by David Beers
How are you doing? I’m including my address with this letter, and I do hope that you write back. I think there is much we could talk about. It’s been two months since I arrived in South Dakota; what has happened to you during that time? What is going on inside your mansion? Is it still empty, or has it begun to fill? Are your apparitions populating it?
I think I would have heard if something happened to you, but even so, I must hope that you’re still here on this Earth. I have sacrificed much for us to reach this point, and there is yet more sacrifice to come, I think.
Write back, Christian. Let us palaver.
Yours,
Luke Titan
Dear Christian,
My first letter has gone unanswered, but I am not one to be deterred easily. So, I will write once more in hopes that you may hear my call. I am calling on you, Christian, yet again. You should answer. For everyone’s sake, most of all your own.
I pass my days thinking and meditating. I spend an hour in recreation, and I do try to make good use of it. I do not want my body weakening while here.
The meditation is helpful. It’s bringing me closer to God, and I think that may frighten him some. I know that he looks down on what I’ve done, yet wonders how one man could achieve so much. I don’t think he’s omnipotent, because if he was, certainly my brother would have lived rather than put the world through this. Put his own kingdom at risk.
I know that you’re alive as your legal problems have reached my ears. Senator Robert Franklin has charged you with perjury, based on Waverly’s own testimony at my trial. It’s hard to find a better example of irony. Do they still consider you a hero, a fallen hero, or have you turned into a villain in the public’s eye? Have you spoken to Waverly about these things? Did he know what would happen to you when he made his own deal?
He most likely thought that his testimony would help get me the death penalty.
No one saw you coming, though. You were the wild card. They had you and Waverly lined up, but when you turned, much of their case was destroyed.
I saw you, though, Christian. Almost from the first moment we spoke.
I still see you, more clearly than anyone else in this life, and you know that.
How is Veronica? Have the doctors at her own asylum been able to help pull her from the psychosis I shoved her in? Do you think back on her smile, with that knife poised over her throat? Do you wish that you had gone through with it, had killed me? I imagine you do. What kind of life is she living now, anyway? Being fed pills twice a day and walking around numb. Remember her smile, Christian. Remember how ready she was to drag that blade across her own neck. That was happiness, Christian. Happiness that you denied her … and yourself.
Answer me, Christian. Our time is not yet done. Not if you and I are both still breathing, which we are. Our end has not yet arrived, despite what you may believe. The best is yet to come.
Yours,
Luke Titan
Letters from a Troubled Soul
Luke,
Always so great with your words. Shakespeare would be jealous.
You know what is happening in my head. There’s no need to type it out here.
Let me be clear. All I want from and for you, is that you die in your 10x10 cell. Can you do that for me?
Fuck you,
Christian
Chapter 13
“How’s today going?” Christian asked.
“It’s going. How about you?”
Christian was staring out the window, looking at the peaceful garden just outside the asylum. “I suppose the same.”
He and Veronica sat at a table next to the large window, their chairs turned so they partly faced the garden.
“Do you want to talk about the perjury charge?”
“There’s not much to talk about right now. The lawyers are dealing with it all. I don’t ask questions. They tell me what I need to know.”
Veronica was quiet and Christian didn’t break the silence.
“I’m getting better,” she said after a few minutes.
“I know. I can tell.”
“I’m remembering things. Not everything, not nearly, but some. I’m starting to make decisions, which feels odd. I appreciate you coming here every week, Christian, I really do, but I want to ask you something.”
Christian’s lips tightened, turning nearly to lines. He knew the question she was going to ask. Christian had known that if she continued recovering, she would eventually want to know the answer, and even so, he’d kept coming to see her—every week for the past three months.
“Why didn’t you check me into a hospital, Christian? Why did you keep me with you for so long? I know that Luke programmed me to act normally when I was being questioned by the FBI. But you knew the truth. You knew what really happened, and yet, you didn’t get me help. You left me … in that state. A zombie. Why?”
Christian didn’t look over at her, but he knew she was about to cry. No tears filled his own eyes, though. The other was outside in the garden, rooting around in the dirt. Christian didn’t know what he was doing—rarely did he understand that anymore—but he was working so hard blood was sprinkling the yellow flowers next to him.
The other was crying. Veronica was nearly crying. Only Christian was dry eyed.
“Christian?” she asked.
“You know the answer.”
“No, I don’t.”
Christian wondered where the mouth was, what it was doing.
“Because I knew that to find Luke, I would need you.”
“And you brought me to that church because you knew he’d only show if I was there?”
“Yes.” Christian nodded.
“I don’t want to see you anymore, Christian. Please don’t come here.”
She was crying now and Christian didn’t need to turn his head to know it.
“Okay,” he said.
“You’re not the person I fell in love with. You’re nothing like that man. You resemble more of Luke now, than the person I knew.”
Christian nodded, understanding her words were true.
“Just go. Just get the fuck out,” she said.
Christian stood from his chair. The other hadn’t moved, but was still digging around in the garden, tossing dirt and plants alike behind him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No you’re not,” Veronica said. “You don’t feel sorrow for anyone anymore. Only yourself and those poor creatures you live with. Now leave, and don’t ever come back.”
Christian was preparing for his suicide, even if no one else knew it. He’d kept going to see Veronica every week as a penance of sorts, waiting for the exact question she ended up asking. Once she had cast her judgment, he knew that he could walk away. She hated him, and that was what he needed.
The next, and final, meeting was with his mother.
He showed up at her house the next Sunday.
She opened the door and the mouth floated right by her, going inside the house.
“This is where you grew up, Christian? Homey,” it said.
“Hey, sweetie,” his mother said, reaching for him without hesitation and hugging him hard. Christian let her, wrapping his own arms around her in return. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Me too,” he said, and though he heard her tears, there were none in his eyes.
What have I become? he wondered.
He heard no answer.
She led him inside the house and took him to the kitchen. Food sat on the counter—potato salad, a pot roast, macaroni and cheese … the list went on but Christian looked away. A plate was already prepared for him and sitting at the table.
“Come on and eat,” she said. “There’s plenty of time to talk, but eat first.”
Christian did as she wished. He owed her at least that, though in reality, so much more than he could ever repay. He sat, and ate, and they did it mostly in silence. Christian found himself to be hungrier than he thought; he hadn’t realized how much he missed hi
s mother’s cooking.
Finally, the meal finished, he leaned back in his chair.
“Hey,” he said.
“This your old room?” the mouth called from the back hallway.
“Hey,” his mother said kindly. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay,” he lied.
“That Senator Franklin. I call his office every day, Christian. I call and I call and I call, because he’s going to know what I think about all this nonsense.”
“It’s okay, Mom. You don’t need to call. It’ll all work itself out shortly.”
“I want you to know that I think you did the right thing. You were looking out for your friend, who when he did what he did, was just looking out for you.”
Christian nodded. “I know.”
“Good. Now, how long can you stay?”
Christian’s plans weren’t set in stone, but he did want to follow some sort of timeline. He was going out into the woods, perhaps to a rented cabin, and would kill himself there. Alone and away from everyone. Senator Franklin could worry himself into an ulcer trying to figure out where he disappeared to.
Christian smiled, thinking about how the man would look fretting in his office with papers surrounding him.
“What’s funny?” his mom asked.
“Nothing, sorry … I, umm, I hadn’t thought about it. I could stay a few days, I guess?”
“I’d love that,” she said.
They spent the next two days discussing nothing important. Christian felt his mind slipping gears, but that was continual. He did his best to hide it from his mom and if she noticed, she was polite about it. Not saying anything, but just letting the two of them be in the moment.
They hung out around the house. They went on walks. They went grocery shopping at the end of the second day. They, for the most part, acted as if nothing had happened the past half decade. Just a mother and her son on a staycation together.
Until the second night.
It came after dinner, and Christian supposed she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She’d done much better than he thought she would—but that was only him underestimating her. His mother had always been as many steps ahead of him as Luke. Because she knew him, through and through.
Her back was turned to him as she washed the dishes. He sat at the table, his mostly empty plate in front of him.
“Are you thinking about suicide, Christian?” she asked.
Christian looked at her back. He hadn’t expected her to outright ask him. In many ways, his mother understood Christian better than he did himself. He had always been delicate, and she always knew how to maneuver around his frailties.
Yet, standing in the kitchen, she’d simply asked.
“You can answer me truthfully. I know you’re not the boy I raised or the man I knew. I hate it worse than I will ever be able to explain, but that’s the way life is. I didn’t get to choose your father’s death and I don’t get to choose your life either. You did a lot of good while you were here, but … I don’t know. I’m rambling. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about this, and you’re here now, and … I don’t know.”
The two of them were silent. His mother continued washing dishes and he stared at the kitchen table.
“Yes,” Christian said after a few minutes. “I’m going to.”
Another few seconds passed with only the sound of water splashing gently on dishes.
“Will you tell me why?”
“I’ll try.” He looked up and over to her. “There’s a huge mouth floating above your head. No, don’t look up. You can’t see it. It’s made of shadows, and they’re constantly swirling around inside it, creating it. The lips are fat and black. Its teeth are jagged, like mountain peaks. It’s not talking right now, just grinning at me while I describe what it looks like … I think it likes when I talk about it.”
“You’re … seeing this right now?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Do you see it all the time?”
“Pretty much. There’s another one, too. What I described to Luke back in that storage unit with Speckle. They come and go, but they mostly just stay now.”
“We can get you help,” his mother said.
Christian shook his head. “No. There’s no help for this, Mom.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. The only person that could help is locked up in a cell, and the only way to help is to put me next to him. Not inside a cell, but actually next to him, Mom. Luke’s the only one who brings peace, because my psyche is so interwoven with his now.” Christian sighed. His mother stopped with the dishes and turned around to look at him. “There’s nothing else I can do.”
There were tears in his mother’s eyes. “I don’t believe that, Christian. I refuse to believe it. You’re giving up and you don’t know that you have to yet. Have you tried getting help? Have you tried talking to someone?”
Christian nodded, thinking about Dr. Hinson. “An FBI shrink.”
“What about Melissa? Why don’t you go back to her?”
Christian hadn’t thought about his first psychiatrist in a long time. But, no, he wouldn’t be going back to her. He wouldn’t ask Melissa to take on this after so many years. He shook his head.
“Then what do you mean, when you say it goes away when you’re around Luke?” his mother asked.
“The apparitions. The other and the mouth. They’re no longer around. I … my personality is changing, Mom. The things that they think and say, I never used to consider. It was literally like I was having a conversation with someone else. Now, I find myself thinking and saying the same things they do. It’s like this huge split in my mind is finally melding together. I’m becoming them.”
“And when Luke is around you, those things disappear? Your personality returns?”
He nodded. “But it’s not possible to be around him. Not anymore.” He looked down to his feet. “There’s nothing else I can do. I just wanted to come here one last time. I wanted to see you and say I’m sorry for everything.”
“The hell there’s not anything you can do. We’re going to see Titan, and we’ll figure out what else we need to do after, but I’m not going to stand here and listen to you talk about killing yourself. Let me get packed.”
Christian’s head jerked up, but his mother was already walking out of the kitchen.
He stood, following her into the hallway.
“Mom, no. What are you talking about? We’re not going to visit Luke.”
She didn’t even slow, just turned right into her room. “Yes we are!”
Christian hustled down the hall, stepping into the doorway. “Mom, I’m not letting you get near him. I’m not putting anyone else near him, ever again. I’m not going near him. You think I haven’t considered it? He still writes me letters. He wants me to come. He’s insane, Mom! He still thinks he can accomplish this quest of his, to overthrow some nonexistent goddamn God! We’re not going there. You’re not going. I’m not going. I’ve decided.”
Christian’s mother pulled a suitcase from the upper level of her closet. She carried it out and flopped it on the bed, then went back to the closet. “Where’s he at again? I think I read South Dakota. What’s the weather like there this time of year?”
She started pulling out clothing and placing it inside the suitcase.
The other approached Christian, stepping up to the doorframe. A drop of blood stained the white carpet. “It’s not a bad idea, you know? Going to him.”
“I agree!” the mouth called from down the hall. “We go see Luke; we can have some fun. You’ve been trying to control this too much.”
“I like being around him,” the other said. “I feel better.”
And Christian did, too. He hated that fact and everything about the man, but when next to him, his brain finally felt like it wasn’t melding into some unholy creation.
“We all like being around him,” the mouth said. “Christian’s just a control freak. He’s a fucking party poope
r, truth be told.”
“Mom,” Christian said, an edge to his voice, though whether from her or the stress the apparitions were placing on him, he didn’t know. “I’m not going to see Luke. That’s final.”
“You need to go pack,” she said as she moved to her sock drawer. “I won’t be waiting for you. I’ll go see him without you.”
Suddenly the mouth was right behind Christian, bigger than the doorway and floating in the hall. “Go to him, Christian. Use her as an excuse to go, if you need, but go.”
You’re free.
“Luke was right,” the other said. “You are free. Let’s go see him. Let’s hear what he has to say.”
Christian stared at his mother, trying to fight the thoughts. They were evil things, discussing using his mother to accomplish his goals. To use her as an excuse to go see him? Christian didn’t need any excuse—
“You do. Or else you’ll kill yourself. It’s okay. Everyone uses someone, at least sometimes,” the mouth said.
“Go on, Christian,” his mother said. “Go make sure you have everything ready to go. We’re not wasting time on this trip.”
“Yes. Let’s get packed,” the other said.
The mouth nodded up and down, though it remained silent.
Christian turned from the room, going to gather his things.
Chapter 14
Edward Canonine was 46 years old when Luke Titan came into his life. He didn’t know at the time, of course, that Titan would ensure he never saw 47. Had Edward known, he probably would not have been excited about Titan’s arrival at his hospital. He probably would have asked anyone and everyone that Titan be housed elsewhere. Unfortunately for Edward, some things just can’t be known before they happen.
Edward Canonine was a doctor, as well as the Director of The Steven P. Cowan Memorial Hospital.
Edward refused to think of the place as an insane asylum, though some of his relatives called it that. They would sit around the dinner table at holidays and say, “Eddie, tell us something crazy from the asylum.”
