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by William Wilde
Description: David Price survives death in a terrible freeway crash, but his nightmare has only begun.
He's hounded thereafter by an inhuman traveling sales rep and a series of gruesome deaths that occur wherever Price goes.
eBook Publisher: SynergEbooks, 2010 SynergEbooks
eBookwise Release Date: March 2010
1 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [282 KB]
Reading time: 187-262 min.
FOUR STARS! As the reader, I am not sure if this story should be filed in the category of Mystery, Thriller, or Horror. I am going with Horror. Though I racked my wits, I could not figure out if David was guilty and could not recall killing, if he was insane, if everything happening was coincidental, or if The Rep was real and inhuman. The one thing I do know for sure is that I am not telling you anything. Only those who read this spooky tale will find out.
In my opinion, William Wilde's writing talent is best in the horror genre. ? I will be keeping an eye on William Wilde's future releases.
~ Detra Fitch, Huntress Reviews
Highway 26 westbound from Portland was shiny with March rain and headlight glare as the chain of commuter vehicles rolled out of the city. David Price slumped in the right rear seat of the Volvo sedan, glad he wasn't driving for the carpool that day. Bob Carney was at the wheel, with Jan Hale next to him, and Greg Lugar in back with Price.
The car passed the Murray Road exit with Carney squinting through the road mush on the windshield, and Jan had just begun her daily news. "Melissa sprained an ankle at soccer practice and she has to -- Oh, my God!"
She never finished her sentence as the huge bulk of an eastbound semi-truck veered without ever slowing across the grass median strip straight at the Volvo.
Bob Carney gave a grunted yell, the Volvo braked hard, wrenched to the right and skidded just before the truck hurtled into the car broadside.
Price was thrown violently forward by the impact shock and he had a sensation of rolling. He heard metal scream on the pavement close to his ear and felt a bright snap of pain in the right side of his head before it all became blackness.
Something else was there at the scene, watching expectantly as the shattering collision occurred.
Price's mind fought back upwards toward the lighted rim of consciousness.
As he came back up, he thought for an instant that he saw the incongruous form of a woman standing nearby. Her bony figure wore a shiny-wet leather coat and spike heels in the rain, but he couldn't tell who she was. Beneath the gaudy, red-dyed hair where her face should have been, there was nothing but a distorted white blur.
Chalky fingers with garish scarlet nail polish clawed out for Price as if to press him back down into the empty blackness that he was trying to escape from and he struggled even harder not to be pulled under again.
Price came back to full consciousness, lying curled on his side, with damp, cold air blowing over him.
He had a blinding headache and he seemed to be able to open only his left eye to see dark, blurred shapes around him. His legs were crushed up against an obstacle in front of him. He tried to move his knees, but his body was strangled tight by a hard band wrapped across his chest.
His mind was a confused jumble as he tried to think where he was. All he could think of was a soccer injury and somebody with a sprained ankle.
Price heard voices shouting near him. He looked out of his one good eye and he saw the white bulb of a face above him.
"Got a live one in the right rear!"
"He's still belted in. Let's break him out of there!"
Price heard glass cracking open and then the sound of metal ripping apart like a huge zipper being pulled. More cold air poured in on him.
"Get the belts cut off him!"
"Pulse thready. Head trauma."
Price groaned as hands probed gently over his body. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He retched down his raincoat front.
"Keep his airway clear! Stay with us, buddy! Can you hear me? What's your name? Can you tell me your name?"
Price tried to answer, but it took him a long time to remember what he wanted to say. His lips were thick and sloppy. "Day-bud," he grunted.
"What's that? Did he say David? Okay, Dave, we're going to take care of you. Just hang in there for me."
Price didn't like them shouting in his face that way. It only made him even more panicky about what was happening to him.
Strong hands were lifting his body and his legs popped free and dangled loosely like they belonged to someone else. He was laid flat on his back and a sour tasting tube was pushed down his throat. Then they were rolling him and the movement made him want to throw up again. A revolving red light kept painting his face. Price was tired of the confusion and the noise around him. His head hurt and most of all he only wanted to go to sleep.
Finally, he just closed his one eye and the blackness flowed back to wrap around him like a soft, warm blanket and that was much better.