by David Beers
“Yes. Yes. Where are you?”
Waverly stood up without realizing it. “What are you?”
“I’m not sure. Not 100%. I don’t know a lot right now. I’m in trouble, Waverly. I’m in real, real trouble. I need your help.”
“Have you been watching the news, Christian?” Waverly asked.
“I can’t watch anything right now. I can’t really even open my eyes.”
Waverly had heard this tone in his voice before, though perhaps never so … stressed. He sounded like his body was being pulled apart limb by limb, and if he spoke too loudly, whoever was doing the pulling would finally snap everything off.
“You’re almost a wanted man,” Waverly whispered, unknowingly mimicking Christian. “Franklin says you helped Luke escape.”
“I … uhh … Who’s Franklin?”
Waverly wanted to say, the fucking guy who is making sure you get prosecuted for perjury. But he knew it wouldn’t matter. If Christian was being truthful here—and the sound of his voice said he was—then Christian was too far gone for Waverly’s words to matter.
“Where are you?”
“I … I don’t know. There’s a name on the phone. Hold on.”
Waverly waited, worried about the fear he heard in Christian’s voice.
“The Bell Inn. That’s the name on it.”
“Where the hell is that, Christian?” Waverly asked.
“I’m in South Dakota, I think. Probably near the asylum.”
“Christ. Did you … Did you help Luke escape?”
There was silence on the line and that’s all Waverly needed to hear. Now the question was, would he help someone who was twice a criminal?
The answer wasn’t difficult. Christian had sat in front of a congressional committee and lied for Waverly, so at least one of those criminal offenses could be laid at his feet.
“Okay. Stay where you are. Don’t leave. It’ll take me a few hours. Maybe as much as a day, but I’ll come to you.”
“Hurry,” Christian said and it sounded like he might be crying. “Please hurry.”
Chapter 22
“What are you doing?” Edward asked.
It was the first question he’d asked since they arrived. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been here, but this morning’s breakfast brought him back to reality some. Edward wasn’t sure how many days it’d been since he’d seen Karen’s head twisted around on her body; he’d been living in a daze without realizing it.
Not a daze. Post traumatic stress.
It didn’t matter, even if his psychiatrist’s mind wanted to correct him. The point was, he didn’t know where he was or what had been happening. He’d been lost again, going in and out, and only now realized he’d been staring at Titan for the past half hour.
The man hadn’t moved.
Where they sat now was simple enough. Three foldout tables sat edge to edge, going the length of the room. It looked as if the room had once been a meeting place of some kind, though there were only two chairs at the tables now. Luke sat at the other end, watching the wall.
“I’m mapping out the country,” Luke said in answer to his question.
“What do you mean?”
Luke didn’t look over to him, didn’t break his glance at all. “There are certain people located in a few different states, and I’m trying to understand how long it will take to bring them here.”
Edward didn’t understand; he didn’t know if it was because of the shock or if Titan simply wasn’t making sense.
“Who?” It was all he knew to ask.
“There aren’t that many people left, to be honest. Christian has proven to be a most resilient character, though I think he is finally winding down. The internal mechanism in him that holds him together, keeps the edges from fraying too much, is finally snapping.”
Edward was quiet. He didn’t think Titan knew how completely insane he sounded, but Edward certainly wouldn’t be the person to tell him.
“What ….” His voice caught in this throat, causing a slight hiccup at the end of his word. He swallowed and tried to regain some composure. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“You shouldn’t ask questions that you don’t want the answer to, Dr. Canonine.”
“I—I—I want to know,” he said.
“You’re going to die,” Titan said.
“Why?” Edward asked. He didn’t want to cry, but he couldn’t help the feelings rising in him. For days now, he’d been unable to feel anything, and the first moment he felt like talking, he’d been told he would die.
“Would you rather live?” Titan asked.
“Yes.”
“I could probably make that happen, though much depends on what Christian does. We’re dealing with a genius, Dr. Canonine, one that the world probably hasn’t encountered before. However, he’s a very volatile genius right now. Even if I wanted to keep you alive, he might make that impossible.”
“No,” Edward said. “I know Windsor. I know Christian. He won’t hurt me.”
Titan shook his head. “The person you knew doesn’t exist anymore. Or, if he does, it’s a very small, and shrinking, portion of the overall person. Plus, what I’m going to have him do will clear him completely away. It won’t give me a blank slate, per se, but it will give me someone without inhibitions.”
Edward again didn’t know what he was talking about. Inhibition or prohibition, none of it made a single difference. Edward just wanted to live.
“Don’t worry, Dr. Canonine. If you want to live, I will try to make that happen. Now, please, be quiet, I need to finish plotting this out.”
What Luke saw in front of him would have been incredible to anyone else, but to him it was simply how life would unfold.
He stared at the wall, as Canonine saw, but what the doctor couldn’t see was the map. It was layered over the wall, the east coast large against the tanned brick. Luke saw three red dots, imagining this might be close to what happened in Christian’s mind. The visuals, at least. Luke understood he would never be able to replicate Christian’s genius, though he held no jealousy about it. He was doing this to understand the exact task he was giving Christian. The man was wanted now—for questioning at least—and travel wouldn’t be easy for him. It might be impossible if he didn’t do the most logical thing Luke could think of.
Get Waverly to help him.
That would eliminate one target, thus only three dots were on the map.
One in New York. The Senator.
One in D.C.. Ms. Lopez.
One in Georgia. Christian’s mother.
And then Waverly.
And of course, Christian himself.
Christian would travel by road, most likely starting in the upper east of the country, and then moving down. He would pick up three people, and then he’d bring them all west.
Waverly was a wild card; Luke didn’t know exactly how he’d react to the entire plan. Christian wouldn’t have a choice though, and he’d know that by now. If he didn’t do as Luke asked, he would finally fall apart.
Christian could decide how he dealt with Alan Waverly. Luke didn’t care if the man died once he reached the desert, or if he died on the way. All that mattered was he died.
Luke had thought extensively over what happened after Tommy. Everything had been planned so carefully, the details only known to him, but each one happening just as he wanted. Yet, in the end, Christian had not ended up sacrificing Veronica. He’d been close, but unable to do it.
Was it futile?
Was what Luke now planned going to fail as well?
This entire thing, this endeavor with Christian, had been an unforeseen addition to Luke’s plan, and after his initial hesitancy, he decided to go for it. He had learned everything he could about the young man who showed up at their FBI division, and used it all against him, to morph him, to change everything about him. Luke had been willing to end his own life, if it meant Christian’s change was complete. It hadn’t been, though. Christian hadn’
t been willing to make the final sacrifice.
And instead of giving up, Luke was going back in. He was doubling down on this man whose psyche was destroyed, yet couldn’t make the final full leap.
What else am I to do? he wondered.
His other option was to go into hiding, to wait, and then find another way to resume his assault on the holy.
No, Christian had changed the path of everything, and now it relied on him. It relied on this final change, his freedom. There was no other option.
So Christian would come, and he’d bring his whole family, and then Luke would either reach his glory or fail.
It was a strange feeling. One he hadn’t experienced in years. His brother had been his last true connection with this world, the last person he cared for at all. The only person he would have changed anything for. Yet, in Christian, he’d found someone else. Sacrifice. That’s what no one saw; Luke had sacrificed, at least as much as anyone else involved in this. Sure, there had been deaths—necessary ones—but Luke had given up his destiny. He’d put it in someone else’s hands: Christian’s. Staring at the map which resided only in his mind, he fully understood that now.
He had to simultaneously save Christian and finish his internal destruction.
The decision had been made, long before Luke ever came to this small building in the desert. Perhaps the moment Christian walked into his life.
Luke blinked and the image in front of his disappeared. No sense thinking about what might have been. The only way to reach God at this point was forward. Next steps.
Contacting Alan Waverly.
Christian heard the knock at the door, bullying him out of the black cave he’d created around himself. He wasn’t in his mansion, but lost some place else in his head. There was only black space around him and he wasn’t exactly conscious, though not asleep either. It was an in-between state, one that kept him from having to live in the real world, but also one that didn’t force him to enter his mansion.
The place was silent and empty, which was all he wanted.
The knock, though, broke it apart, bringing Christian from the black place back to reality. He opened his eyes without knowing the time. The sun appeared to be down outside, the blinds drawn but the room darker than when he first closed his eyes.
“Christian, open up. It’s me. Waverly.”
Another knock.
“Is it—,” Christian tried to call but his voice was too weak. He cleared his throat. “Is it really you?”
He saw the people around him turning, all of them looking toward the door. How many were here now? How many of the dead had come?
“Don’t open it,” he said to them. “Don’t touch the goddamn doorknob.”
None turned to look at him, but none moved forward either.
“Yes! It’s me. Open the door.”
“Prove it’s you!” Christian called.
Silence came from the other side, long seconds of it.
“You weren’t sure if your tie looked right when you first met me.”
Christian closed his eyes, slamming his palms into them. That was true. The damned tie had been a mess and he couldn’t figure out how to get it tied in time. Did that mean this was really Waverly, though? It could be a trick. Just more of the dead trying to get in this goddamn room.
“Christian, if you don’t answer, I’m going to kick in the door. That might get the cops called out here, and if that happens, I’m not going to be able to protect you. So, just come open it.”
Christian swallowed and pulled his hands away from his eyes. It sounded like Waverly.
“What’s a few more dead in here, Windsor?” Bradley said from somewhere in the darkness. “Let one more come in.”
He’s not real, Christian thought. None of them are.
Not true. All of this is real and you created every single bit of it.
Christian put his feet on the floor. A woman was standing next to the bed, the left side of her face burned off. She was missing her left arm too, black burned meat staring out where her shoulder should have been. She stepped aside gently, making room for Christian to stand up.
“What happens to us if it is him?” she asked. Fear lurked in her voice, fear that she might not exist anymore.
She doesn’t exist. It’s in your head.
Not true, and you know it.
He did, too. He knew that these people were as real as the one that might be standing outside the hotel room. They were him and he was them, his actions creating them. He owed every one of them a debt and they would take it, bite by bite.
“CHRISTIAN! STOP FUCKING AROUND!”
Christian moved through the room, his feet taking him past dark shadows that he refused to look at. No one said anything, they simply let him walk by, like the sea parting for Moses.
Christian unhooked the top lock then turned the deadbolt. He pulled the door open, an overhead light from the walkway hurting his eyes. He brought his hand up to shield himself some, trying to peer out into the night.
Alan Waverly stood in front of him and looked differently than Christian had ever seen him before. He wore khaki shorts, tennis shoes, and a polo shirt. His hair was longer, and he had a three day beard. Christian had never seen the man without a suit, a clean shave, and perfect haircut. For a second, Christian stood there slightly amazed, forgetting the horror of his life.
“Are you going to let me in?” Waverly said.
Christian paused for a second. “It’s probably best you don’t. Things … they aren’t safe in here.”
He saw Waverly look over his shoulder; he didn’t know if Waverly could see through the darkness, didn’t know if he could see the dead.
“I don’t think they want you around.”
“Who?” Waverly asked.
“Can we go?”
“Yes. Do you have anything in there you need?”
Only those still devouring me, but I’m sure they’ll follow.
“No,” he said. “I have everything.”
“Let’s go then,” Waverly said. He stepped aside and let Christian walk out. Christian turned as Waverly moved to close the door, peering in.
“Do you see them?” The door was shutting but Christian still saw them, the light from the walkway shining across their burnt and bloodied faces. He saw Lucy standing next to Tommy, twin red throats grinning at him. More stepped forward, not ready to run out, but getting close to it.
The door shut.
“No. There’s nothing in there. Come on,” Waverly said, passing by Christian and ignoring whatever thoughts the question might have brought into his head. The man might be wearing different clothes and have a shaggier haircut, but he was the same person as before. Taking charge when necessary, ready to forge forward when hope looked exhausted.
Christian followed him to the parking lot, where a car was waiting.
Waverly wasn’t staying anywhere near the motel he’d found Christian at. Waverly didn’t have a clue how Christian found that thing. It’d been nothing but a den for prostitutes, pimps, and drug dealers.
Waverly was quiet as they got in the car, simply started it and pulled out of the crumbling parking lot.
They drove for five minutes in silence before Waverly finally asked, “Do you know when we last talked?”
“No.”
“Twenty-four hours ago. Took me a bit to find you, then get a ticket. Have you listened to the news at all?”
“No.”
“It’s not good for you, at all. You’ve been categorized as a person of interest by the FBI. They think you helped Luke escape. You did, didn’t you?”
A long pause was the reply. Waverly didn’t think Christian was going to answer, but he finally said, “I think so. Yes.”
“Fucking Christ. Do you know what happened before he left?”
“I saw some of it when I woke up.”
“Yeah, he killed a lot of people. Not everyone that worked there, but a lot. The doctor in charge, I don’t remember his name, he’s
missing too. They think Luke has him. They think you’re with him.”
“Well, I’m not.”
Waverly was silent for a few seconds, ruminating over what he’d just been told. “Why? Why did you do it?”
Christian chuckled, a humorless and raspy sound, like someone shaking two rocks—but at least it wasn’t the high pitched squeal he sometimes made.
“I don’t know. Things don’t make sense anymore. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”
“The right thing to fucking do? Are you joking?”
“No,” Christian said. “That’s what it felt like.”
“Hold on. Why were you there in the first place? Why were you at that asylum? I mean we had him, Christian. He was done. He was trapped forever. They’d poke and prod him with their tests, but he was behind bars until cancer or some other horrible disease got him.”
Christian shook his head. “No. Nothing can hold him. He was going to get out. I think it might have been part of his plan to get caught. I don’t even know if he’s human anymore. He might be beyond us.”
“That’s not true, but none of it matters right now. We’ve got to decide what to do with you. You need help, Christian, and you need to get a lawyer fast.”
“Do you see him?” Christian asked.
“See what?”
“Tommy. He’s in the back seat.”
Waverly’s eyes went to the rearview mirror as a sick, topsy-turvy feeling took hold of his stomach. He saw nothing.
“There’s no one back there.”
“There is. He’s upset that I let Luke go.”
Waverly said nothing, only gripping the wheel tighter.
“I don’t know what to do,” Christian whispered. “He’s talking to me.”
“No one is here but us.”
“He’s saying that I shouldn’t have let you come. You’re not going to help.”
“I’m the only one trying to help you, Christian.”
Christian fell quiet and the two rode in silence for a half hour or so. Waverly was trying to decide what he should do. He wouldn’t simply turn Christian in, not after everything they’d been through. Yet, the man was delusional, at the very least. Waverly was no doctor, but he imagined a lot more was going on besides delusions.
