Virtually Clean
Chapter 7: A Rude Awakening
No ball of light fell from the sky, no heavenly sight was to be seen in the dank alley way.
Only the dark glow of hell.
Black flames shot into the air and painful screams filled the night as his body began to form. For a few moments the gates of hell were opened in the streets, all manner of evil tried to escape, but only one was to awaken this night.
Lindsey looked around him, bewildered. He wandered dumbly into the street, not recognizing the city. People starred at him, and whispered things to each other as they passed. Confused, Lindsey entered a near by coffee shop and sat down, attempting to make sense of what just happened.
He had been in hell, he knew that much. But what was he doing here, back on earth...and alive? So many thoughts and jumbled memories were swimming around in his head, it hurt. He didn't know where he was, it wasn't L.A. that was for sure.
"L.A.?" he asked himself. Was he really from L.A.? Suddenly it became abundantly clear that he couldn't remember anything about his own life, not even his own identity. All he had was a fuzzy image of his death. He had been shot. But by who? Why was he killed? It was all too much for him to take. He began to feel hot, sick, tired, dizzy all at once. A waitress walked toward him, concerned.
"Monsieur, êtes-vous bien ?"
Lindsey looked at her confused. "What?"
She ignored his question and continued to talk to him, he couldn't understand a word she was saying.
Frustrated and tired, Lindsey waved his hands at her.
"No, No. I don't understand. Do-Do you speak English?"
The woman paused and thought for a moment, then began to speak in very broken English.
"Y-Yes." she paused and thought hard. " peu-um little, little."
Lindsey nodded. He couldn't speak...what ever the hell it was she was using, but if she could speak a bit of English he might be able to find out where he was and possibly find a place to stay.
"Where-am-I?" he asked very slowly.
"Um, Cafe" She pointed to the sign in the window.
Lindsey shook his head. "No, I mean. Where, um...what country?"
The woman nodded her head to show that she understood, then creased her eyebrows in deep thought.
"You, in..Paris? Yeah. yes. Paris?"
"Thank you..um..merci." Lindsey waved a hand, and the woman left.
France? Why in hell was he in France? He didn't remember dying in France, but then again he didn't remember much of anything. Lindsey sighed and left the cafe with out ordering.
As he walked down the street searching for a hotel, he was pleased to find he had a wallet, and money. Quite a bit of it actually. He glanced at his driver's license, well, at least now he knew his name, and that he wasn't crazy. He was from L.A.
He also found a business card, a rather old one.
"Hmm, Angel investigations?" Lindsey studied it. There was an address, and a name; Wesley W. Pryce. Perhaps it had been someone he knew.
Lindsey was lucky enough to find a hotel, where most of the staff spoke English. He was even luckier to find that he was very close to the Paris airport.
Now he was sitting up in his bed, covered in a thick sweat. All he had seen were the eyes. Those burning red, evil eyes. He didn't see the gun, he didn't see a face just the eyes, before...before he had heard the gunshot and woke up screaming.