by David Beers
“Fuck her,” the other said next to him. Or maybe the other didn’t say it at all. Maybe Christian spoke the words. He didn’t know any longer.
“Your father never loved you. You were simply a tool to keep his crazy delusions going. Your mother never loved you; if she had, she would have at least pretended to believe, but she’d rather die than be around you. No one has ever loved you and no one ever will. If there’s any evidence that no God exists, all you have to do is look at your sad, pathetic life.”
“N-n-n-nnnn,” but she couldn’t finish.
Christian smiled.
“Do what your mother was too scared to do. What your father should have done all those years ago when he realized you were just a stuttering little mutt.”
Lucy shook her head.
Christian looked past her. “Do you see him? Right there in front of Luke? Do you see your daddy?”
Lucy turned around and stared.
“I can hear him Lucy. Listen and you can, too.” Christian swallowed and when he spoke, southern drawl filled his voice. “They ripped up that Bible didn’t they? All because you cain’t defend yourself. Ain’t no way God gonna show you a damned thing your whole life ‘cause you cain’t even defend yourself.”
Lucy shook her head again.
“Get in that goddamn room and put that whip across your back! Maybe God can talk to ya, ‘cause I cain’t. I cain’t do nothin’ with ya no more. You’re worthless.” The drawl disappeared. “He’s right, Lucy. He was always right. You are worthless and you don’t deserve to live any longer.”
Christian watched as the mentally devastated woman raised the scalpel one last time. She didn’t turn around, but stared at her father’s ghost, and brought the blade across her own neck.
Christian’s head dropped back to the car as she collapsed. He didn’t watch her black blood leak out onto the pavement.
PART IV
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER 27
Excerpt from The Atlanta Journal Constitution
THE KILLER the media called “The Priest” committed suicide yesterday. The killer was, in fact, female. Her name was Lucy Speckle and she had a long history of mental illness. She was recently released from a mental hospital after serving three years as an involuntary inpatient. Records show she was remanded there after attacking occupants of a women’s shelter for smoking cigarettes.
Lucy Speckle murdered at least four people, and from early reports, she had plans to murder at least another four. In an extremely elaborate plan, the FBI managed to determine Speckle’s location. Once there, they began hostage negotiations, with Agent Christian Windsor keeping Speckle from killing anyone else.
At the end of the standoff, Lucy Speckle committed suicide.
The FBI said in a brief press conference this morning that the motivation stemmed from an obsession with Agent Christian Windsor.
Two of the three FBI agents were severely wounded in the negotiation, Luke Titan and Windsor. Both were transferred to Piedmont Hospital and are expected to make recoveries.
Luke Titan made headlines two years ago when…
CHRISTIAN’S BODY still felt as if Lucy Speckle had just finished beating him. Soreness didn’t begin to describe the pain. He lay in his hospital bed wishing for death. He took the pills the doctors gave him; they both dulled the pain some and made his mind hazy. The pain relief was fine, but he didn’t want his mind not functioning at full force. He wanted to think, and so he never asked for more than they offered—never called the nurse saying he hurt too much.
Veronica and his mother refused to leave the hospital.
They did give him space inside his room from time to time, though.
He enjoyed them being there, but wished they would go home. They both were allowed to leave; Veronica had a concussion but his mother was fine other than some wire burns on her wrists.
Getting help didn’t take that long. With Lucy dead, Christian’s mother was able to scoot across the ground and wiggle her way into Lucy’s pockets. She found a cell phone and simply dialed 911.
Christian needed grafts on his chest; the skin there had thick yellow salve on it, and the nurses fed him antibiotics as if he were a burn victim.
“Hey,” Luke said. Christian’s eyes had been closed, though he wasn’t sleeping. He figured Luke knew it from his breathing patterns. Christian looked at the door and saw Luke sitting in a wheelchair. Bandages were wrapped around his head.
“You supposed to be moving around?” Christian said.
“No.”
“So why are you?”
“I wanted to check on you. How are you feeling?”
“Like someone savagely beat with me a whip and then skinned part of my chest.”
“That makes sense,” Luke said.
The two were silent and Luke wheeled himself in a few more feet. He turned and closed the door behind him.
“I saw your mother and Veronica on my way over.”
“Yeah, they’re refusing to leave.”
“Veronica cares about you,” Luke said.
“I guess so. I’m going to break it off with her, though.”
“Because you think you can’t protect her?”
“I know I can’t,” Christian said. He let his head sink into the pillow and closed his eyes.
“You’ve done a decent job so far. Two near death experiences and she’s survived both.”
Christian said nothing, not needing to. Veronica shouldn’t have ever been in those situations.
“How are you feeling mentally?”
A minute passed as Christian thought about how to answer the question. He knew the answer, of course—had thought of little else besides his pain during the few days he’d been in the hospital. Yet, he didn’t want to tell Luke about it. He didn’t know why, feeling strangely similar to how he’d felt in the storage unit. Then, he hadn’t wanted to talk about the apparition, and though he hadn’t seen the other since, apparently the feeling hadn’t disappeared.
“I don’t want to discuss it,” he said finally.
“To anyone, or to me specifically?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure.”
“If there’s anyone that won’t judge you,” Luke said, “it’s me. I’m the one that pushed you … but it was necessary, and I hope you see that now.”
“Was it?”
“If you hadn’t, we would all be dead.”
“Perhaps death is preferable to some things,” Christian said.
“Perhaps.”
Christian sighed. He didn’t understand the feeling telling him to stay quiet about all of this, and he certainly wasn’t going to his mansion looking for answers.
“What I felt when I spoke to her … it’s not something I ever want to feel again.”
“What was it?” Luke asked.
“… Glee ….”
Luke was quiet for a second. He wheeled himself closer to the bed. “Is there anything wrong with taking glee in watching evil fall? Don’t you think the Allied powers felt glee when the Nazis finally surrendered? What about the people who tore down the statue of Saddam Hussein? Don’t you think they were happy as they destroyed their dictator’s legacy?”
“Maybe, but this wasn’t a dictator falling. It was a mentally damaged individual.”
“You think that Saddam Hussein didn’t have as difficult a life as Lucy Speckle? It was different, to be sure, but the things he saw and was taught made him who he was. We’re all shaped by our pasts.”
Christian gave a brief and nearly silent laugh. “Are you, Luke? Because no one knows about your past.”
“Of course I am.”
“Then tell me about that, and let’s leave my mental state alone.”
“Maybe I will tell you,” Luke said. “I am what I am because of the things that happened to me. My point is, though, that you can’t feel you’re different from those allied soldiers who cried tears of joy when Hitler finally surrendered.”
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“I don’t agree.”
“Which is fine. I think you will one day. Evil has to fall, or else, we would eventually all turn evil.”
Christian said nothing and the two sat in silence for some time. Finally, Christian listened as Luke’s wheelchair rolled from the room.
Before this all started, he had been so frightened of people leaving him. Of his partners. His mother’s eventual death. Even lying in the storage unit, he didn’t want to speak about the ‘other’ for fear that Veronica would leave him once she heard. Now, though, Christian wanted everyone gone. He didn’t want to look at any of them. He wanted only to be alone, and if the rest of the world simply died off, he’d be okay with it.
Christian went in and out of sleep for the next few hours. His dreams were black and he saw nothing inside them—they were desolate places.
Tommy came in at some point, though Christian didn’t know when. He saw his partner when he woke, who was sitting in a corner chair. Christian looked around the room and saw his mother next to him, having pulled a chair up to his bed. He looked to the right and there was Veronica.
They both smiled at him.
“Hey, honey,” his mother said.
Christian blinked and swallowed. “Water,” he managed to say.
Veronica handed him a glass and he sipped through a straw, lubricating his throat enough to speak.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been here as much,” Tommy said as he stood. “I’ve been writing paperwork since the moment they let me out of this place. There’s a lot to do, and I’m having to … manipulate some of my memories to keep us from losing our jobs.”
“I’m sorry,” Christian said.
“All’s well that ends well, I suppose.”
“What’s the press saying?”
“Well, you’re the hero this time. You conducted the plan to find her and then through hostage negotiations, Speckle committed suicide.”
“That’s better than the truth, I suppose.”
“Much,” Tommy said.
“Doc says you’ll make a full recovery.”
“With a bit of scarring.”
“Stop being so damned negative,” Veronica said. She was smiling but Christian couldn’t force one to his own face.
“I’m going to stop by and see Luke. I think he’ll have a scar, which I’m sure will dampen his spirits some … messing up that perfect head and all,” Tommy said.
“I’m tired. I’m going to sleep some more.” Christian knew how rude it sounded, but didn’t care.
“That’s a good idea,” his mother said.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. Waverly gave me a new case. Said if I was ready to do paperwork than I was ready to capture criminals.”
“That’s kind of him.”
The speaking stopped while Christian’s mom and Veronica gave him very light hugs. They walked out of the room, though he knew they wouldn’t be going far. Tommy stayed.
“I just wanted to say you did what you had to do, and I’m thankful for it. I know you didn’t want to, and truth be told, part of me didn’t want to see it. But you did, and I’m alive. So thank you.”
Christian nodded, but didn’t tell him he was welcome.
Tommy returned the nod, then left the room.
TOMMY SAID his good-byes to Mrs. Windsor (who insisted that he called her Patricia from now on) and Veronica. He headed down the white hallway, heading toward Luke’s room. Though he didn’t know Christian was having a tough time shaking the things Luke had said, Tommy felt the same. He didn’t like what Luke did in that storage unit, but he couldn’t place his finger on why. It actually saved everyone’s life, but …
Well, Christian’s actions in his hospital room said enough. He was in pain, without doubt, but it almost felt like something inside had died. Christian was a frightened person, barely able to cope with a reality that contained people other than his mother. Yet back in his hospital room, it seemed as if no one mattered. He was cold, and not in the usual way—which had always meant he wasn’t great at relating to people. He was cold as if the world had changed in some fundamental way.
Tommy didn’t like it. He wasn’t sure how to help Christian, but he knew in the coming months he’d do what he could.
He reached Luke’s door and slowly opened it.
There were two beds, but the curtain was drawn to the one on the far side.
Luke was awake with a book propped in front of him.
“Whatcha reading?”
“The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire,” he said, looking up.
“Sounds riveting.”
“It is. One of the author’s premises is that Rome fell when they adopted Christianity, due to the fact that they stopped trying to conquer as many nations.”
“I guess the author never met Lucy Speckle,” Tommy said.
“No. He didn’t.”
Tommy stepped closer to the bed. “Going to have a scar?”
“Yes, they had to do some surgery where the crowbar hit me, reconnecting bone and such. I’m hopeful my hair will cover it.”
“Let’s pray it doesn’t slow down your dating schedule,” Tommy said.
“I’ve actually been thinking about starting to date. Outside of you and Christian, I don’t have a lot of people in my life. It might be nice to have someone.”
“It can be, if it’s the right someone.”
Luke folded his book and put it on his lap. “You’re upset with how I spoke to Christian, aren’t you?”
Tommy nodded.
“Why?”
“I honestly don’t know. It just didn’t seem right. If you had done it to me, or anyone else in there, I don’t think it would have mattered. But him … He’s fragile.”
Luke nodded and looked down at the book. “You’re right, it wouldn’t have mattered. I could have said the very same things to you and everyone else, and none of you would have been able to do what he did. I had to push him, or we’d all be dead.”
“I know. But what about now, Luke? What about the aftermath? Have you talked to him?”
“I have.”
“Does he seem like the same Christian to you?”
“Do you think anyone is the same after something like that?” Luke asked.
“Don’t bullshit me. Yeah, we’ll probably all have bad dreams, but that’s different than what he’ll go through. He’s changed, Luke.”
“Yes. He’s probably become the most efficient FBI agent in the entire force. I spoke to Waverly this morning, he said he’s bumping Christian up a notch to Special Agent. So, if you think about it like that, I got him a promotion.”
“I’m not thinking about it like that,” Tommy said.
Luke looked up and Tommy saw something in his face that he’d never seen before. Luke looked like a human sculpture, etched in marble. Only his eyes showed any life, but the life there … it looked alien.
“Thanks for coming by, Tommy. I’ll see you at work.”
CHAPTER 28
FOR CHRISTIAN WINDSOR
C hristian,
THIS WAS a large turning point in your life, and you know that now. Our other partner is worried that you might not be able to come back from it, but I’m betting you will. Soon—very soon, I hope—we will be able to converse about my purpose. I didn’t know that you would play such a major role, but it’s clear now that you will.
I believe in God, Christian. There is a creature of such magnitude that it’s tough to imagine in its full glory, but it exists. For sake of simplicity, we call it him, though I’m sure it doesn’t care what we call it.
God and I are at odds, and I truly believe that its angels are on my side. How could they not be?
When you receive this letter, it will be too late for you to do anything, but take solace in knowing that you’re on the side of the angels. You’re on my side now.
YOURS,
Luke Titan, MD, PhD, Special Agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigations
Continue on to read The Lover!
THE LOVER
SEDUCTION
CHAPTER 1
A t least some part of Ted Hinson knew the difference between right and wrong, though how large that part was couldn’t be determined. Two things were growing in him simultaneously: fear and confidence—neither had anything to do with right or wrong, but rather rationality and delusion. He felt fear because he was too intelligent to think this could go on forever. Sooner or later, he would get caught.
Warring with the fear was an increasing sense of confidence (Ted Hinson’s rational mind would call it delusion), because he hadn’t been caught yet.
Ted was thirty-eight years old and his reign of terror began two years ago.
Though no single law enforcement entity knew it, five women had gone missing during this period at a precise clip of one every four months. It was now the twenty-fourth month in his reign, and time for another to disappear.
Ted decided on one woman every four months because of the acclimation process. It took four months to tame his lovers (or break them in, as one might a wild horse).
Sarah had been especially difficult and Ted was still trying to understand if it was her age, or simply her personality. She was pushing the limits of his patience (not to mention love), as well as his self-imposed four month deadline. He thought, though, that last night had been a major milestone in their relationship.
“You want to go to lunch with us?”
Ted looked up from his desk. Georgia Shingleton was at his office door. How long had she been standing there? His face showed no surprise—but he didn’t like not knowing how long she’d been watching him.
“Not today. Have to catch up on some edits,” he said.“Okay. Want me to bring you anything back? We’re heading to Raw Sushi.”
“Mind bringing me a California Roll?”
