elevator, he remained confused.

I guess we’re all aimlessly wandering until we find our purpose.

When the elevator door opened, he reached toward the button for the ground level to exit. He focused on the chrome-plated wall, realizing the control would only return him to Level Zero without a key.

Not going to pull an Ebony up here. I don’t want to die anymore. I’m too intrigued.

He took a sigh and pressed the clear zero on the wall. It illuminated orange, and a familiar elevator ding followed.

Creeper Joe’s voice came on the intercom.

DESCENDING TO LEVEL FIVE, LEVEL FOUR, LEVEL THREE, LEVEL TWO, LEVEL ONE. GOING DOWN, GOING DOWN. SYSTEM MALFUNCTION, SYSTEM MALFUNCTION. REROUTING, REROUTING.

Five seconds of silence.

ARRIVING AT YOUR DESTINATION. WELCOME HOME. NOW ENTERING LEVEL ZERO.

The elevator doors opened, and Todd crossed into the sub-tunnel.

One thing’s for certain. I now know an alternate reality when I see it.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

RAMBLIN’ RON RICHARDS awoke in the back of an ambulance as Cheap Trick played a familiar number in the stereo. Blood flowed from his arm into an oversized bag. He yanked it out.

I’m not feeling so great… Where am I? Why am I?

A whiny and scratchy voice spoke from the driver’s seat, “Don’t worry, sir. We’ll get you taken care of.”

He looked up at the ambulance driver.

Oh, man, it’s the creep from the bus. I can’t catch a break, can I?

The voice spoke louder, “No time to chat, Ramblin’ Ron? That’s your name, isn’t it? Heh-heh. I’ll get you over to RGH, and we’ll get you fixed up. Don’t you worry.”

I can’t take any more of this.

“Excuse me. I just got sick in the heat of the moment. I don’t need a hospital, just a chill pill which I already have prescribed. Take me home, please.”

The driver chuckled. “Oh, Ron. That would only be possible if you hadn’t ‘lost’ your mind in front of the detective, buddy. We’re taking you to the psych ward for your own safety. I’m sure you get it. Heh-heh.”

This is not happening. Hold your ground.

“You’ve got to be kidding. I’m just weak-stomached and fighting an anxiety disorder, not psychotic!”

The driver tormented, “Don’t you remember? You confessed to killing Wayne Wallace before you passed out.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I’m quite sure you did. You’re going to have to answer for it now.” He clicked the back of his teeth. “We can’t reward hands that shed innocent blood. Of course, Wayne was far from innocent. Besides, who knows? He might not even be dead. I digress… We gave you some sedatives to calm your nerves. I hope it helped. Is your world a little underwater right now?”

Where’s my mind? I’m too sedated to remember anything else.

“Almost there. RGH is waiting to get their hands on you and lock you up. I’m thinking an icepick lobotomy will do the trick. Dr. Hicks is not known to be the most conventional in town, but he’s the most likely to recommend that kind of procedure.

The creep stuck his tongue out at Ron, rolling his eyes and making inhuman faces like a Claymation character. Ron struggled to find words as