The complete “A Glimpse into Hell” series - 5 books, 195 chapters, 1700 pages, 600K words of pure gore

by Garrett, Wade H.

  Around 1 AM the truck driver came out and got in his truck. I could see through the night vision goggles that he had crawled into the sleeping section. My original plan was to hang out until he left, ensuring he didn’t find the wetback. Now that it looked as if he was going to be here a while I decided to head home to get my wireless camera and monitor. I only lived an hour away, and with the truck idling, I knew there would be no way for him to hear the wetback’s moaning when he came to, so I took off for home.

  Around 3:30 AM I pulled back into the parking lot. I was relieved to see the truck was still there, especially without police tape surrounding it. When I crawled under it, I found that the wetback was awake. He couldn’t see me because it was dark, but I could see him through my night vision goggles. He was throwing his head around, staring into the darkness as he was trying to figure out where he was. I mounted the camera under the truck where it was positioned lower and to the right of him so I could see his entire body. When I got back in my car, I turned on the monitor. The camera had built in infrared so I was still able to see.

  Around 6:30 AM the truck driver went back into the building. He came out thirty minutes later with a bag of breakfast tacos. The sun was barely out, but there was enough light to where I could now see the wetback in color since the infrared wasn’t needed any more. When the truck started moving I could see the zip-ties turning with the driveshaft. They weren’t doing anything at the slower speed; basically, tickling the Mexican’s skin. I followed behind the truck at a cautious distance, but I had to stay within two hundred feet because of the camera’s short transmitting range. As the truck picked up speed, the driveshaft and zip-ties sped up as well, and as their speed increased, the wetback’s skin quickly turned red where the zip-ties were slapping him. When the truck reached sixty miles an hour, the sharp tips of the zip-ties were starting to cut gashes into his skin. I could see him throwing his head around as his body was being brutally whipped. When the truck hit seventy miles an hour, the speed of the drive shaft was causing the zip-ties to bend where they weren’t coming into contact with his body. At first I was disappointed, but then noticed the truck was slowing down due to the traffic. I realized this would actually drag out the wetback’s torture as the truck sped up and slowed down. The zip-ties were now striking his skin again. The monitor had a built-in DVR, so I was able to record the horrifying event. The camera system also had sound, so I was able to hear his muffled screams through the duct tape and wind. The zip-ties were also making different sounds as they whipped different parts of his body. His legs were making a cracking sound, his stomach a thumping sound and his chest a popping sound. Even his dick and balls were making a noticeable sound. And combined, it was like music to my ears. Suddenly the wetback’s dick tore apart, then his ball sack ripped open, causing his balls to hang by their spermatic cords, and as quick as they had fallen out, the next pass of the zip-tie ripped his hanging nuts from his body like a bat hitting a baseball on a batting tee. The zip-ties had also cut large gashes all over his body. Since his head was not bound, he was turning it side to side and bouncing it around as a zip-tie slapped him. His face was covered in red welts and the duct tape was starting to come loose from his slobber and from being struck with the zip-tie. By now the truck had sped back up, and the zip-ties were missing his body again. He was still throwing his head around as blood ran out of his ravaged body. Finally, the duct tape slid down to his neck, allowing him to scream out as the wind blew his hair around. I could now hear him yelling out in Spanish. I couldn’t understand all of his words, but I was able to make out the ones that I knew from my Spanish lessons back in the chamber; like help, pain, stop, penis, stuff like that.”

  Wyatt got Seth’s attention. “Wasn’t blood getting on your car?”

  “Yes. Drops were occasionally hitting my windshield. There was also a car between me and the truck, but it didn’t look as if the driver was noticing it. I assumed he thought it was from bugs, or maybe that the aerodynamics of his car was forcing the drops to pass over him.”

  “What happened next?”

  “A few miles down the road the truck had to slow down again, and as soon as the zip-ties hit the gashes in his stomach, his guts started protruding out through the open wounds. The zip-ties instantly ripped open his intestines, causing shit and brown vile to pour out. The man in front of me hit his brakes for a moment, then turned on his windshield wipers. About the same time that he had washed off his windshield, the wetback’s intestines came falling out. They quickly unraveled out of his stomach cavity and were being dragged behind the truck. The zip-ties didn’t hesitate ripping through the soft tissue, and then pieces of intestine and shit spattered all over my car at the same time that I ran over a large section of intestine. The man in front of me jerked his car to the shoulder and stopped. I continued as I watched the monitor. The flesh on the wetback’s stomach had been completely ripped off, and his stomach cavity was now wide open and his other organs were hanging out. I could see his rib cage where the zip-ties had torn away his flesh. His leg bones were also exposed where he had large open wounds. His jawbone, teeth and parts of his skull could be seen as well. One of his eyes had been knocked out, and I couldn’t believe that he was turning his head to protect his other eye. Before the next mile marker, the wetback passed out, and as his head hung limp, the zip-ties continued to rip him apart. I took the next exit and headed for the first car wash.” Seth looked at Wyatt. “Did you read about that one in the paper?”

  Wyatt has holding his mouth, trying not to puke. He shook his head no.

  “I did. The police had to shut down the highway. It took them twelve hours to collect all the parts and for a biohazard company to clean up the body parts and fluids. The truck driver was taken into custody, but was eventually released without any charges.”

  Wyatt was flush as he looked at Seth. “Do those images not haunt you?”

  Seth laughed. “No. But the sound clip from the recording haunted the assholes in the chamber for a while.”

  “Don’t tell me you played it for them.”

  “It ran twenty-four-seven for several months. Just like elevator music, an elevator from hell.”

  Wyatt was getting sleepy, so he leaned his seat back to get comfortable, and within a few minutes he was snoring.

  The Key to Unlock Fear

  Jim looked at his watch. It was almost midnight. A team of doctors and scientists had already come to the building and moved John and the contraption to a nearby hospital. Ron walked up to Jim. “All the spikes have been removed, snakes captured and the officers are done with their sweep.”

  “Inform the officers to go ahead and let the occupants come back in. But we need to keep this apartment secured for now.”

  “Will do.”

  “Get Thomas and meet me in the parking lot. We’re heading over to St. Frances to check on John.”

  A few minutes later Jim came outside. He walked up to an officer. “Take the van. I’m going to use the unmarked car.” Ron and Thomas were standing by the van. Jim pointed to a black, Crown Victoria. “We’re taking the car.” They remained quiet as they drove to the hospital. Upon arrival, Jim told Thomas to stay in the car, then he and Ron went into the building. On the eighth floor, they met with a doctor. He took them into a room filled with other doctors, engineers, FBI agents and a demolition expert that also had experience with booby-traps. The doctor explained that they had not been able to figure out a way to open the box. He explained that outside of the obvious booby-traps, the contraption looked simple at first, but advanced electronics and high-tech detection systems had also been found. One of the FBI agents walked up to Jim. “Has Mr. Carter been located?”

  “No. But we believe he’s alive.”

  “Do you have evidence to support that?”

  “If Skull wanted him dead, he would have simply done it back in North Dakota instead of going through all the trouble of meeting him in New York.”

  “You know he’s unpredictable.”r />
  “I know—I’ve been studying him for a long time.”

  “Has the burn victim been identified yet?”

  “Not that I am aware of. He was taken to Cedar Ridge mortuary. I’ll be heading there next to see if the forensic examiner has found anything.”

  Another doctor had been listening. He walked up to Jim. “I was informed the man had been burned to death by fuses that had been inserted under his skin.”

  Jim nodded. “We think they were fuses, but will not be certain until we meet with the examiner doing the autopsy.”

  “I want to show you something.” Jim followed the Doctor over to John. He pointed at some raised sections of skin on John’s torso and face. “Does that look the same?”

  Jim wanted to throw up when he noticed John had fuses under his skin. “Yes. I didn’t notice those back at the room; the light was dim.”

  The demolition expert was examining the box and had overheard their conversation. “We’ll find a way to get him out of here. I’m having a special piece of equipment brought in that will allow me to see the wiring and circuitry that’s hidden. I’ll be on this until we get your partner out safely.”

  Jim looked at John for a moment, shaking his head, then walked out of the room. When he and Ron got back in the car, Thomas leaned forward from the back seat. “Were they able to get John out?”

  Ron looked backed. “Not yet.”

  Jim looked over at Ron. “We need to find Skull. It’s his contraption. That’s the only way to get him out safely.”

  Ron looked out the window. “Even if we did, you know he’s not going to be taken alive.”

  Thomas asked, “You haven’t been able to catch him in the past, then how do you expect to do it now?”

  Jim looked in the rear-view mirror. “He’s been slipping up.” Jim started the car. “It’s late. If either one of you want to be dropped off at the motel let me know. I’m going to the morgue.”

  Ron put on his seat belt. “I’ll go with you.”

  Thomas leaned back in his seat. “I’m along for the ride. And I appreciate you guys letting me be a part of this.”

  Ron laughed. “You can thank your dad.”

  Jim looked in the rear-view mirror again and thought to himself how Thomas seemed like a good kid. He was fresh out of the police academy and had the same Rambo attitude like he did when he was green. Thomas’ dad was a Deputy Assistant Director in the FBI, and he had pulled some strings to get him on this special investigations team—it would be a career building opportunity for him, especially if Skull was captured.

  Thomas was a little irritated after Ron’s comment. “I didn’t get this by riding my dad’s coattail. I was ranked top in my class and got the highest shooting scores.”

  Ron laughed. “Okay, Obie Wan Kenobi. Just make sure you don’t get yourself killed. Jim and I have no desire to be demoted to meter maids.”

  Jim looked over at Ron. “Or flipping patties at a burger joint. Director Arnold has a lot of pull.”

  Ron shook his head. “I didn’t sign on to be a babysitter.”

  Jim nodded in agreement. “Well, at least we will get all the resources we need.” He looked at Thomas through the rear-view mirror. “You have your whole career ahead of you, so don’t do something stupid and get yourself killed. Skull probably already knows everything about you.”

  Thomas was still a little agitated. “I don’t care what you two think.” He looked back at Jim through the rear-view mirror. “How did Wyatt get involved in this anyway?”

  Ron looked at Jim. “You want me to tell him?”

  Jim nodded, indicating it was okay.

  Ron turned sideways in his seat. “Two years ago, Wyatt’s house caught fire in the middle of the night and his wife was killed. The police suspected him of arson.”

  “How did they know it was arson?”

  “The fire marshal’s report indicated foul play—an accelerant was found.”

  “Why isn’t he in jail?”

  “There wasn’t enough evidence at the time to implicate him.”

  “So, the evidence was weak?”

  “It is where he’s from. He lives in a small town. He’s never been in trouble and everyone that knew him had nothing but good things to say about him. Without him admitting to the fire, no jury in the area would issue a guilty verdict.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “The police had been keeping tabs on him, monitoring his home phone, hoping he would slip up.”

  “So how did Skull get involved?”

  “Did you know Wyatt is a reporter?”

  “Yeah, I knew that.”

  “Out of the blue Skull called him and asked if he wanted to do a story on him.”

  “That’s fucking weird. Do you think Skull was after him for the fire?”

  Jim looked in the rear-view mirror. “No. He would have simply abducted him.”

  Ron agreed. “He’s right. Wyatt would have come up missing, but Skull apparently wanted to meet with him in a non-threatening fashion; he usually takes and does what he wants. Asking for permission is very unusual. Something has definitely changed.”

  Jim added. “That’s what I was talking about earlier. He’s slipping up, so we might have a chance to catch him. He’s been very good about not leaving incriminating evidence behind, but now Wyatt is with him. Maybe he is leaving bread crumbs for us that will lead us to Skull.”

  Thomas looked confused. “So, you’re saying that Wyatt is working with us?”

  Ron nodded his head. “In a roundabout way. After Wyatt received the call from Skull, he contacted the police. Wyatt had recorded the last part of their conversation, but the police thought it was just a prank call, but they notified us just in case. When Jim and I examined the evidence, we knew it was Skull.”

  “What evidence?”

  “The recorded phone call.”

  Thomas laughed. “How would either one of you know what Skull sounds like?”

  “Jim has heard his voice before.”

  Thomas leaned forward. “When?”

  “Skull has called him a couple of times.”

  “Really? For what? What did he say?”

  “That’s the strange part. He just shot the shit with Jim. He would try to ask him questions, but Skull would change the subject.”

  “What do you mean he would shoot the shit?”

  “Skull didn’t behave like a deranged person as you would expect. He actually carried on with Jim as if he was a buddy. I really don’t know how to explain it. Skull would call up and start the conversation like, hey, Jim, what’s been going on? Then he would ask different questions, like, how was his family doing, and how did he like working for the FBI. He would talk about current events, politics and TV shows. Every time Jim tried to bring up the vigilante shit, Skull would change the subject.”

  “Do you think he’s asking for help?”

  Jim shook his head. “That wasn’t the impression I got. I think he was simply letting me know that he can be as normal as the next guy.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “It’s hard to say. Maybe it’s so we have to look at everyone as a suspect, making our job a lot harder.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look at it this way. Skull’s behavior doesn’t fit the average vigilante’s or serial killer’s MO. That causes us to look at everyone when he plants false evidence or when we get a tip from a person that says their neighbor is The Angel of Death. We can’t simply rule out the hundreds of tips that people called in by doing a computer background check. We have to physically check out each and every person.”

  “During all those investigations, do you think you have been in the same room with him? He fooled us back at the apartment building with his bullshit disguise.”

  “It’s possible that he could have been present during one of them, but there was one time that I know I was in the same room with him.”

  Thomas looked eager. “When was that?”

&nbs
p; Ron spoke up. “It was four years ago, way after John was abducted. Jim was at a crime scene by himself. He had sent everyone away so he wouldn’t be distracted as he studied some writing that Skull had left on a wall. He was alone in an old warehouse when the lights went out. Skull starting taunting Jim while he hid in the dark.”

  “Taunting him how?”

  “Calling out his name. Telling him to back off. Telling Jim that he knows everything about everyone that investigates him, including the skeletons that they have in the closet. Deranged shit like that.”

  Jim looked a little disturbed. “It was a very uncomfortable experience. I had a flashlight, but his voice seemed to be coming from everywhere. It was echoing and I couldn’t locate the direction. I was yelling out, asking where John was. The last thing he said was, things are not always what they seem; this is the key that will unlock all your fears.”

  “Why didn’t he kill you?”

  “He only harms what he considers scumbags and lowlifes.”

  “So, you must not be a scumbag then?” Thomas laughed.

  “I guess not. But the statement he made about the key that will unlock my fears has really haunted me for some reason.”

  Thomas thought for a moment. “What the hell does that mean? Do you think it had something to do with how to get John out of that contraption?”

  Ron looked back. “Who knows? Probably just more of his bullshit to keep us running in circles.”

  Thomas leaned forward. “What happened after Jim verified that it was Skull’s voice on Wyatt’s recording?”

  “Skull had told Wyatt that he was going to call back in three days for his answer. The day we arrived was the third day. Wyatt didn’t want to meet with Skull—he was scared. Originally, he wanted no part of it, but we finally convinced him to do it. We set up at his house…”