by David Beers
Luke doesn’t know it as he rolls over to sleep, but he will regret this single decision for the rest of his life.
Three days have passed since the preacher man came to Luke’s house.
Now, Luke is at the preacher man’s house.
He stands outside of the cathedral, the sun still not over the horizon. He is on the street, leaning against a tree, and staring at the closed doors.
Luke is young and doesn’t understand the error in his strategy, though he will very soon. His natural inclination is to attack hard, to leave no doubt that he is the superior in any struggle. That is his plan this morning, and though he will leave no sign that he is responsible, the preacher man is smart enough to understand.
Enough time has been spent watching, and Luke crosses the street. The Church doors are unlocked, and he quietly opens the one on the right, slipping inside. He has yet to learn how to move without making sound, though he already travels as if he is nearly weightless.
The cathedral is silent, the priest still asleep. Luke had been counting on that, the man not waking early for prayers or meditation. This was a false priest, an imposter. He collects his money no differently than the Mexican gangs that ran many of the neighborhoods. There is always someone to pay, always someone that wants to harm Luke’s family. Perhaps he will deal with the gangs once this preacher man is taken care of, but the largest portion of his family’s budget is dedicated to this mockery of God.
Luke walks through the cathedral, paying no attention to the empty pews. He heads to the statue of Christ on the cross. Luke kneels before it.
“I’m sorry, Lord. I do not mean any disrespect, but I think you know that.”
He keeps his head lowered for a few more seconds, hoping that his prayers are heard. He understands the nature of this attack, and the very real possibility that his soul will be damned. He must hope that the Lord understands it is for a bigger cause, for a holy cause. For Luke’s family.
Finally, his prayers finished, Luke stands and walks onto the chancel. He moves to the right, going to where the fake plants stand. Inside the pots, there is imitation straw, and he knows this will be flammable. His mind has figured out all the necessary details over the past few days, most of the time without any active input from Luke.
It is, both for Luke in the past, and Christian now, a remarkable thing to witness.
Luke pulls a lighter from his right pocket and a tiny bottle from his left. It contains no more than eight ounces, but they are a potent eight.
He douses the false straw with lighter fluid, then pauses. He looks to his left, seeing the church’s organ, and using the bottle, draws a line to it. From there, he circles around the back of the chancel, going behind the cross, and ends on the other side of the room.
He heads back to the fake plants, his movements eerie in their silence.
Luke flicks the small lighter in his hand and brings it close to the plant. The fire ignites almost immediately and he steps back. He watches it rise up the plastic plant, the coating clearly flammable. The fire crawls out of the pot and down to the floor; from there, the race is on. It follows the half circle Luke created, and the interior of the church is quickly ablaze.
It’s in this moment that Luke decides to wait. He hadn’t planned to leave any evidence, but now he can’t help himself. The arrogance that he would show later in life first reveals itself in this cathedral.
He steps down from the chancel, the smoke growing as the fire spreads. He walks to the front of the church, pausing in front of the doors and waits.
The fire alarm starts its siren, and still Luke waits, even as sweat erupts out from his forehead. The room is heating up, the smoke becoming darker and darker.
Luke waits.
Finally, the preacher man emerges. He’s naked except for underwear, his fat stomach protruding further than his dick could ever hope.
He’s staring at the fire, but Luke’s eyes never leave him. The priest turns, looking for the door, hoping to make it out of this alive, and he sees Luke. Their eyes meet for a single second, and then Luke turns. He walks out, leaving the priest to deal with the fire. His message is clear.
He would come to realize, albeit too late, that he would need to create much clearer messages in the future.
The screen went black and Christian stood from his chair.
Why that one? Why is it progressing chronologically again? There’s more to his life, so why is it focusing on the beginning?
He looked over to the other, but his bloody eyes only stared back, no answer coming.
“You never shut up, and now you’ve got nothing.”
“This is your mind, Christian. Answer your own questions,” the other said.
Christian turned away and looked back to the maze showing the time he had spent with Luke. Answers lay there, too, but not the ones that Christian needed. Those answers had brought Christian to Luke’s truth, but what he needed was something to take him to Luke’s future.
Christian walked through the floor, heeding none of it. He took the long stairs all the way down, and wound his way to a much smaller room. Above the door, the name Charles Twaller was inscribed. Christian opened it and stepped inside. His mind had created this place from today’s research; he clearly wasn’t getting anywhere with the television upstairs, so maybe finding Twaller would at least stop the carnage for a bit.
That’s all Christian could hope for right now. To stop all the death.
“You could give some consideration to his offer,” the other said, standing just outside the door.
It wasn’t even a possibility; Christian had told no one, and he wasn’t going to either. Tommy might have known he lied to Waverly about what happened; hell, he might even know what actually happened, even if unconfirmed—but Christian wasn’t going to tell him the option Luke had given him.
He wouldn’t entertain it, but the FBI would. They’d watch Christian around the clock if they knew the ultimatum, destroying any possibility of effectiveness.
“You never think you’ll do what Luke says, but somehow, you always do. Remember The Lover? You almost killed him, and did you think that was possible in the beginning?”
“Just shut up.”
The room in front of him held what he knew about Charles Twaller’s life. It wasn’t much, but his mind was filling in the missing pieces. Twaller hadn’t been poor when he was younger, not in any real sense of the word, but when you look around and see nothing but rich people … well, you feel poor.
That’s what drove Twaller. The accumulation of wealth, and it stemmed from his parents being middle class in an upper class town.
Christian felt certain the man had been born about as near to a psychopath as possible—no one could say for certain whether nature or nurture controlled everything. Still, it was possible to accumulate wealth and not kill people while doing it. Luke had picked a near perfect person for this job, a smart psychopath, and one that knew how to hide.
That was the biggest problem with Twaller. He was almost completely hidden. His life was a blank slate, with him currently owning some laundromats up north. Or, at least, that’s what the record showed.
Christian moved his hand through the air, as if shooing a fly away. The screen built into the wall flashed to life, displaying a map with three green lights on it. These were the only three spots where anything amiss appeared when it came to Twaller.
Drexler hadn’t been lying. Drivers did come up missing around Twaller. However, there wasn’t any way to pin the missing people to Twaller. In fact, there was no real reason to suspect he had anything to do with them at all. The only connection was what Christian figured out earlier that day—Charles Twaller was in the same town—at the same time—that these three people came up missing.
Their names weren’t important. They were extremely low level operators. What mattered was that they died, apparently for no reason, and Christian believed at Twaller’s hand.
He was smart and organized, but also unwi
eldy at times. In some ways, he was like the other killers Christian had chased (in what felt like a previous lifetime).
The map on the wall zoomed in on Georgia, the green and black lines of roads replaced with a satellite vision.
“Is he here? In Georgia?” Christian said aloud.
Where?
Chapter 15
Charles opened the cabin door; the security cameras showed him who was coming a mile before the man actually arrived, but even so, Charles was surprised to see him.
And, Charles didn’t like surprises. He was used to schedules and appointments, not people just showing up on his doorstep.
And it’s you I’ll come for, he thought, his mind settling some. Eventually, he would come for Luke Titan, making all of these indignities worth it.
“Nice of you to show up. Unannounced,” Charles said.
“It couldn’t be helped,” Titan answered.
Charles stared up at the man, then finally stepped back, allowing him to enter.
Titan stepped through the door and entered the sparse living room. He turned around slowly, taking it in.
“Not as nice as I’m used to, you see,” Charles said.
“You’ve certainly made a lot of sacrifices for our endeavor.”
Charles heard the sarcasm underlying the words, but said nothing. He didn’t have time for Titan’s jabs—held no interest in them anymore. The man may have been the smartest person to ever live, but he’d be dead soon enough and all those brains wouldn’t make a whit of difference underneath six feet of dirt.
“The building came down nicely,” Titan said.
“Yes, but we may have a problem.”
“With?”
“I think one of the men we used got picked up in Texas. He may have talked.”
“He probably did. Does he know your name?” Titan asked.
“I’m sure most people in the operation know who was setting it up. The people I choose are smart and have been around a while; they’ll have a network that will leak my name eventually.”
“Do you have a contingency plan?”
“Of course. That’s partly why I’m up here in these goddamn woods.”
“Well, we needn’t worry then,” Titan said.
“Sure, no need to worry.” Twaller walked past the man and went to the refrigerator. He pulled out a Diet Dr. Pepper and popped the lid on the can, tilting it up to his mouth. He finished his sip, and looked over to Titan. “So, what’s next? I think we might have another three attacks left, and then we’ll have to quit. The heat will be too much by then. It may already be too much.”
Titan didn’t turn around to look at Twaller, but stared at the leather couch sitting against the wall. “No, we’re not going to quit, Mr. Twaller. We’re going to push this until we’re both dead, or something happens on the other side.”
Charles swallowed, his throat suddenly dry despite the soda. He didn’t know what this psycho was talking about, but he had no intention of dying during this operation.
“Excuse me?”
“There’s no way we’re stopping at five.” Titan turned, his gaze full on Charles. “We’re in this until we die or an old friend of mine gives me what I want.”
“And just what the fuck is that?” Charles asked. His hand was tightening on the soda can, though he hadn’t bent the aluminum yet.
Luke cocked his head and Charles thought he was deciding whether to answer him.
“I suppose it can’t hurt,” Titan said. “Christian Windsor, you know his name, correct?”
“Your old partner.”
“That’s right. Well, we will quit when he kills everyone close to him. Otherwise, we keep going.”
Charles stared, unable to find words. All of them, every single one in the English language, had flown from his brain like birds leaving for winter. This man was insane. So far beyond insane that he wasn’t classifiable, or even certifiable. He was simply beyond. Here they were, waging war against the United States government, and his condition for surrender was an old friend killing his own family.
“Are you wondering what you’ve gotten yourself into, Mr. Twaller?”
Charles said nothing. He didn’t notice his lower lip was slightly open, giving him the look of a huge fish, staring dumbly through the walls of a fish tank.
“I’m an idealist,” Titan said. “I’m not in this for money. I’m in this for purpose. You can, if you choose, leave, but there will be consequences. We have an agreement, and if you break it, I will be forced to take action given the amount of capital I’ve transferred to you.”
Charles recognized he was being threatened, but still, he couldn’t find any goddamn words. The man’s face held him captive, unable to break free of its trance.
“Onward and upward, am I right?” Titan asked.
Charles closed his eyes, trying to block out the man’s stare. A few seconds passed, both standing in silence, and then Charles opened his eyes.
“No,” he said. “No, you psychotic fuck. I’m not dying for this cause of yours. I’m not doing another goddamn thing, do you understand that? This is over, am I fucking right?”
Charles turned, intent on grabbing the gun that sat just on the other side of the refrigerator. He moved two feet, and was reaching for it, when he felt iron grips on his shoulders.
He let out a high squeal, like a pig being stuck with a poker, and then was lifted off his feet. No one, not since Charles beat up that fucking kid in grade school, had laid hands on him. Now, he was flying through the air, and all he thought as he looked at the world passing by was, the fucking indignity.
Until he hit the ground.
He slid across the floor, and banged hard into the wall. Picture frames above rattled, then fell, breaking on the floor around Charles. He looked up and saw a demon in the room with him. A demon that moved faster than any human to ever exist, that might as well have been the Devil himself. By the time Charles looked up, the demon was nearly on top of him, only the demon’s face held no anger or hate. It was still, like the water of an undisturbed pond. It was at peace, even as the demon reached down and took hold of Charles’s collar.
He was suddenly moving up, the man’s strength greater than Charles imagined. He went from the floor to above the thin man’s head, and then Charles let out another squeal.
“Do you want to kill me, Mr. Twaller?” Titan asked, not a single bit of strain showing in his voice. “Do you want to get that gun and put a bullet through my face?”
Charles squealed again, wanting to be put down. To not be touched. To get the fuck away from the man.
“Go ahead, Mr. Twaller. Get the gun.”
The demon dropped him, and all at once, Charles was standing on his own two feet with Titan a safe distance away, looking as if he hadn’t just thrown him across the entire house.
Pain radiated across the back of Charles’s head, but he made no motion to touch it. He didn’t move at all.
“The gun is waiting, Mr. Twaller. Pick it up and shoot me. Rid yourself of me.”
Charles didn’t move. Fear froze him in place, that same stupid fish now stuck in an aquarium of ice.
“No? You don’t want to anymore? This will be your last chance. If you do not kill me now, you will never, ever, get this opportunity again.”
Charles couldn’t move. Could barely think. He was in shock at being handled in such a fashion, not to mention the demon’s face—how he’d done it all so calmly.
“Okay, Mr. Twaller, then we will move past my murder.” Titan glanced down at the cuffs of his shirt, and slowly put them both into place. “I’m ready for our next attack, and I have a pretty good idea of how it should go.”
Tommy and Veronica sat in his hotel room. He was in his wheelchair, and she sitting at the small breakfast table next to the window. Veronica had helped set up a computer, so that he could work at night from here. The three of them were still in El Paso, though they were supposed to leave tomorrow. Another day had passed since talking with Drexler,
and Christian had spent most of it alone, inside his mansion.
Veronica came down hours ago, knocking on Tommy’s door.
“Christian needs space,” she said, and that had been all that was needed.
Tommy invited her in; Veronica brought her own computer, and after she helped set up Tommy’s station, she opened hers.
“Have a lot of work?” he whispered.
“Yes, actually. The emails haven’t stopped since I came out on that television show.”
“What do they want, the people emailing you?”
“Hah! Don’t you already have access?” she said.
“I’m sure someone in the FBI does, but Christian and I certainly aren’t monitoring them.”
“A lot of emails are from old friends that I had to cut off. Book deals. Old relationships in publishing. Job offers. A lot of job offers.”
“You going to take any of them?” Tommy asked.
“I’m going to try to live through the day. That’s all I can really do.”
“You’re probably right,” Tommy said. “As sad as that is.”
They passed a lot of the time in silence. Tommy was focusing on Charles Twaller, reading through reports that came in. An ‘All Points Bulletin’ had been put out on him, though with instructions to keep it out of the press. They didn’t want to spook him, causing him to go further underground. A man with enough power to keep his record this clean could disappear for a long time.
“How are you, Tommy?” Veronica asked, breaking him from his concentration.
“I’m okay,” he said as he glanced up from the screen.
She laughed a single time, weak and without mirth. “Yeah, everyone involved with this is okay. Christian is. I am. Waverly is. And you certainly are.”
He knew what she meant, but he also knew he didn’t ever venture down that path. He couldn’t. He’d never find his way back out.
