I guessed Wax meant she was pretty.
This miracle girl is looking right back in his eyes.
But that's not what Wax meant. Not even close.
Neddy Nelson: You want I should introduce you to a Historian? You want to be alive and stupid, or do you want to be a know-it-all dead body?
From the Field Notes of Green Taylor Simms: In a somewhat hideous parody of the Annunciation, the time traveler would make a pilgrimage to a direct ancestor, ideally the traveler's mother or father, at a time before the traveler's conception—for the purpose of killing that ancestor.
Shot Dunyun: Again, do not confuse Stoking with Resolving Origin. Stoking means you flashback to breed a better you. Resolving Origin means you slaughter some ancestor to make sure you'll never be born. I'll grant you, they're both pretty nasty.
Neddy Nelson: Historians, don't they call it Destroying Source or Severing Origin? Haven't you heard it called Resolving Origin? Doesn't it make sense, that, serial killers like the Zodiac and Jack the Ripper, those were people dropped back into time and having trouble finding and "resolving" their mothers?
Tina Something: I never hear from Wax, not until a long, long time after Rant Casey takes his suicide dive off the bridge. In the meanwhile, certain police have been asking me if Wax has been in touch. It seems some kids died rolling a Jaguar X-Type inside a concrete highway tunnel. The car turned out to be stolen, and Wax's wallet was in the back pocket of some jeans left behind in the wreck. As if Wax totaled a Jag, killing two kids and leaving his gaddamn pants behind…
Neddy Nelson: You wonder why we always have war and famine? Can you accept the fact that the people, the Historians who run everything, they get off on watching our mortality?
Tina Something: A couple weeks later, the cops are calling about Wax again. Seems another kid's died in a stolen car, this time a BMW 3 Series 325i. Seems a witness is ready to swear that, the second after the car sailed off the top of an eight-story parking garage, landing nose-straight into a concrete sidewalk, killing the kid in the shotgun seat, after that disaster Karl Waxman climbed out from behind the shattered windshield and walked away.
And again, I told the cops I hadn't heard a word.
Neddy Nelson: How can you expect Historians to feel anything for the suffering of the rest of us? Do you cry when a flower wilts? When a carton of milk goes sour? Don't you think they've seen so many people die that their sympathy or empathy or whatever is pretty much wore out?
Tina Something: Another time the cops called, they claimed they'd matched fingerprints on the steering wheel of the BMW to fingerprints in Wax's apartment. The cops asked, was I harboring him?
From the Field Notes of Green Taylor Simms: One of the common tenets shared by widely divergent spiritual beliefs is the rule that an individual can only attain true power by "killing his father." One possibility is that said rule was not meant metaphorically. The primary difficulty would lie in transporting oneself backward to a time before one's birth.
Then, of course, comes the physically easier but emotionally tricky task of murdering one's own parent.
Tina Something: To try and find Wax, I looked up his mom in the phone book, Gloria Waxman, but she's not listed. Her maiden name was Elrick, so I call the few Elricks I find. One says, wrong number. When I ask for Gloria Elrick or Waxman at the other number, some old lady hangs up the phone on me. About ten times this old lady hangs up, so I drive over for a visit to the address listed in the phone book. Behind the apartment door, the same old-lady voice tells me to go away, but I don't.
I keep knocking and pounding, saying I know Gloria and Wax are around and saying I only want to talk.
Finally, I threaten to tell the police, and somebody inside unlocks the apartment door. Some old man opens the door enough I can see the gaddamn chain's still on, and he tells me to go away or he'll call the police himself. This old man says his daughter, Gloria Elrick, she died almost twenty-some years back. Seems she was parking with her steady boyfriend, and a maniac shot them both dead in the car. A total stranger, a young man with no apparent motive, somebody nobody knew from Adam, had killed Gloria and her boyfriend. And the old man slams the door in my face.
Through the door, I ask what was the boyfriend's name.
And the old man says, "Go away!"
I yell, "Just tell me his name!"
And the old man says, "Anthony." Through the door he yells, "Tony Waxman." He yells, "Now, you go!"
From the Field Notes of Green Taylor Simms: However, once one had made the journey and completed the task, to become immortal, to live eternally in a world where everything and everyone would wither and die while you accumulated knowledge and wealth, becoming the most powerful leader of all time—for all time—that seems well worth the effort.
Neddy Nelson: You don't think a real Historian wouldn't kill you just for laughs?
Tina Something: The last time I seen Wax, I was Tag Teaming, wearing a bridesmaid dress, making a last-ditch effort to get picked for a team, and a Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud pulls up to the curb. Scrawled down the polished side of the body, white and pink spray paint says "Just Married." The shotgun window rolls down, and inside, leaning over from the driver's seat, is Wax, smiling and saying, "Hey, baby, get in…"
I ask, "Where you been?"
And Wax says, "I did it…"
"Did what?" I ask him.
Neddy Nelson: Next, after Historians "terminate origins," don't they go through a long process called something like "residual fading," where every trace of the old them starts to disappear?
Tina Something: Karl Waxman tells me he's got no more future or past. He never has to eat another bite of food or sleep another wink. No more haircuts. No more bowel movements. No aging or injuries or illness. No death. He's outside of time.
And Wax says, "I am without beginning or end." He says, "And I can make you a goddess."
Yeah, I say. Like he made that burned-up kid in the BMW a god? And the kids in the Land Rover?
And Wax laughs and says he was just goofing with them. Wax says, once you're immortal, you forget that other people aren't; you start screwing around, and somebody gets their head cut off. The way they screamed, he says they sounded funny as hell.
With me, he says, it will be different.
Yeah, I say. Like he made his mom and dad immortal?
The Rolls-Royce, the shotgun door pops open, and Wax says, "Just get in, baby." With his hand, Wax pats the seat next to him, saying, "You won't be young, forever…" He says, "Unless you trust me."
And I didn't get in his car. I slammed the door shut and said he was a dirtbag for not calling me. I said it was his turn to wait.
"Oh, I can wait," Wax said.
Some Party Crashing kids have walked up, thrift-store brides and grooms, flocking to the Rolls with its tin-can tail and white streamers, ready to climb inside, asking if Wax needs a team, asking if they can all ride along.
And I tell these kids, "Don't." I block the door with my hip and yell at them to get the fuck away from this guy. "You get in this car," I tell them, "and this gaddamn psycho will murder you."
And the kids look at me like I'm the gaddamn psycho.