Man of Wax by Robert Swartwood

Author:Robert Swartwood [Swartwood, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Spies & Politics, Conspiracies, Terrorism, Thrillers, Pulp
Amazon: B005YG8N7W
Publisher: RMS Press
Published: 2013-11-26T11:00:00+00:00

35

Carver’s story wasn’t told uninterrupted. Not with the utility van shot up the way it was. Simon would take care of his own people, Carver explained, make sure the police didn’t get involved right away in case any of the escorts were still alive, but that didn’t mean an APB hadn’t already been put out on the van. One hadn’t come across on their own radar yet, but the fact was they needed new wheels and they needed them fast.

At that point I was just along for the ride, listening to Carver tell his story while first they checked me for any tracking devices (in my clothes and shoes) then while we got off at the first exit and searched for a new van to steal. That came pretty quickly, the driver and passenger jumping out and breaking into a new van and then we were in there too, Carver and myself, leaving the old van behind.

“What about the others?” I asked at one point, and Carver said, “They know what to do and will meet up with us later,” and before I knew it I broke down and started crying. This man claimed my wife and daughter were dead, that they’d been dead from the start, but I refused to believe it. I couldn’t give up that hope. All I had left was the promise of seeing them again, of hearing their voices, of hugging them and never letting go, and the only way to do that was to understand what exactly was going on.

So I stopped crying, wiped my tears, and asked, “Then what did you do? After you found your ...” But I couldn’t say it, because it made me think of Casey.

Carver didn’t answer me for the longest time. He just stared off into space, shaking his head almost imperceptibly, and sighed. “I took him out and ... he was bloated, so bad I could hardly even recognize him. I laid him down on the bed, wrapped him in a sheet, said a prayer, and left.” He paused and looked at me. “I just turned around and walked away.”

“But your wife,” I said. “You let her ...” Again I couldn’t say it.

Carver’s dark face continued staring back at me. “I knew there was no outlet. I’d seen the game played before. Nobody ever wins. They’re forced to do whatever Simon tells them to do with the hope they’ll win and get their family back. But they never do. My wife was already dead, just like my son, and I refused to play Simon’s game.”

He’d left, finding himself in a mountainous region of the country, coniferous trees everywhere. He stripped off his clothes, thinking there might be some kind of tracking device in them, and continued through the woods. Eventually he came to a nearby town. Managed to steal some clothes at night while nobody was around and then hitchhiked to the next town, where he learned he was in Maine, in the county of Wytopitlock. There he contacted the Kid, explained what had happened, to which the Kid had said, “I know, dude.

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