The Titan_The Luke Titan Chronicles

by David Beers

  Apparently, she told the FBI she remembered nothing either, though how much of that was true, who could tell? Veronica had lived alone during this time, showing up at Christian’s hospital every day like some devoted spouse; even so, the two of them rarely spoke.

  He didn’t worry about her. He didn’t worry about anyone. Not Luke. Not Waverly. Not his mother (and this time, she did finally come to the hospital, though she didn’t stay long). He just focused on his recovery.

  He only thought about Tommy at night, during his dreams. Days were filled with physical pain and determination. Nothing else.

  And eventually, Christian was allowed to go home; but by that time, everything had changed. His mind was consumed with finding Luke in a way that no one else on Earth could understand—a way that he could never explain. Everything was a tool to get to Luke, even Veronica (though, he treated that tool more gently than any others he utilized).

  He tried not to think of Tommy. Not ever. He thought of Luke and that was enough. To think of Tommy … it was too much. It would lead to further disaster, even more than the two entities who followed him day in and day out. If he actually faced what he’d done … it could lead to Christian’s complete destruction.

  Yet, lying in bed now, the name came to him.

  That wasn’t a game to amuse him. If it had been, then Tommy would still be alive.

  Tommy.

  Tears rushed from Christian’s eyes as though a thundercloud was finally breaking and letting loose its hot rain. He rolled over on his stomach, burying his head in the pillow beneath him. He couldn’t hold in the pain, not an ounce of it. He wailed into his pillow, not caring if Veronica heard him. Not caring if the whole world heard.

  Had Christian looked to the side of the bed, he would have seen the other and that dark mouth standing together. Dark blood dripped from the other’s chin, while the mouth’s black teeth hung open in an insane grin.

  The wails filled the room and those two watched, masters or slaves, they knew not.

  Christian woke up by himself. No bleeding other, no giant smile. He lay on his side, alone in his bedroom.

  He said God would tell you.

  Veronica’s words floated to him from his sleep hazed mind. That was his first thought, his mind apparently okay with not venturing back to (don’t even say the name).

  He said God would tell you.

  Christian’s purpose was taking over again, making him focus on the only thing that truly mattered: killing Luke Titan.

  Luke knew Christian didn’t believe in God, though. So why would he leave that with Veronica? It had been specific, those words, and probably for this very reason—so Christian would lie on his bed, confused.

  He said God would tell you.

  Christian could venture into his mansion; it hadn’t completely collapsed yet, though it would soon. He held no doubt about that, which was another reason for his almost desperate focus. One day, and sooner rather than later, the mansion would fall and Christian would break under its sheer weight. From Bradley Brown to the apparitions, they had all taken a toll, and the toll kept growing larger.

  He had to get to Luke before that happened, before he completely lost his mind.

  There might be landmines in Veronica’s head, things Christian needed to avoid in his questioning of her, but there was a bomb inside his own—and the timer was ticking away, second by second.

  Focus, he thought. Thinking about what will happen in the future is a sure way to make sure you get nothing done in the present.

  What did God want to tell him?

  How would he say it?

  “It’s nonsense,” Christian said to himself, staring at the wall.

  But it wasn’t, because if Luke wanted anything, it was for Christian to find him. His purpose might be insane, but it involved Christian. Could no longer be completed without Christian, in fact.

  No, he thought. It can’t be that obvious. Can’t be.

  But it was. Luke hadn’t been hiding anything at all. He’d been practically shouting it in Christian’s face, where he could be found. He was at the same place he’d first met God.

  He was in Mexico.

  Chapter 4

  Ryan Wilcrew wasn’t ecstatic about his new assignment, though he had no choice in the matter. There was some reason to be happy, he supposed, in that apparently it came straight from the Attorney General—but other than that, he sort of felt like a rat.

  He knew who Christian Windsor was. The man had grown into a legend nearly as large as Luke Titan himself. The things he’d done at the Bureau were flat out amazing. If not for Titan, Windsor probably would have ended up being one of the greatest agents to ever carry a badge. Ryan Wilcrew looked at him like some great sport talent who caught a career ending injury just as he was beginning to show his true potential.

  Ryan was 33, a bit older than Windsor, but possessing none of his extraordinary talent. He was a solid agent, but he knew his limitations when it came to that kind of intelligence. He would never reach that echelon, and it was something he simply accepted.

  And now, he’d been assigned to watch Windsor. A hero, if Ryan’s opinion mattered. Someone who did everything in his power to bring down a madman, and though he came up short, he still went toe to toe with Titan. Yet, Ryan Wilcrew was now following him. Like a rat.

  “Your assignment is to observe and record. Report what he does, what you see, back to me on a weekly basis,” his superior had said.

  “Are we electronically monitoring him?” Ryan asked.

  “That’s not your concern. You watch and record.”

  Ryan understood and would do as commanded, though he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for.

  “Everything,” his superior had said.

  Ryan had been undercover before, in much tougher situations. This wouldn’t be hard, with the only issue being Windsor’s hyper-intelligence. Ryan had read the man’s dossier, though gossip had already told him most of what was in it. Two PhDs by an insanely young age. He’d caught three serial killers in his first four years of service … but more impressive was how he did it. The dossier didn’t include the mental mansion, but Ryan had heard of the place—the packet on Windsor only referred to it as: high mental agility.

  That was one way to put it, Ryan supposed.

  Another would be that the man categorized everything he saw, everything he heard, in a palace inside his head—and could refer to it all whenever the hell he wanted.

  So, that worried Ryan a bit. He didn’t understand how it might interfere with his assignment, what it would allow Windsor to see.

  Either way, here he was, sitting down the street from Windsor’s apartment in a Hyundai Sonata. The car had an Uber insignia on it, so that any onlookers would think he was part of the ride-share company. He could see Windsor’s Tesla from where he sat—the car that Titan used to drive, though Windsor requested it for himself a few years ago. As part of his resignation, he had been permitted to keep the Tesla, though little else. Wilcrew had been watching since 5:00 in the morning, and at 7:00, Windsor stepped outside.

  He had a backpack in his hand, a woman accompanying him. Ryan knew who she was as well, the dossier describing her as a former lover, and someone highly tampered with by Titan.

  She was carrying a suitcase.

  “The hell?” Ryan said.

  They loaded the luggage, got in the Tesla, then pulled out of the driveway. Ryan waited a moment, watching the laptop in the seat next to him. He’d lodged a tracking device underneath the Tesla before the sun came up, and now checked to make sure it was showing up on the computer. He waited a few moments, letting the car gain some distance, then started his own vehicle.

  Ryan pulled his phone out, voice dialing his boss’s number.

  “I think he’s going to the airport.”

  “Windsor?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ryan said. “What do I do if he gets on a plane?”

  “You get on it, too, whatever it takes. He’s not to leav
e your sight, okay?”

  “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  Christian sat with his head against the airplane’s seat, staring out the small window to his left. Veronica sat next to him looking straight forward at the seat in front of her.

  The plane’s boarding had been delayed, something about needing to wait on the crew. Christian wasn’t concerned. The plane would take off eventually and he would get to his destination—with any luck, his final one.

  He knew he needed his mansion now, though he didn’t want to go inside. Partly, he didn’t want to be reminded of what was happening to him; he was having a good day—at least when it came to the apparitions—and he didn’t want to put a damper on that by seeing the shambles of his mansion.

  Yet, his mind would give him options; there’d been enough time, and Luke couldn’t hide anything from him anymore. The two were open to each other, books able to be read cover to cover. His mansion would show him the possibilities before he arrived in Mexico, but once he got down there, he wouldn’t have much opportunity to study it further. He planned on making his visit quick, both Luke and he dead before tomorrow morning. He didn’t anticipate any trouble finding Luke.

  He’d find Luke at the old cathedral, or whatever sat in its place now.

  Christian clearly wasn’t scared of death, but he had to make sure Luke died first, and that’s what his mind could provide for him.

  Christian closed his eyes, intent on going inside a place that had once provided him infinite comfort, but now only showed him how bad things had become. In doing so, he missed the plane’s crew as they boarded the plane.

  Getting on Flight 9246 had been difficult.

  Windsor arrived barely an hour before take off, which meant boarding would take place in 30 minutes. The Bureau began working on getting Ryan aboard before he arrived at the airport, but even so, he’d needed to go sit in front of the TSA head and the highest manager Delta had in Atlanta’s airport.

  Eventually, though, the PATRIOT ACT worked and Ryan got what he wanted. He put on a Delta uniform and did a crash course on what would be expected of him. He understood he couldn’t just sit there while the rest of the crew did their jobs. Windsor would notice that, especially since Ryan was going to be one of the last stewards arriving.

  All in all, it took about an hour and a half.

  Ryan would be sitting in the back of the plane, closer to Windsor’s seat, which was what he wanted. The Bureau already knew the plane was heading to Mexico City, though what significance that held was a mystery to Ryan. Observe and report. That was his assignment, and anything outside of that should be left to his superiors.

  He stepped onto the plane, turned the corner, and looked down the aisle. It took him a second to orient himself, but quickly understood where Windsor should be sitting. He followed another stewardess toward the back of the plane—she had been purposefully held off so that it would look like the two arrived late together. Ryan’s eyes went to the right, searching for Windsor, about to see him up close for the first time.

  It didn’t take long.

  The scar on his face was like a siren, alerting anyone who knew the man’s history to who he was.

  His eyes were closed, and Ryan felt slight relief at that. He hadn’t even noticed the plane was late to take off, simply falling asleep as soon as he boarded. The woman, Lopez, sat next to him, and she stared straight forward, looking very much highly tampered with. Ryan’s eyes went back to Windsor, taking him in.

  He was a man, only a few years younger than Ryan, though if the scar wasn’t there, he would look much younger.

  There are other scars. Don’t forget what the dossier said.

  No, Ryan would do well not to forget that. He’d do well not to forget what those scars meant, too.

  Severe mental turmoil, creating delusions and paranoia. This combined with his adequate use of weapons makes him a dangerous individual.

  He needed to keep all of that in the front of his mind. The man might be a hero, he might be a genius, but that didn’t make him stable. Those things were in the past, and the man sitting on this plane was troubled—and probably didn’t want the FBI trailing him.

  Ryan passed by Windsor, his eyes moving back to the aisle, ready to focus on the job at hand.

  Wreckage. That’s what Christian saw in front of him.

  He stood in the mansion’s entrance, the once pristine stone now cracked throughout. The right side of the twin staircase in front of him had fallen, rock and rubble strewn across the floor. Even now, as he stood looking at the left side, he felt tremors moving beneath his feet. The foundation was shaking, the after effects rippling throughout the entire building.

  You’re close to the edge, Christian thought.

  There’s time yet. You only need a few more hours. Less than 24.

  Christian went to the staircase and started ascending. The apparitions weren’t here, allowing him solitude, which he was grateful for. Any respite from them was always welcome. He climbed carefully, the stairs trembling beneath him—not from his steps, clearly, but from the structural damage already sustained. The structural damage still taking place.

  It’s not going to hold.

  Just a few more hours.

  He stepped slowly, but eventually made it to the top. At one time there had been three people standing at the balcony—his mother, Veronica, and Tommy. Now, those statues were broken, in pieces on the floor. Their life like faces nothing more than shattered rock lying in a pile before Christian. He looked down at them for a second, but couldn’t stare too long. He couldn’t handle it; Tommy’s eyes staring back at him were too much.

  He walked further onto Luke’s floor, the place built years ago—revealing the evil inside someone he once thought his friend. The huge painting still hung above, though even its glory was largely diminished. Large swaths of canvas had been ripped off by the building’s constant shaking and crumbling, leaving it in tatters. The eyes were still intact, however, and they followed Christian as he walked through the maze.

  The walls were cracking, the digital displays no longer working. No holograms leapt out from them, the entire place nearly defunct. Christian wandered through it, not glancing left or right. He was heading to the back, where the television sat.

  The high-backed chair he had always used still waited for him.

  He sat down on it. A long, jagged crack ran through the television’s screen. The rabbit ears on top were destroyed, one bent and the other broken off completely. Christian just stared at it, unsure if it would turn on. He’d never controlled this TV as he did the rest of the mansion.

  It took a few minutes, but Christian didn’t move. He sat and waited, hoping that something might happen. Eventually, it did.

  Chapter 5

  Christian is in the cathedral, the one that Luke burned down. He does not know if it actually exists, if the rebuild was ever completed. But, he stands in it now.

  He’s at the front doors and Luke is down the main aisle, standing at the pulpit. He’s behind a podium, as if ready to deliver a sermon.

  “My brother,” Luke says. “Thank you for coming to church today. I know that it’s not easy to make it here, especially not right now, given what’s going on in your head. The cracking of your underlying psychological makeup, the destruction of your life, the death of your loved ones. All of those things should keep you out of church, but yet here you are.”

  “Here I am,” Christian whispers.

  “Come, come to the pulpit and pray with me, my brother.”

  Christian is in control of his mouth, but now his legs take over, and he walks down the aisle. Empty church pews sit on either side of him. The lights above are dim, the room illuminated by a hundred candles burning behind Luke.

  Christian stops walking just in front of the chancel.

  “Thank you, brother. For everything you’ve done.” Luke steps around from the podium so that he stands in front of Christian. He is on a raised platform, standing three feet higher
, and he looks down as Christian looks up. “For everything that you will do, as well. Come, let us take communion.”

  Luke offers a hand and Christian watches as his own hand extends and grasps it. He is lifted up onto the platform.

  “Come, over here.”

  Christian follows Luke across the platform to a small table. A golden chalice and plate sit on it. Luke picks up the plate which holds small, unleavened crackers. He takes one and hands it to Christian.

  “Jesus broke bread and told his disciples, ‘take this, all of you, eat it; this is my body which will be given to you.’”

  Christian takes the bread from Luke’s hand and looks at it. He sees Luke taking his own piece, then placing it on his tongue. “Eat Christian. Eat the body of Christ. Eat my body, as we will all be one very soon.”

  Christian eats the cracker.

  Luke next grabs the chalice.

  “When supper was ended, Jesus took the cup. He said, take this, all of you, and drink from it. This is the cup of my blood. The blood of the new everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and me, so that sins no longer exist. So that we are fully free.”

  Luke stops speaking, though Christian knows he has bastardized the liturgy. He should have said: it will be shed for you and for many, so that sins may be forgiven. Do this in remembrance of me.

  The chalice is offered and Christian finds that he has control of his body. He looks up at Luke, whose brown eyes shine back.

  “We are fully free. Take the covenant, Christian.”

  Christian nods, a slight acknowledgement. He gently grasps the chalice and brings the red liquid to his lips, pausing to breathe it in. It does not smell of wine, but of blood—coppery, metallic.