The Titan_The Luke Titan Chronicles

by David Beers

  Both were fine with it.

  At the end of the day, as the sun approached the horizon, they stopped. Again, they gathered wood and brought out their small rations for food.

  The fire was started and the food prepared. They ate and then sat in silence once more.

  “Did you dream last night?” Luke asked.

  Christian was quiet for a time before answering. “I don’t know if I dream anymore.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Christian looked up from the fire. He wondered if he should try hiding something from the man in front of him. Both of them had kept so many secrets for so many years, each trying to outmaneuver the other. And now, Christian felt an urge to hide this as well—almost instinctual, because Luke’s essence seemed so diametrically opposed to his own.

  Was it though?

  Luke let the silence play out as Christian’s mind wound to a conclusion, not offering help nor posing more questions.

  Are we so different? he asked himself. And if not, why hide it?

  “I don’t want to tell you,” Christian finally said, “though I’m not sure that’s the correct way to feel anymore.”

  “Tell me about that then, why you think hiding things is no longer necessary.”

  “What’s the point? We’re here. What you said would happen, has happened. The troubles plaguing my mind have stopped, and I can’t sit here trying to deny it’s because I’m next to you. Hiding things now … maybe we’re just beyond it.”

  “So tell me, what happens when you sleep. Do you see your mansion?”

  “It’s there, but I can’t go inside.”

  “You’re outside?”

  Christian nodded.

  “What’s around you?”

  “Endless fields. I think they were green once, but now they’re mostly dead. Dust has eaten away a lot of the grass.”

  “What else?”

  “There’s a storm coming,” Christian said. “The rain hasn’t cracked through yet, but lightning and thunder cover everything. The lightning strikes both the ground and the sky. It’s like there’s something behind the sky, something the lightning might be able to break through to, if it continues.”

  Luke nodded. “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You do,” Luke said. “You already know everything needed, Christian. You just won’t let yourself see it. You’re almost there, though. I know that you’ve been scared of your mansion before. Are you scared of this field, of this storm?”

  Christian shook his head.

  “You shouldn’t be.”

  Another long silence passed between the two.

  “When do we head back?” Christian asked.

  “When you’re ready.”

  “Our food won’t last forever.”

  “God will provide,” Luke said with a small grin.

  “I want to go back tomorrow. I want some time alone. Maybe take a six hour head start, and I’ll come after.”

  Luke said nothing, only looked at Christian. There was no need to wonder if he would actually return. Luke mainly looked on because he enjoyed the way the fire cast shadows across Christian’s face.

  After a few minutes he said, “That’s fine. Are you ready for bed?”

  “If I do this, Luke, what happens after? Where do we go once I murder everyone I love?”

  “Wherever we want,” Luke said. “There is time for everything in life. And in the end, we will find ourselves at God’s door, and we will knock it down and demand he step from his throne. That’s why we’re here. I’m coming to believe that’s why we met in the first place. Your mother’s death won’t be in vain. Neither will mine, or my brother’s.”

  “I’m going to bed.”

  “Sleep well,” Luke said.

  Luke woke before dawn and packed in silence. Christian slept through it all. When Luke had his bag on, he stood above Christian for a few minutes, looking down at him. He’d once thought of him as a boy—until he stuck a knife through his face and Christian came after him with a fury Luke hadn’t thought he possessed. After that, Luke considered him a man.

  They had a two day hike back to the building. There were four people waiting on them to return; there would be necessities to take care of, but for the most part, the four should be ready for what came next.

  First a boy, then a man, and in two day’s time, Luke would finally see the person now sleeping before him as an equal.

  “I’m glad we did this,” he whispered, and then walked out into the desert alone.

  Christian awoke and packed, though without Luke’s elegant silence. He put on his hat and sunscreen, then followed the footsteps that still existed in the sand. As Christian walked, he could see Luke much of the time, further ahead. He never stopped nor slowed, and didn’t even appear to turn around and check on Christian.

  Christian had stood beneath the stormy sky the night before, though his thoughts didn’t turn to that on the walk back. He knew that whatever happened in his mind would happen regardless of his consideration.

  He focused on the first question Luke told him he needed to answer: why was suicide no longer a viable option?

  He walked all day, mulling it over, and at night he slept. He ate the last of his rations cold, not building a fire. He could see Luke’s fire in the distance, burning brightly. Christian went to bed even though Luke was still up, watching the flames.

  He slept and ventured into his wide open mind, where the storm grew larger and larger. Christian didn’t know when the rain would break, only that it would.

  He awoke the next morning and packed once again. Luke was further along, obviously having woken much earlier than Christian.

  It didn’t matter; they were both heading to the same place. Luke might arrive first, but Christian would get there eventually, just as he always did.

  Waverly stared at the door in front of him; he’d been doing it for hours on end. Days had passed, he was sure of that. Thank God plumbing had been installed in here, because it would have reeked to high heaven by now if not.

  He still had food and water, but supplies were running low. Luke had placed it all in the corner of the tiny room he now occupied, then left a knife next to Waverly’s foot.

  “You won’t be able to escape,” he had said. “Go ahead and free yourself when you’re ready. We’ll be back.”

  Waverly knew Luke was telling the truth. He wouldn’t be able to get out, but he tried anyway. He kicked at the heavy door separating him from the outer hallway. Kicked until his knee and calf ached for hours after. He tried using the knife to get through the deadbolt, realizing quickly that he would break it if he continued.

  And then, Waverly had sat down and stared at the damn door. He wasn’t going to risk destroying the only weapon he possessed on a hopeless effort. He would wait until Luke returned and then do whatever he could to shove it into the man’s chest.

  At times he wondered if Luke would ever return, thinking perhaps the most appropriate ending to Luke’s empty quest was that they all rotted away in here after starving to death, and Christian died a meaningless death in the desert.

  When Waverly heard someone on the other side of the door, he understood all of those thoughts had been ridiculous. Luke held meaning above all else, and to rot inside this cell would not rise to his level of meaning.

  “Director Waverly, it’s me,” Luke said from the other side of the door. “I know that out of everyone in this place, you’re the one most likely to try and kill me when I open this door. I want to assure you that is a very, very bad idea. I’d appreciate it if you would place the knife down and step back against the opposite wall. Does that sound amenable?”

  Waverly was on his feet and gripping the knife hard in his right hand. He was positioned low next to the door. When it opened, he would lunge forward, and dig the knife into whatever part of Luke he could find. He knew he had to be quick—he also knew how fast Luke was. He would have one chance and most like
ly he’d die trying, but that was much better than whatever else might come after.

  “I’m entering, Alan. Please be civil.”

  The lock turned in the door. Waverly hugged the wall, trying to keep himself as hidden as possible until the last moment.

  The door opened an inch, then two, then three …

  Waverly rushed forward.

  The door opened wide just as he did, his head up and the knife out, ready to cut whatever it could.

  He barely saw the movement around him.

  Luke stepped back like a graceful dancer, his fist coming down on the back of Waverly’s head. Waverly’s knife flailed outward, but Luke dodged it as if Waverly was but a child.

  Luke’s hand darted out twice, and Waverly knew immediately how overmatched he was. Pain opened up in his right leg; he looked down and saw blood already staining his pants. He collapsed to the ground, his hands grasping at the two wounds deep in the meat of his leg.

  He saw Luke through squinted eyes.

  “I tried telling you.”

  Luke brought his boot’s heel down on Waverly’s face. There was an audible crunch, and then only blackness.

  Luke had figured something like this would happen, which was why he went to Waverly’s room with a knife instead of a gun. The knife could be precise in ways the gun couldn’t.

  Luke left Waverly with a knife for that exact reason. He wanted to create some pain for the Director. He could have cut the man’s tape himself before going into the desert with Christian, but then Waverly wouldn’t have tried attacking him.

  The Director’s wounds weren’t life threatening, but it would keep him immobilized, even if he somehow could free himself from the restraints. Luke spent an hour tending to the wounds in Waverly’s leg, leaving the other three guests to continue entertaining themselves. He didn’t do anything extensive with the wounds, only staunched the bleeding and sanitized the area a bit. It would have been pointless to spend a lot of time, given that his fate was nearly here.

  He didn’t bother at all with Waverly’s broken nose, neither setting it nor trying to open up his nasal passages. The man could breathe through his mouth for the rest of his short life.

  Luke bound him with tape, then laid him on his back in the main room downstairs. The survivalists who built this place hadn’t been concerned much with what was above ground. Below was what they had really wanted. There were five rooms, a large kitchen, and what appeared to be a living room. A primitive plumbing system existed, as well as a stove and oven.

  He went to the other three rooms and offered them all the same warning he’d given Waverly. He had freed the rest before leaving with Christian, not giving them a knife to use against him—but still, they may have believed their only chance of escape was to attack on his return.

  They hadn’t yet grasped that they would never escape.

  None did attack, though. He led all three from their rooms to the main room, and asked them to sit in the chairs around Waverly. The Director was still unconscious, and the other guests gasped when first seeing him.

  “I promise, he received the same warning you all did. He decided not to take it. Don’t worry too much. He is in pain, but his wounds aren’t life threatening.”

  Luke looked over the four, only one of them bound.

  “I’m going to leave you all free to move. Christian is on his way back. I expect him to return around nightfall. You can go anywhere you’d like down here, so long as you don’t try venturing upstairs. If you do, I will tie you as I have the Director.”

  “What’s going to happen to me?” Canonine asked.

  “I’ve told you, that will be up to Christian.”

  “What about the rest of us?” Mrs. Windsor said.

  Luke looked at the woman. “Christian will decide all of our fates.”

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  “He’s thinking.”

  “Did you hurt him?”

  “No.”

  The woman stared at Luke, trying to figure out if he was telling the truth.

  “I’ll return when Christian does. Please remember that my kindness only extends so far. Unless you want to end up like Director Waverly here, I recommend not attempting to escape.”

  Christian stood 500 yards from the single story structure. He stopped and pulled out the last of his water from his backpack. He’d managed to ration it well, but now drank the remaining few sips. He didn’t feel fear as he looked at the building; truly, he felt very little.

  He put the water bottle back in his pack and started walking. It didn’t take him long to complete the final distance, and as he walked up to the building, Luke stepped outside.

  “Everyone inside is fine,” he said. “Would you like to sleep tonight and finish this tomorrow, or would you like to continue?”

  Christian hadn’t thought about exactly what would happen when he arrived. He’d been so lost in thought—the questions Luke had asked—that actually arriving hadn’t entered his mind. He looked down at his tanning skin and realized that he was tired. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, given how far he had walked, but his mind had simply been too busy.

  “Sleep would be good,” he said.

  “Okay. I’ll leave the upstairs to you. I’ll stay down below with the rest. Your bed is made and there is some food in the main room. If you need anything, just come downstairs.”

  The words, the thought behind them, were all of a kindness Luke hadn’t shown before. Not to Christian, nor anyone else that he knew of.

  “Okay,” was all Christian managed.

  Luke turned around and led him into the building.

  “Is there anything you need right now?”

  Christian turned to the window and saw the setting sun, sending shadows as well as bright, brilliant oranges across the landscape. He hadn’t noticed it on his walk home. The entire world could have ended while Christian was in the desert, and he couldn’t have been bothered.

  But what did you discover, Christian? What do you know now that you didn’t before you left?

  He wasn’t sure he knew anything more, that perhaps he went out into that desert and came back as empty as he’d left. Even without the apparitions haunting him day and night, he was still lost.

  But that’s not true, he thought. You’re found now, and you know it. By the grace of Luke, you’ve been found.

  Drink my blood.

  Take my covenant.

  “I’m okay,” he said. Luke still stared at him, but had offered no follow up question during the silence. “Just sleep.”

  “Okay. I’ll be downstairs if you need something.” Luke stepped next to Christian so that they both stared out the window together. “Are you ready for this?”

  Christian watched the sun inch down. “Yes,” he said, finally feeling that he was. No dead people stood around him, nor any figments of his imagination. No one telling him which way to turn or what to believe. It was he and Luke and the setting sun.

  Perhaps it had always been so.

  “Good,” Luke said.

  He turned around. Christian listened as he walked down the steps that led to the basement, then heard him pull the door close over him. Christian was alone.

  He pulled a chair up to the window and watched the sun finish its descent.

  Christian heard another chair being moved behind him. He didn’t turn to look. No one had come from beneath the floor, so whoever carried the chair was already a part of Christian. Perhaps Luke had managed to help shove them away for a while, but not forever. Not until tomorrow—then whoever carried that chair would no longer haunt him.

  It was Tommy. He sat down and stared out at the moonlit night.

  “He’s downstairs, isn’t he?” Tommy asked.

  Christian nodded, his head just able to be seen in the room’s darkness. No overhead lights were on, the only illumination coming from outside.

  “Did he finally win?”

  “I think so,” Christian answered.

  “How?”<
br />
  “He doesn’t quit.”

  “Neither did we,” Tommy said. “So that’s not the truth.”

  Christian knew he was right. He didn’t feel the fear or disorientation that he had on the trip here. Calm permeated the conversation, as if both Tommy and he were content with everything around them.

  “I guess he was always right, Tommy. I guess he and I were meant for each other.”

  “There,” Tommy said. “That’s the truth. Just don’t lie to me.”

  The two were silent for a while and then Tommy stood up. “There may be more answers, if you’re willing to look for them.” Christian didn’t turn as his dead friend talked, but kept staring out at the darkness. “Time is short, though, so if you’re not, it’s probably best to just put all of this behind you.”

  Christian listened as he dragged the chair back across the room, placing it in its original spot.

  Christian sat alone, minutes turning into hours, and as he finally grew tired, he went to the back bedroom. He lay down on the makeshift bed and fell immediately asleep.

  The rain began falling. Slowly at first, tiny drops hitting Christian’s skin. It felt cold, but refreshing. He lay on the ground, the miniature house behind him.

  He closed his eyes and let the rainfall come.

  To cleanse or drown, he didn’t know.

  Luke pushed on the door from beneath the floor. It lifted easily, and with one arm holding it, he continued walking up the stairs until he could place it on the ground.

  Christian was awake, standing at the room’s single window. Luke knew the sun had risen an hour before, but he’d given Christian some time to be alone. Today was it, what they’d both traveled so far to arrive at.

  “Everything is ready,” Luke said.

  Christian nodded, but said nothing.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They stood in silence for a few seconds, Luke judging how prepared Christian was.

  “Do you feel okay?”

  “I feel like I’m drowning,” he said.

  That would work. Luke expected as much. “You won’t have to worry about that in a little while, Christian. You’re nearly there. Do you feel it?”