The Man Who Forgot to Remember by Bill Garwin EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Bill Garwin
- Language: English
- Genre: Mystery Series
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Jules wasn’t there. He was strolling a silken, straw-colored beach in
Bali while two thugs beat on his body in a deserted Daly City warehouse.
He was duct-taped to an old wooden chair, but Jules’ mind knew few
constraints. He could easily separate from the physical, not feel the pain,
still he knew he was suffering serious, real damage.
There are two of them, and he has something they want. A list they say
he’d memorized. The chair rocks on uneven legs, fighting against the force
of a fist the size of a country fair turkey leg. Each strike’s momentum only
momentarily slowed by Jules’ body.
Jules will never forget this because he never forgets anything. He’s a
mnemonist. Everything he’s seen or heard or read is cataloged, awaiting
recall. But sometimes recollections are corrupted. He hasn’t forgotten. He
just can’t remember.
They’re becoming desperate. Jules feels their frustration as if a
suffocating weight. Sitting still, not wanting them to notice, his eyes scan
the warehouse. There’s a concrete floor, but the area under his chair is
covered by thick, clear plastic, sprinkled and splattered with his blood. Jules
doesn’t like the tarp. Is it intended to make disposal easier? Just roll him up
and haul him off?
The building’s tired, gray cement walls, plastered with colorful, spraypainted graffiti, rise thirty feet to windows uncleaned for decades. Light
struggles to penetrate with only partial success. Cobwebs glint and cracks in
the glass send rays off in random directions. The place has lost what little
dignity it might have had because no one cares anymore. Heavy, round,
concrete pillars, evenly spaced, barely keep the decaying structure from
collapsing on itself.
They swept him up in front of his apartment, roughly pulling a dark,
woolen hood over his head, leaving their faces unseen. They shoved him
into a waiting van, and after a short trip, bound him to the chair. Then they
ripped off the hood. Didn’t help much because the two men standing over
him wore those Mexican wrestling masks. One mostly red, the other every
shade of green.
They began with a seemingly simple request. Give them the list.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What list?”
Red responded, “No questions. Let’s start with your show in Vegas,
June 15. A woman in a Grateful Dead t-shirt gave you a list. Spit it out.”
Jules is beginning to understand. It’s not a mistake. That much is
inescapable. They embedded something in his memory. All part of his stage
act. Long strings of input memorized. Incoherent data, unfamiliar names,
numbers, quotations from books, even gibberish. The audience challenged
to defeat the greatest memory of our time.
“Who are you?”
“Doesn’t matter. Better for you. You never saw us, and you never will.
Means you get to live. All you got is a list given to you by strangers. Start
talking.”
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