Hollow World by Nick Pobursky Read Free Book Online Page B

he had were intense and graphic, not those of a calm and intelligent homicide detective. These more closely resembled the unchecked emotions of the criminals he had spent his career hunting. He took several deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down until he was able to think clearly.
    Charlie had made all possible deductions about this person that could be made, and he had no choice but to press on and gather more information. So far, he had no idea what this person even wanted. He could think of no clear motive, therefore he forced himself not to theorize before gaining as much information as he possibly could.
    Charlie was still performing his skewed form of Zen meditation as he reached the Carousel of Progress. The Cast Member at the entrance removed the chain and opened the doors.
    “Made it just in time, sir,” the Cast Member informed him, with a heavy Latin American accent. “Looks like you’re the only person here.”
    “You can skip the safety spiel,” Charlie blurted, more forcefully than he’d intended. In an attempt to recover, he told the man, “I mean…I’ve been here a billion times and could recite it by heart.”
    “Rules are rules, sir,” said the Cast Member sternly, following him into the auditorium.
    Charlie quickly located the seat in which he’d been instructed to sit, and made himself comfortable as the other man began to work the PA system. Charlie did recite the entire spiel under his breath, and sighed with relief as the man finally exited the theater and the lights began to dim.
    The welcoming and familiar dialogue began to play from the speakers, but Charlie was far too distracted to notice. He simply sat where he was told and waited for the instructions that he was promised. There’s nobody in here, he thought. How the hell are they going to give me instructions?
    Charlie waited through the entire introduction, listening to the cheerful song that he loved so much mock him as the auditorium shifted and he was rotated along to the first scene in the show. There’s a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow, my ass, he thought. When the auditorium eased to a stop, and the voice of Jean Shepherd began to speak about life in America around the turn of the century, Charlie ignored the Audio-Animatronic and began to worry. He’d been here long enough; why hadn’t they contacted him? He began to think that he’d been sent into this twenty-minute show simply to keep him occupied until his family’s captor could make a clean getaway. Charlie shortly dismissed that thought since his enemy was clearly looking to gain something. Whatever it was, it had to be something within Charlie’s power to provide. Had the object been his family all along, there would have been no note and he’d never have heard from his family or their captor again. No, the instructions would come. They had to.
    The scene was coming to a close, and Charlie had grown more impatient. As the theater rotated, moving its sole attendant to the next section, Charlie was gripping the armrests of his seat so tightly that he felt and heard his knuckles pop. Why were these people playing these games with him? How much longer did they plan to drag this nonsense out? Charlie felt himself losing control but forced himself to swallow his emotions and remain calm. Logic had always prevailed over emotions; this case would be no different.
    On stage, John—the Audio-Animatronic father—was talking about Lindbergh’s proposed flight across the Atlantic, Babe Ruth hitting “that old horsehide” and jazz music being “the cat’s meow.” Charlie was just about to stand up and walk out the emergency exit when—just after Schwartz’s car horn honked from outside the window—he heard his name called. At first, he thought he may have heard wrong, but when John didn’t tell the audience about the electric starter on his new Essex, Charlie knew something was different—something was wrong. Charlie stood and looked to the stage only to find