by David Beers
Luke shook his head and sat on the couch. “You want to talk about what you found, or are you having women problems?”
“None of this is funny, Luke.”
“It depends on how you look at it.”
“That supposed to be a pun?”
Luke nodded.
“Not a good one.” Christian was silent for a second as he reached the opposite wall and turned around. “I can’t figure out why someone would give it to me. You killed Brown. Why wouldn’t they send it to you?”
“It depends on what they want to achieve with the head’s delivery. Tommy would probably say the why doesn’t matter too much, but I think we’d both disagree. It depends on whether they’re angry or not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are they angry that Bradley Brown is dead?”
“If they are, then it would have been sent to you.” Christian said.
“Possibly.”
“What else could it mean?”
“You don’t know?”
Christian shook his head, still not looking up. “I don’t understand any of this. I can’t even make up my mind if the cross had something to do with God, or if it was simply a way to torture the woman.”
“Well, one angle is rage. They’re mad someone killed Bradley Brown. Like you said, it wouldn’t make sense that the head ended up at your house, though. The other, as far as I can see is devotion.”
Christian stopped walking. “Devotion?”
“Yes. To you.”
“One, why would anybody feel devotion to me? Two, why would they show it like that?”
“Have you lost your ability to think, Christian?” Luke asked. “These are simple questions.”
“Enlighten me then.”
“Well, as far as your first question, they’d have to be crazy to feel devotion to you, but that’s the business we’re in.” Luke smiled, and then continued. “Why they feel such devotion could be any number of reasons, but if it’s true, then killing Bradley Brown’s mother makes a lot of sense. She gave birth to the person who tried to kill you.”
“Leaders who inspire that kind of devotion, they have cults or authoritarian dictatorships. I live by myself and haven’t ever been on a date. It doesn’t add up.”
No, it doesn’t, Luke thought. All your brains and you still don’t understand the simplicity of chaos. It’s beyond your grasp, always needing order and purpose.
“Christian, when have you heard of a decapitated head adding up to something that makes sense? It might be time to expand your horizons.”
“Okay. Say you’re right. Let’s play it out. No one else has tried to kill me, so how else would he show his devotion?”
“If we figure that out,” Luke said, “we won’t have to worry about anyone else dying.”
CHAPTER 5
“T oday the FBI discovered the decapitated head of Mrs. Lorraine Brown, the mother of deceased serial killer Bradley Brown. She was abducted from the state run assisted living facility she resided in, before being brutally murdered. When inquiries were made, the FBI responded that they are investigating this crime as they would any other. No further information would be given at this time.”
Lucy stood and walked to the television, turning it off.
She remained in front of the black box for a bit, a smile bright over her thin face. Her right eye twitched at the corner, though she didn’t realize it. Lucy had better control over herself now, but when she really got to thinking about something, she forgot the tics and stuttering.
Christian had seen what she left for him.
Lucy knew he didn’t understand what it meant yet, but that was okay. The point of the woman’s head was to show him that it was beginning. Nothing else.
Lucy wasn’t sure when they’d find the rest of Mrs. Brown’s remains, but she wasn’t concerned. She had done her deeds in an old warehouse. She shoved a sock so far down the woman’s throat, that she’d been worried it might suffocate her. Lucy needed the woman alive the entire time if God’s plan was to be followed. Sacrifice was what mattered here. Sacrifice and suffering.
At first, Lucy had questioned that mentality, as the Old Testament said sacrifice was only given to God. Of course, she realized the error of her thoughts after a bit more thinking—she was giving sacrifice to God, only doing it through Christian Windsor.
Next week, the halfway house would give Lucy even greater privileges. She would be free to come and go as she pleased; she’d be subject to random drug tests and the like, but that was fine. Lucy had never been a drug user and certainly didn’t plan on starting, not with what God had placed in front of her.
He hadn’t shown her who came next, though.
One sacrifice was only the beginning.
Christian Windsor needed many, many more before he would finally understand what he was supposed to do.
Please show me the way, Lord, Lucy prayed.
RYAN GOLEEN WAS twenty-nine years old. He worked at a local auto parts store just north of Atlanta, Georgia. He absolutely never thought about Christian Windsor anymore. He’d heard his name mentioned a few years back when that serial killer was caught, and had felt a momentary sense of guilt at the name. Other than that, though, Christian Windsor was from a past that Ryan preferred not to think about.
He’d been something of an asshole when he was younger (for lack of a better term).
Except, even that wasn’t truthful. By the age of sixteen, Ryan had been a bona fide alcoholic, even if undiagnosed. He drank every weekend with his friends, not to mention, making sure he had a few shots before school—and any pills he could get his hands on as well.
Christian Windsor changed the direction of Ryan’s life, even if Christian never knew it. Ryan certainly didn’t, not at the time. He had thought that when he caught Christian again, he’d put the bastard in a coma for all the trouble Ryan ended up in.
At the time, Ryan thought what they did only a prank. Now Ryan realized how cruel he’d been, but the twelve steps taught that you couldn’t dwell in the past, and so Ryan did his best not to.
The district attorney could have charged Ryan Goleen with attempted murder, but luckily, he had dropped it down to reckless endangerment. Ryan did six months in juvenile, and when he came out, he apologized to Christian for what happened. Apologized and meant it. Christian, for his part, had been as weird as always, and said nothing. The twelve steps said you couldn’t control what other people did, though, only yourself—and Tommy’s apology was all he could give.
From sixteen until twenty-nine, Ryan didn’t take another sip of alcohol (well, besides once, when he ordered a nonalcoholic beer, which the waitress got wrong—but he didn’t count it against his sobriety). At twenty-nine, his juvenile record was expunged and he had no rap sheet. He managed the auto parts store, went home to his wife and two-year-old son every night, and the three went to church every Sunday.
He never thought about Christian Windsor and certainly never thought about the single news article that had been written about him twelve years ago.
GOD WAS GOOD.
Lucy had known that from her earliest days, but He had been especially good this evening.
Lucy sat at a computer reading the old news article. She had been confused about who to sacrifice next. The first person had been obvious from the moment the Lord put Christian Windsor in front of her. But for the past week, she’d struggled with God’s silence. Even when she stared at pictures of Christian on the computer, the Lord didn’t speak.
She had to keep faith, though, that’s what He was teaching her. Keep faith that no matter what happened, as long as she trusted in Him, then He’d lead her correctly.
Lucy had been searching each night for hints about Christian Windsor’s past, hoping to find anyone that might have wronged him. She understood how smart he was, a gift from God if there ever had been one. Articles abounded about Christian’s accomplishments in school, not to mention what he managed to do about that awful Bradley Brown. A lot of
the credit went to his partner, Luke Titan (who, Lucy felt, received far too much adulation for Brown’s death), but there were still quite a few profiles on Christian as well.
Finally Lucy decided to go further back in his life. To try and understand if something might have happened when he was younger.
Bingo.
God was good.
She stared at the article, reading the name again and again. Ryan Goleen. He had tried to harm Christian Windsor, God’s chosen one. Lucy was getting good at navigating the Internet, and she spent five dollars for Goleen’s address from a website called Spokeo. She entered that address into an online mapping service, and saw that he lived three hours north of her.
Lucy’s jaw tightened up, causing her mouth to shift into an ugly, strained frown. No one was around to see, and if anyone had asked, she would have thought she was smiling. Lucy was happy, after all.
THE GWINNETT COUNTY TRIBUNE
September 24th
Issue 504
Local News
FOOTBALL GAME SHUT Down After Near Death
RYAN GOLEEN WAS ARRESTED on Friday night at the Grayson High School football game. Each season, there are a few incidents of students arrested for underage drinking—a misdemeanor by state laws. Friday night, though, the single arrest that occurred had nothing to do with alcohol.
Fellow student Christian Windsor is in critical condition at the hospital, due to what police say was a ‘cold and poorly thought out prank’. The Police Chief further stated, “High school pranks are one thing, and bullying is another. This goes way beyond both of those.”
Christian Windsor was found by Grayson High School’s head coach during halftime of the football game. The team was convening in the field house, where they spend the off season training, and during the season discussing game strategy. Coach Mike Cahn found the fifteen-year-old lying on one of the weight benches, a barbell weighted down with two hundred and fifty pounds across his chest.
“I don’t want to talk about what the kid looked like,” Coach Cahn told the paper. “I just hope that whoever did this, if it’s Goleen, or someone else, that they get the correct punishment for it.”
Allegedly, Ryan Goleen, as well as unnamed accomplices, forced Christian Windsor onto the bench before lowering the barbell on his chest. A very heavy weight, it was impossible for the junior class student to lift it off by himself. Eventually, he passed out.
Windsor’s family has not released a statement, and Ryan Goleen is being held in the county jail. Judge Lewis Kinnip has not yet issued a ruling on the possibility of bail.
CHAPTER 6
Ryan opened his eyes and looked at what appeared to be a storage unit. In front of him was a large, metal, hanging door. It was closed; Ryan couldn’t tell if it was locked but …
But what?
What am I doing in here?
Panic grabbed him with rough hands. He looked down and saw he sat naked on a wooden chair, his arms and legs bound by metal wires.
“HELLO!” he shouted.
His voice echoed off the walls around him. When it died, he sat in silence again.
“HELLOOOOO!” he screamed, louder this time. He kept going, switching between “HELP!” and “HELLO!” but no response came, and after ten minutes or so, he fell quiet.
Ryan closed his eyes tight.
Did I get drunk? Is that why I can’t remember?
It had been years since his last sip, but that fear always rested in the back of his mind—that he might slip up and everything he’d worked so hard for would drown in a pint of vodka.
But no, he didn’t feel hungover.
Then how the hell am I in here?
He opened his eyes and searched the storage unit, looking for anything—clothes, cell phone, something that might give him a clue.
He saw nothing but cold pavement and metal walls. He and Kerry owned a storage unit, but how often did they go to it? Rarely. Most people might visit a storage unit once a year at most, which meant no one would be around to hear him now. Sure, someone probably sat in the front office, but clearly his voice wasn’t reaching them.
Ryan jerked against the wires, but that only drove them deeper into his flesh, getting him no closer to freedom.
He sighed and closed his eyes.
Let go and let God.
Ryan started praying, the same thing he’d done the past decade and a half whenever he needed help.
LUCY WAS a bit nervous about leaving Ryan Goleen in the storage unit overnight. She knew she shouldn’t be, that such doubt was incompatible with the faith God deserved. Still, if something went wrong—if he somehow alerted someone, or the owner got nosey and started poking around in different units, Lucy was done.
That wouldn’t happen, though. If God was for her, who could be against her?
Lucy decided after cutting off Brown’s head, that she wanted to do something in closer quarters. She might want to keep people for a time, and having them in an open warehouse—even if deserted—created risk. So she found a storage company south of Atlanta. It was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, and the owner was an eighty year old man who was hard of hearing. She, of course, had been to quite a few storage units, but this one seemed best suited for her purpose. Out of the way, a large area, and with an owner who didn’t seem very mobile.
Lucy got off work an hour ago, and had her scheduled appointment with Dr. Brigham. One of the conditions of her release was to continue therapy; she didn’t mind it. These conversations just gave her more opportunity to show the world how she had changed, and how well the system worked for her.
Lucy understood from her father that people wanted self-congratulation, when they should only want to glorify God. By doing this, Lucy was feeding right in to what Dr. Brigham and the whole establishment needed.
Look at what we’ve done, all ye. Look at how great we are, how we’ve helped this poor, pathetic girl. She is cured.
A bunch of sinners, not to mention idiots.
“Hey, Lucy, how are you doing?”
Lucy looked up from the Bible on her lap. Dr. Brigham stood next to the chair, having snuck up on her. She didn’t like that one bit. She hated being surprised. He could have announced himself.
“I’m good,” she said, her left eyebrow twitching slightly — the only sign that showed her displeasure. She cleared her throat. “How are yuh-you?”
“I’m well,” the doctor said. “Would you like to get started?”
Lucy nodded, looked at her Bible and placed her bookmark in it. She stood and the two of them walked through the halfway house’s common area, heading to the meeting rooms in the back. Dr. Brigham checked the schedule on the wall, and then led them to their assigned spot.
“How has the last week been?” Dr. Brigham asked once they were both seated.
“Good.”
“You’ll have to do better than that, Lucy. I know that you don’t speak a lot because you’re scared of stuttering. You don’t have to be scared of that, okay?”
Lucy nodded. She didn’t believe a word the man said, knowing that if she started stuttering again they’d throw her right back in Greenbriar Lakes. Not to mention, Daddy taught her all she needed to know about her stuttering.
What would happen to Ryan Goleen, then? He’d starve to death, the poor man.
Lucy smiled at the thought.
“Is something funny?” the doctor asked, his own slight grin appearing.
“No,” Lucy said, smiling wider at the thought of Goleen’s skeleton sitting in the chair, most of his flesh having been devoured by rats and ants.
Dr. Brigham chuckled. “Well, it must be something.”
“Just a joke someone said in here.”
Dr. Brigham remained smiling and after a few seconds said, “How is your job?”
“Good. It’s e-easy.”
“I thought it would be. You’re a smart woman, Lucy.”
“Thu-thank you.”
“I’d like to start discussing what you want to
do when you leave here. Another few months and they’re going to help you get your own place,” Dr. Brigham said. “Have you given any thought to it?”
Lucy nodded. She’d thought of nothing else since she arrived, though they weren’t her plans, of course — but God’s. “I’d like to join a church.”
Don’t smile. Don’t smile, she thought repeatedly. Yes, she’d join a church, or rather, create one.
“I think that’s a great idea! You know you don’t have to wait until you get out of here to do that, though.”
Lucy nodded, but said nothing.
“Come on, Lucy. Talk to me. Why don’t you want to join one now?’
“Be-because I might not live in this area. I wuh-wouldn’t be able to travel v-very far.”
“Ah, that makes sense,” Dr. Brigham said. “Smart … How are things going here? Do you like it?”
She nodded again.
“Have you made any friends?”
“No.”
“I think it’s important that you do, Lucy. You’re going to need a support system when you leave here, to make sure you don’t let your anger get the best of you again. Having friends, people you can talk to … they can all help you mitigate your thoughts when they become overwhelming. Have you at least talked to people here?”
Lucy nodded, though she had barely said four words even during group therapy.
“With who?”
Lucy smiled and looked down at the table in front of her. She didn’t want to smile, but did it because this was an essential conversation, and the smile would allow her lie to go without punishment. A stupid lie. A stupid, stupid lie. At least if she was going to do it, she should have had a story ready.
“It’s okay,” Dr. Brigham said. “You don’t have to be best friends with everyone, but I would like you to start trying, okay?”
Lucy nodded, looking up at the doctor with the most trusting face she could muster. She’d start talking, just as soon as she woke up tomorrow.
