by David Beers
Bradley's smile widened. He couldn't say anything, though. Not if he wanted to keep living after this night. "I'll take my chances. Excuse me for a bit, I have to go grab some things."
Bradley moved through the house to his room. He thought, fleetingly, about checking in on his mother, but the fever was on him now and he couldn't pull himself away from the living room for too long. No, he'd check her later. Right now, he needed to start cutting.
He grabbed his little bag that held all the necessary tools and rushed from his bedroom.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he said as he entered the living room. Everyone was in the exact same spot, but the conversation stopped when they saw him. " ... What were you talking about?"
"I asked them who you are and what you want," the woman said.
"Did they tell you?"
"You're The Surgeon."
"I suppose that will work," Bradley said. He really did like the name. It lent an air of prestige and importance to what he was doing, even if no one in the room understood it. Except maybe the younger agent—Windsor. He seemed to know more than he should, and if he started talking now, Bradley would end him first, whatever it took to get him to shut up.
"Listen!" The older agent said. "You have to let us go or our partner will find you, and soon."
Bradley ignored him and walked over to Charlie. He picked the old man up and tossed him to the floor. Bradley moved quickly, taking the rope from his bag and bounding Charlie's arms and legs, though he didn't think the geriatric would put up much fight. After a few minutes, the old man lay tied on the floor.
"I'm going to start with you, Charlie. I want to be fresh when I start cutting on you. It's hard work, but I'm sure you know that since you were a doctor. You get tired at the end."
Bradley grabbed his bag and knelt on the floor. He pulled out his wire speculum and attached each of the holds to Charlie's eyelids, ensuring that he wouldn't be able to blink during what came next.
"It's not your fault."
The voice came from the other side of the room and Bradley didn't need to turn around to know who said it. Christian Windsor.
Bradley kept pulling out his tools, trying his best to ignore whatever nonsense the man spouted.
"Do you hear me, Bradley? It's not your fault. None of this. You ... At least some part of you was forced to do this."
Bradley stopped laying his tools down. "Shut up."
"I know what happened," the agent said. "I know what your father did to you and your mother."
"You don't know any-fucking-thing." Bradley's jaw tightened, muscles flexing up the side of his face.
"I do. I know about the abuse. I know why you wanted his eyes."
Bradley looked down and saw his left hand shaking. He needed both to pull out Charlie's goddamn eyes. This motherfucker had to shut up if Bradley was going to be able to do anything here.
"Shut your mouth," he said.
"You want the truth from people," the agent said. "The truth that your father always said was in people's eyes. But you never found truth with him or your mother, not the truth you needed. It's the same truth we all need, Bradley. Love. That's why you're doing this, isn't it?"
Bradley stood up, almost without knowledge he was doing it. He turned around and looked at the bound agent. "If you don't stop talking, I'll kill you first." His words were calm and measured, despite the rage building inside him. "You don't know anything about me or what I went through, and you don't know anything about why I do this. You're not smart enough to know or deep enough to understand. Do you get that?"
Bradley said the words ... but his eyes found the agent's and he felt weak. Because an empathy he didn't know possible rested inside them. An empathy that he'd wanted from his parents, from friends, from anyone—and never found.
Bradley knew what to do. He grabbed the tools that lay next to Charlie and brought them over to Christian Windsor. He'd start with the agent.
LUKE SAT in his car a half mile down the street. The dashboard clock told him ten minutes had passed and he was actually curious what was happening inside.
He watched the clock tick another minute off. Time always marched forward, and in the human consciousness, everyone saw it as another minute closer to their death. Time revolved around each individual person, and each minute was one that was solely theirs. The fact that the universe continued its expansion, and would keep on going until all the stars and planets died, leaving only a cold, still, and silent reality for everyone—well, they didn't think of that when a minute passed. It wasn't the universe's extinction they considered, but their own.
Luke recognized that truth as he watched the clock, though he was thinking selfishly as well. What he did here had been good, but not great—not nearly what he wanted to accomplish, and each passing minute chipped away at his ability to perform that great act. The greatness he wanted relied on Christian Windsor; the boy had been a blessing, his intelligence combined with his handicaps ... Luke couldn't have asked for a better addition to his plans.
And yet, he'd given Windsor up early. His eyes would be removed and even if Mr. Brown left him alive, he wouldn't be involved with Luke any longer. No more FBI for Mr. Windsor, not once Mr. Brown finished with him.
Luke looked out the car's front window. Did he want to let the two live? Would that be more fun in the long term? Or was Windsor already too close to the truth? If Luke let him die now, he could restart his plans ... Would a longer timeline for Luke be more fun?
So many questions, and not much time to decide the answers.
CHRISTIAN LOOKED at the metal contraptions, many of them the same ones he saw in his dream. He wasn't surprised by it—his mind didn't lead him astray, even down to the details.
"Stop fucking talking," Tommy said from Christian's feet.
Christian ignored him. All he could do was talk, his only weapon against Bradley Brown. He was hitting nerves, clearly, but not the right ones. He needed to say something to break the man down, to bring him back to the childlike state the monster had ruled over—only that would slow this massacre down.
But for what end? Melissa asked. You can slow him down, but you're still tied up without anywhere to go. Eventually, he'll get started again.
Christian saw her standing behind Brown, but he didn't look at her, because her words didn't matter, not right now. Slow Brown down first, then worry about what to do next.
"You don't have to do this," Christian whispered as the man knelt in front of him. "You didn't deserve for those things to happen to you. It wasn't your fault and you don't have to keep doing this. You can stop it, right now."
He watched without moving as Brown attached the same apparatus that he used on the old man. Christian's eyes were held open and he stared at Brown as he put the rest of the tools on the floor, exactly as a surgeon might do.
"STOP!" Veronica shrieked hoarsely from the couch. Christian heard her moving, trying to free herself. He pushed her from his mind, focusing only on the man above him.
"You don't need my eyes to be loved, Bradley."
The man held a scalpel in his hand, but he stopped moving. "You don't know anything. So shut up. Just shut the fuck up."
Christian said nothing for a second and Brown started moving again. He brought the scalpel down to Christian's eye. He could see the blade, large like a huge, metal god ready to deliver its unbending judgment.
He felt the blade cut into his eye, a small incision, but blood spurted onto Christian's cheek. He gasped. "Bradley, don't. Don't keep this going. Let your father die by not killing us."
Brown paused, tears filling his eyes.
"He can die," Christian said. "You can kill him forever by stopping now."
Brown shook his head but said nothing. Tears dripped to his face.
Christian saw movement behind Brown, and he couldn't stop from following it. Brown saw him looking and turned his head to the side, trying to see over his shoulder.
Luke pointed a gun at the man's skull, a distance
of two feet.
He pulled the trigger and Bradley Brown's head exploded in a mess of blood, bone, and brain.
CHAPTER 32
L uke followed the nurse into the common area. He had told her that he was here to follow-up on Charles Ranger, to make sure he was doing okay, and see if there was anything the FBI could do to help his recovery.
"That's very, very kind of you, Mr. Titan," the nurse said after checking his credentials.
She walked him down the hallway, telling him that it had been a very frightening experience for Mr. Ranger, and that the old man was having trouble sleeping. They, of course, had therapy on site for him, and with a little bit of time, they thought he would be okay. Therapy was tough for him, though, given his inability to speak.
"It takes longer," she said.
Luke thought that Mr. Ranger wouldn't need any more therapy once he finished here.
The old man sat in his wheelchair, the television on in front of him and four other 'guests'.
"Betty, would you mind giving Charles some space? This gentleman here would like to speak with him," the nurse said.
The woman looked at Luke. He smiled back at her.
"Oh, yes, sure. Charles, we'll talk later, okay?" The old woman bustled off through the room.
"Thank you, ma'am," Luke said to the nurse. "I'll check in with you before I leave, okay?"
"Sure thing, Agent Titan. Charles, this man is here from the FBI to check up on you. He's the one that saved your life, right?"
Charles Ranger didn't nod or shake his head. He stared with wide eyes and not a drop of color in his face.
"Probably surprised to see you." The nurse smiled once more at Luke and walked off down the hall.
Luke pulled up a chair directly in front of Mr. Ranger. A week had passed since Luke decided he wanted Christian Windsor to live a bit longer. He wanted to see how much he could do with Mr. Windsor before the boy needed pass from this planet.
"Hi, Mr. Ranger. How are you?"
The old man only stared, his mouth slightly open as if he might start drooling at any second.
"I wanted to come by and talk to you for a minute. I know that you're in therapy, but I'm guessing you haven't mentioned what happened in Mr. Brown's house. Is that right?"
No sign from Mr. Ranger.
"I'm going to need a nod before I continue. Nod if you haven't said anything."
The old man nodded.
"Good. You're a smart man. You must be smart to end up in a place as nice as this one. You were a doctor, right?"
Another nod.
"Yes, you're definitely smart. So I know that you'll keep quiet about what went on the other night. If you don't ... well, I'd hate to have to come visit you again, because it won't be as pleasant. Do you understand? Nod again if you do."
Mr. Ranger did as requested.
"That's good," Luke said, reaching forward and patting the old man's knee. "I'm going to get out of here then. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page moving forward. As long as you keep your word, you'll never see me again. And in the end, I did you a favor, didn't I? I got rid of Mr. Brown."
Luke smiled.
VERONICA WALKED into Luke Titan's office. She watched the FBI agent stand up from behind his desk and smile. Veronica's hands were shaking.
"Hi, Ms. Lopez. How are you doing?"
Veronica looked at her feet and felt hot tears fill her eyes. "I'm okay."
"Come, have a seat," Titan said. He moved out from behind his desk and pulled the chair out, motioning to her.
Veronica listened to him without saying anything, trying to hold herself together. She didn't want to cry in here, but that was a foolish thing to think, really. She had come to apologize and thank him, this man who she'd been out to prove as some kind of criminal, but had ended up saving her life.
"I, uhh," she said as Titan took his seat. "I want to say I'm sorry. I wanted to say it in person." She looked up from her shoes and to Titan. "I was wrong, completely, and I felt you needed to hear it from me."
"It's no problem, Ms. Lopez. No apology needed. Apparently Bradley Brown was obsessed with me, and the things he did would have made anyone think I might have been involved. Especially after John Presley. I'm just glad I made it there in time."
Veronica nodded, unsure what to say next.
"Are you going to continue the book regarding the Sphere?"
"I am, but I'm taking a break for a little while. Maybe in six months."
"That makes sense," Titan said. "You went through a harrowing experience. Time off is exactly what I'd recommend if I were your doctor."
"Do you ...," Veronica didn't know why she was about to ask the question, but it flew out of her mouth before she could stop herself. "Do you still practice?"
"Therapy?"
"Yes."
"I haven't in a while. Why?"
"I don't know. I just. I haven't found a doctor I like yet."
"It's only been three weeks," Titan said.
"I know, but ... You were there. I trust you." Veronica laughed and wiped tears from her eyes. "I know, it's crazy. Forget I asked."
Titan was quiet for a moment while Veronica looked at her feet, feeling stupid for everything she'd done. Trying to investigate him, somehow getting herself caught by a serial killer, and now here asking him if he'd take her on as a patient. She felt lost and even more so in this room, groveling to the man she once thought should be jailed.
"I think I have time to take on a patient. My license is still active. When are you free?"
HOMAGE WAS BEING PAID from the entire FBI. Senior officials came to Luke's office, sent emails, and he was scheduled to receive an award for outstanding work later this week. Luke played the role expected of him—humble and thankful he could be of service.
None of the praise, nor awards, mattered to him. He put up with them because they were necessary if he were to keep going forward, which after the decision he made weeks ago, was imperative.
It was Friday night around seven, and Luke saw Tommy walking across the mostly empty floor. He stuck his head in Luke's office.
"Want to grab a drink?"
"I think I'm going to head home tonight. Pretty tired."
Tommy smiled. "All those big wigs wearing you out, huh?"
"It's a lot," Luke said, smiling back.
"You deserve it. And even if you don't, I still want them to give you the keys to the city. Saved my life, man. Thanks again."
Luke had called Tommy's phone twice before he reentered Bradley Brown's house. He called Christian's once as well. Obviously receiving no answers from either, and the official story said he'd shown up to relieve them from their shift a bit early, because they'd both pretty much worked a double with Christian's training. He arrived, saw their empty car, and then saved the day.
"If you keep thanking me, next time I won't save you," Luke said, still with a smile on his face.
"Alright. Windsor comes back Monday. He's tougher than I thought. You should have seen him in there. He somehow talked enough to keep Brown from killing the old man and himself. I don't know how long he could have kept it up, but he was hitting some tough body shots on that motherfucker."
"Yeah, I wasn't sure in the beginning, but I'm glad he's here," Luke said.
"Okay. See ya Monday."
Tommy left the office and Luke was alone again. He watched his partner walk across the floor and wondered when he'd have his next opportunity to kill the man.
CHAPTER 33
C hristian took some time off after the final altercation with Brown. About a month. Waverly said he could have more time if he wanted, but he found himself desiring to get back to work.
"Thought you never wanted to be in the field?" Waverly asked when Christian told him.
"I know. It's the people I work with, I think."
"You're with the best," Waverly had said.
Christian's eye was mostly healed, though it had itched like crazy when the doctor first stitched him u
p.
He saw Melissa a lot during his time off. Multiple times per week.
"So, what do you think of him now?" she asked him.
"Of Luke?"
"Yes, is he a savior or a villain in your mind?"
Christian spent much of the past month thinking about that. His mind had told him to find the connection between Brown and Luke—to find it that very night, but the connection ended up being a bullet from Luke's gun to Brown's brain.
He had never denied his mind what it wished to tell him, but now, reality said that he was wrong for the first time.
"He's a savior," Christian told Melissa. "A lot of the connections I made were because Brown was trailing Luke. Presley's death. Veronica going missing. It makes sense now, though it didn't before. I tried to understand the connections, but they never fully fit."
"That's good, Christian," Melissa said. "There are a lot of things wrong in the world, but this Luke Titan guy seems to be good for it. For you too."
Now, Christian knocked on Luke's door, his first time at the office since Luke had shot off Bradley Brown's face.
"Come in," he heard from inside.
Christian opened the door.
"Hello," Luke said with a broad smile. "Heard you were coming back today. How are you feeling?"
"I'm a lot better. The eye still itches some, but nothing too bad."
"Good, because we have a lot of work for you to get started on."
Christian smiled back. That's what he wanted, work—something to take his mind off the past month's thoughts.
"I appreciate you both coming to the hospital. I'm sorry I haven't called since I got out," Christian said. "I just really wanted some separation from this place. Thank you, though, Luke, for what you did. You saved my life."
"Too many thanks have been given over this already. I have that silly ceremony today where they'll drape a metal over my chest, and I'm not looking forward to it. Can I say, 'you're welcome' once and we let this go? Move on to the next case?"
