Man of Wax (27 page)

Olivia Kemp said, “Very well.”
 

A few seconds later, inside the room, her words echoed.
 

She started forward. I followed. The presence of the gun in my pocket was very strong. My mind kept forgetting it was there, so focused now on being back in a house I never thought I’d ever visit again.
 

The moment I stepped into the room I felt an increase in temperature. The beeping was a bit louder too. For a second I couldn’t place the noise but then I remembered hearing something very similar only two days before: walking the corridors of Hickory View, smelling the stark and dry disinfectants.
 

My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I made out that the room wasn’t very large. The source of the light was coming from one of the walls. Large monitors stretched from one end to the other. At least a dozen in all, if not more, stacked upon each other. It was impossible to tell the exact count because a number of them were turned off.
 

Those that were turned on showed two separate pictures.
 

One of those pictures was the inside of a car. The image was dark and I could just make out the seat and steering wheel, as the camera had been positioned from the passenger side foot well. I stared at it for only a moment before realizing that the inside belonged to the Impala.
 

The other picture, I realized a second later, was showing the same very thing, only slightly distorted. It was almost like a picture within a picture. The reason for this didn’t occur to me until I once again remembered the camera in my glasses.
 

Without any conscious thought I raised the index finger of my right hand and placed it directly over the bridge of the glasses. A few seconds later, on about six of the monitors—not to mention on the monitors that were now showing double—the tip of the finger appeared, creating darkness.
 

Behind me, the slow and steady beeping continued.
 

Behind me, a sick and raspy voice spoke.
 

“It’s delayed some. But mostly it keeps real time.”
 

A few seconds later, the voice repeated itself from speakers stacked next to the monitors.
 

I turned around.
 

Howard Abele lay in bed, which took up the other half of the room. His body was covered with a sheet. The only light was the soft glow of the monitors on the other side of the room, reflected off a long window. It was enough to show just how thin and pale he’d become. A tube ran around the length of his face, feeding him oxygen. Machines were set up around his bed. Some had glowing lights on them—yellows, greens, reds—some of which were blinking.
 

I’d only been in the room for less than thirty seconds but already I could feel the inevitable promise of oncoming death. It was thick in the air.
 

“Well,” Olivia Kemp said, “I’ll leave you three gentlemen alone.”
 

A few seconds later her voice repeated itself. She turned toward the door and took a step forward, paused for Carver to step out of her way.
 

He didn’t. Instead he raised his gun, motioned her toward the other corner.
 

“Stand over there. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
 

Seconds later it was all repeated, Carver’s voice coming in crystal clear from the speakers.
 

“Honestly,” Howard Abele said. He started to reach for something beside him on the bed. Carver shouted at him to freeze. “I want to sit up. I need to press the switch.”
 

All that was repeated too.
 

“Go ahead,” Carver said.
 

The old man picked up the device and pressed a button. The back of the bed began to rise. Howard set down the device and picked up another, began punching buttons. The soft light began going out.
 

“Olivia,” he said, “be a dear and turn on the lights.”
 

I waited the few seconds to hear this repeated but there was silence. Only the wind howling beyond the window. Evidently Howard Abele had turned off the speakers as well.
 

Keeping her hands out in front of her, she started toward the bed. Reached up and flicked on a lamp. It wasn’t the brightest but it lit up the room enough for me to see that the old man had become even more shriveled than I’d first thought. He just sat there, staring back at me with what had once been piercing eyes.
 

I heard myself ask, “What the hell happened to you?”
 

“Cancer,” Howard said, and coughed. It was a rippling cough that reminded me of what I’d heard across the corridor from Phillip Fagerstrom’s room. Olivia started to walk toward him but he slowly raised a hand, waving her off. “Lung cancer, if you can believe it. Never smoked a day in my life, except the occasional cigar.”
 

I didn’t say anything and just stared back at him. I told myself I couldn’t take my eyes away from his, not until he looked away first.
 

Carver said, “We’re going to need you to give us some information.”
 

The old man didn’t take his eyes away from mine when he smiled. “Yes, I’m sure you do. Or at least you think you do. But I’m not going to give you any such information. Neither is Ms. Kemp. We know our place, just as I’m sure you both know yours.”
 

The machines surrounding him continued beeping.
 

Carver said, “That’s not an acceptable answer. We will get the information we need. We’re not leaving until we do. Now, tell us who Caesar is.”
 

Howard Abele kept his gaze straight on me for another couple moments before shifting his eyes away.
 

“So you’re Carver Ellison—the Man of Honor. They warned me about you. Said you might be trouble. They know you’re here, you know. They called not too long ago, said you might be coming. I pretty much figured it while I was watching. I told them not to bother coming to the rescue. I told them you both wouldn’t be a problem.”
 

Despite the sick and raspy voice I could somehow still hear the man who’d denied me so many years ago. His body was decaying, he was almost dead, yet somehow the confidence and power that had always been there still resided.
 

“Who is Caesar?” Carver repeated.
 

The old man shifted his eyes back to mine. When he spoke, there was pride in his voice.
 

“Caesar is a great, great man. He has a vision for the future that is unmatched by anyone else. He will change this world in so many different and wonderful ways. I envy the fact I will not be around to see it.”
 

He smiled and motioned to the chair beside his bed.
 

“Caesar was here, you know. He heard I was sick and he came here, sat right down in this chair. He leaned forward and took my hand and he asked me what he could do for me. I’ve been a loyal member of the Inner Circle for the last twenty years, and Caesar appreciated that. And to show his thanks, he asked what he could do for me, and ... well, Ben, what do you think I asked him to do?”
 

There were so many things I wanted to say right at that moment. So many questions. So many actions that whipped through my mind, like me pulling out the gun and shooting him in the face, or rushing forward and choking him. But all that I heard myself say was one simple word.
 

“Why?”
 

A smile spread again across his withered face. He started chuckling but it turned into another coughing spasm.
 

“You still don’t get it, do you? You don’t get to ask me why. You never get to ask me why.”
 

Behind me, Carver had begun murmuring something. I glanced back and saw him holding a finger to his ear. He said a few more words and then pointed the gun at Olivia.
 

“Is there anybody else here?”
 

Her lips pursed, she shook her head.
 

“We’re going to check anyway.”
 

He stepped into the room and motioned her over with the gun. She didn’t move at first but instead glanced at her boss, who closed his eyes and nodded. With this approval she started toward the door.
 

Carver said to me, “Ronny’s coming in for backup. We’ll be around.”
 

Howard Abele chucked again. “Do you really think you have a chance against them? Against all of us? You cannot even begin to imagine how powerful we are.”
 

Carver ignored him, stared directly back at me. “Do whatever the hell it is you need to do with this asshole. Then get out.”
 

Olivia Kemp had already entered the hallway, was standing there waiting. Howard started chuckling again, this time saying, “You think he can do anything? This is a man of wax here, didn’t you know? He’s worthless.”
 

Without a word or even glance the old man’s way, Carver left. When he closed the door behind him, he did it so quietly the door didn’t even make a sound.
 

After a long moment of staring at that door, my hands clenching in and out of fists, I turned back around to face my father-in-law.

50

Howard Abele had stopped chuckling, was now only smiling at me. With his left hand he waved to the chair beside his bed, the chair Caesar had supposedly taken when he last visited. The action was stunted and appeared to cause him much trouble, and he noticed me noticing.
 

“Yes, I’ve become quite weak. Can hardly even stand, let alone walk. It’s this damned cancer. Doctors thought it would take me years ago. But I’m still here. Now please, have a seat. We have never had a real man-to-man talk, you and I.”
 

I walked over and pulled the chair away from the bed, at a good distance where I thought I could sit and not be forced to smell the cancer reeking off his body. Also, I was afraid that if I got too close I might just continue with my initial thought and strangle him to death. But I couldn’t do that, at least not yet. First I needed answers.
 

Before I sat down I pulled the gun from my pocket. It was warm and heavy. I stared at it for a moment before Howard Abele chuckled again.
 

“Are you going to shoot me? Are you going to
kill
me? I don’t believe you will. You’re not strong enough.”
 

“Is that what killing is then—strength?”
 

The machines continued beeping by the bed, at least three or four of them, all different beeps from different machines but spaced out just right so that it was a constant rhythm.
 

Howard Abele didn’t answer. He just sat there, a crooked smile on his face.
 

“Why did you do this? You set this entire thing up. Why?”
 

“I still don’t understand what makes you think I should answer you. The two of us live in different worlds, Ben. Two worlds that are so different they are galaxies apart.”
 

“Your daughter and your granddaughter. You did this to them too.”
 

His crooked smile turned to a scowl. “That’s where you have it wrong. Jennifer Abele
used
to be my daughter. She isn’t family anymore. Neither is the child you both named Casey.”
 

Hearing him speak my daughter’s name made me want to raise the gun right there and then. But I kept myself in check. I did my best to remain calm, to remain patient, and just shook my head.
 

“So they’re nothing to you, just like that? Because she went against your wishes and married me?”
 

Howard Abele said, “Do you know what I am? I am the
paterfamilias
. I am the father of the family. I have absolute right over my household and children. If I wanted, I would have every right to kill my children, even my wife. And Jennifer Abele—well, she was just like Julia. I actually said this to Caesar and he agreed with me.”
 

Hearing him use Jen’s name in the past tense was almost too much to bear. I kept staring back at him, squeezing the gun in my hands.
 

“Who is Julia?”
 

“Julia was Emperor Augustus’s daughter. She was ... disobedient. In the end she infuriated her father so much he denounced her in public and banished her for the rest of her life. You see, to run a proper empire you cannot bend the rules. Everyone must do their part, and if they do not ...”
 

He shook his head slowly, seemed to shrug.
 

“Jen married me because she wanted to,” I said. “She didn’t have to listen to you. She was an adult.”
 

I caught myself using Jen’s name in the past tense and went to take it back, but Howard Abele was already shaking his head.
 

“You still don’t get it. It doesn’t matter if she was an adult. She was still my daughter, which meant I had complete control. And marriage? By the time Jennifer was eleven I had already made an arrangement with a business partner of mine, also a member of the Inner Circle. She was to marry his son Jeremy. Getting them together was no easy task, but once they were finally together ... it didn’t take long for Jennifer to see they were meant to be. And so what if he was cheating on her. I cheated on my own wife countless times. Half the times she knew about it, half the times she didn’t, but it never mattered, and eventually Claire came to understand. She understood the nature of the beast, so to speak. She understood her place in our marriage, how she was never to question or disobey me. She even argued about the arranged marriage and I ended up beating her for it. But then ... then she broke the final straw by giving you permission to marry my daughter.”