Free Man of Wax (Man of Wax Trilogy) by Robert Swartwood Page A

yet I knew I had no choice. This was just another part of the game, and while Simon hadn’t specifically told me to do anything yet, it was inferred. Besides, hadn’t he said something to me before, after I’d lifted that Snickers bar? Something about having a package waiting for me at my destination?  
    In my head, Jen’s voice echoed as she cried, They cut off my —  
    That was it. Just those four words. I heard her cry it again and again, like a broken record. I knew whatever filled that blank was waiting now in this suitcase. And I knew that as long as I could, I would refuse to open it.

 
     
     
    17

    At some point the cell phone vibrated. By then I was seated in one of the chairs on the farthest end of the room, right beside the window. Curtains obstructed the view—a view I had yet peeked outside to see—but they for some reason reminded me of the curtains back at the Paradise, and though the air wasn’t on full blast I was feeling quite cold.  
    The cell phone was in my pocket. I pulled it out, pressed the green send button.  
    Simon asked, “What are you waiting for?”  
    I didn’t answer for the longest time. The room was completely silent. Earlier, I’d heard the muffled voices and footsteps of people out in the hallway, but those had faded away what seemed like hours ago.  
    “I don’t want to open it.”  
    “Relax, Ben. The package I mentioned earlier hasn’t arrived yet. The suitcase you’ve been staring at for the past fifteen minutes has been waiting for you since this morning. It’s all part of the game.” A pause, an invisible grin, then: “Nothing to worry about.”  
    Simon disconnected before I could say—or not say—anything else. I held the phone to my ear for a while longer. I pushed myself out of the chair, staggered the few steps it took me to reach the bed, and stared down at the suitcase.  
    Like before, images had been invading my mind, different possibilities of what lay cramped inside the Samsonite. Questions like: If all her bones were broken, could Casey’s entire body fit in there? and If they just cut off Jen’s leg and stuck it inside, would they have used packing material to keep it from moving? Insane, terrible thoughts, yes, but I couldn’t help myself.  
    Finally I leaned forward, undid the two clasps, and opened the suitcase.  
    It could have belonged to anyone, as far as I was concerned. Nothing like what had greeted me in the Dodge’s trunk was inside here. Instead there were clothes: khakis and a white long-sleeved dress shirt, both encased in dry cleaning plastic; a pair of nice dress shoes, a belt, a red silk tie. Even fresh boxers, a fresh undershirt, and a leather bag which was all too familiar, sporting the Eagles logo, because it was my travel toiletry bag (something my parents had gotten me for Christmas when I was in high school and which I had kept ever since). Inside it was a stick of my deodorant, a small bottle of my shampoo, my toothbrush (and here you have to understand it wasn’t a toothbrush that resembled mine, or was the same brand, but my toothbrush) as well as a tube of Crest. Even my— my —electric razor.  
    Beneath all of this was a small paper-wrapped package which contained two cell phone batteries. Below this, a folded piece of paper, the letters typed.

    Ben:

    Hope you’re having fun. I know everyone else is. A car will pick you up at 11:30. Dress appropriately.

    Cheers,

    Simon

    I glanced at the clock on the bedside table, saw it was now almost eleven. I cursed, threw the note down, grabbed my Eagles travel bag, and headed for the bathroom.

 
     
     
    18

    A half hour later I stepped back onto the lobby floor. I felt like a totally different person than the one who’d first walked in here with his head lowered. I’d shaved, showered, and the clothes fit just right.  
    Even though it was almost midnight on a Monday in October, the place wasn’t dead. People were wandering around, some headed for the