The Luke Titan Chronicles: Books 1-4: The Luke Titan Chronicles Boxset

by David Beers

“As safe as we can be. Two guards are outside our door. Two guards outside of Tommy’s, though I did consider putting the three of us in one room.”

  He didn’t smile, but she chuckled slightly, knowing he was kidding.

  The two stared at each other for a few minutes without speaking, yet no awkwardness fell across them. Christian watched as her eyes slowly started closing. She was falling asleep, almost unaware, and with no self-conscious desire to hide it.

  After everything, she still felt safe with him. She still felt at home, and Christian couldn’t help but feel thankful. They would never be together again, but it still felt good to be loved. To know that even though he’d pushed everyone away, creating that massive wall around himself, people still cared.

  And how much do you care about her? Enough to let the world burn down around you? Enough to let everyone else in it die? Because that’s what you’re doing.

  Christian hadn’t fallen asleep because he knew he couldn’t. Not yet. He needed to go inside his mansion, tired or not. Sleep was for those that could afford it, and Christian couldn’t right now. He had, for the most part, simply not thought about Luke’s dictum. The day demanded it. Every day demanded it. Because each one brought more terror and disorder—all of which Luke wanted to create.

  Now, though, in the silence of the hotel room, he could go into himself and hopefully see what he was missing. The rest of the day had been spent focusing on this Charles Twaller man. Not a full ghost, but publicly nothing like the mercenary had described.

  “He’s too clean,” Tommy had said. “No one is this clean, not when someone like Drexler mentions their name.”

  Christian closed his eyes and immediately felt sleep trying to push his consciousness out of the way, wanting to drag him down into its dark depths for an unknown amount of time. Christian shoved it aside roughly, turning his intense focus once more on what needed to be done. While others would have fallen asleep without a thought, Christian’s mind overpowered his body’s will.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Every time I see you, you look worse.”

  The other’s eyes were bleeding, dark red blood dripping down his face. It both slid down his neck and dripped off the point of his chin, but he looked at Christian as if he didn’t notice.

  Christian breezed by him. He hadn’t come to chat, but wanted to look at Luke’s past again. The more he thought about it, the more he thought answers lay there. He thought Luke wanted him to know it, too. Why else had Luke brought his past up so much? Why did he put so much weight on it?

  “You’re probably right. If something is hidden, it’s in there. Something that makes the man tick.”

  Christian ignored him and continued walking to the back of the floor. He didn’t look at any of the walls or other memorabilia that had been set up over the years. Regardless of how hard he shoved sleep away, he desperately wanted it, and only this last thing kept him from it.

  He found the chair and television where he’d last left them.

  “What do you think it’ll show today?”

  The other was no longer behind him, but standing in front of the TV, facing and looking down on it. Blood splattered on the floor beneath him.

  “I don’t know,” Christian said. “Move out of the way.” He took his seat and the other did as he was told, leaving a line of sight to the television.

  It wasted no time, sensing Christian’s need. It flashed on and Christian fell into Luke’s history.

  THE PREACHER MAN, as Luke thinks of him, is sitting with Luke’s mother.

  Luke is outside, though he knows why the preacher man has come. He is here to ensure that Luke never again says such things to him, and never again threatens to interrupt his cash flow.

  Of course, he won’t say it like that to Luke’s mother. He will speak in terms of the Lord, and eternal souls. He’ll mention the Devil and Angels. He’ll cloak the whole conversation with the Bible, draping its pages over his message like a protective shield.

  Luke knows all this and still, he lets the preacher man do his talking.

  Luke has made up his mind about the priest, though he cannot tell his mother. When she calls him inside the house, if the preacher man is still there, he will take his chastisement in silence. Luke’s mother is his world. That and his brother. They are all he has, all he knows as truth. While his mind is still expanding at an astronomical speed, he has yet to even partially understand what may lie outside his small world. For now, all that matters is his tiny family, and he will not disrespect his mother, not even in front of the preacher man.

  “Luke, will you come here, please?”

  The call. His mother.

  Luke feels a brief bit of anger try to rise up, but he knows it won’t serve him, so he discards it. He doesn’t understand how special that ability is, especially for someone as young as he is. Emotions drive the rest of the world, but at 11, Luke is coming to master his own.

  He turns from the broken porch and pulls back the screen door, entering the house. It’s not a large place; his mother and the preacher man are sitting in the kitchen/living room. There are two bedrooms attached to this main room, one for Luke and his brother, the other for his mother.

  “Father Marquez told me about your last confession, Luke.”

  Luke nods, not looking at the preacher man. His eyes are only on his mother.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Luke isn’t at the place yet where he refuses to lie. That comes later in his life. He would have lied to God himself if it would save his mother pain, and so he says, “I’m sorry.”

  His mother looks at him hard for a few seconds. “Are you?”

  “Yes. I shouldn’t have said that. I am sorry.” He turns to the preacher man. “I’m sorry, Father Marquez. I will not speak to you like that again.”

  “Son, I worry about you,” the preacher man says. “When you say such things to me, I wonder if perhaps the Devil has undue influence over you. Your mother worries, too.”

  Luke doesn’t know if the preacher man is using his mother as someone might use a sword, cutting through Luke’s own attack and defenses, or if the preacher man is simply talking. If it is the former, then the priest surely knows Luke is lying and has no intention of keeping quiet in the future. If it is the latter, then the preacher man is stupid.

  “I know.” Luke turns back to his mom. “I’m sorry. I promise to be more respectful.”

  “What made you talk like that to him?”

  Two focal points would take place this day, and the first had arrived. Luke lied once, but now he needed to say something that would resonate with people. He needed to say something convincing enough to allow his mother to continue living her own life, without fear of what might be happening to her son, as well as to ensure the preacher man worries no more about his cash flow.

  In short, Luke needs to read and react to people in a way that allows him to continue moving through the world undisturbed.

  Christian, as he watches, understands this is a trait successful sociopaths possess—though to classify Luke as a sociopath would be a gross oversimplification.

  And, like everything else in Luke’s young life, he flies past the focal point without any hindrance.

  “I saw your budget, Mom. You left it out on the table and you know I’m good with numbers. I saw how much we were spending on the Church.”

  “Honey,” his mother said, reaching out to touch his knee. “You don’t need to worry about any of that. That’s my job. I make sure we have enough money each month, and part of being good Christians is making sure we give to God what is His.” She looked back to the priest, though didn’t remove her hand from Luke’s knee. “I’m sorry, Father. He’s a good boy. He just wants to make sure we’re okay. I promise you, nothing like this will happen again.”

  Luke looks at the preacher man, too. “I promise as well, Father. I’m very sorry.”

  LUKE IS ALONE in his room and the night is upon him. He’s already starting t
o enjoy both being alone and the darkness. He doesn’t know why yet, but it feels like home. His brother sleeps next to him, but Luke is still alone—only his thoughts are with him, as his brother is unconscious. In the future, he will learn that he can be even more alone, but in such small spaces, this is all he knows.

  He is thinking about the preacher man, about how he came to Luke’s house and disturbed his mother.

  Luke can allow a lot to happen in life; indeed, he already has. Slights come and go in their small town, especially when they live in such poverty—none of them are consequential to Luke.

  Except for this.

  The preacher man does not see him as a man at all. He thinks that bypassing Luke is as simple as showing up at his house, and talking with his mother. He thinks that the payments will still continue though Luke decided before his confession that would no longer happen.

  So, the preacher man and Luke are at odds.

  There are a multitude of things that Luke can do to prove to the priest that he is foolish, and has severely underestimated Luke’s dedication to his family. The problem is, Luke doesn’t know which one to choose.

  Luke’s mind is rushing through the possibilities, and he watches with fascination as it takes each option and follows a path to its most logical conclusion. He has done this before, but not with something as serious as he now considers.

  The crux is does he want to scare the priest, or does he want to end the priest. The fact that he so easily considers murder is lost on him. It simply makes sense. If something is against him, then it should end. If it is against his family, then it must end.

  Christian watches these thought processes with a sense of awe himself. For years, he had lived next to someone that first contemplated murder at a very, very young age—and did it with ease. Yet, Christian noticed none of it, not until it was too late.

  Luke reaches his conclusion in the early morning hours. He has thought on this longer than he will most of his other decisions; the sticking point being whether it is smarter to murder the priest, or better just scaring the man.

  Luke doesn’t know it as he rolls over to sleep, but he will regret this single decision for the rest of his life.

  THREE DAYS HAVE PASSED since the preacher man came to Luke’s house.

  Now, Luke is at the preacher man’s house.

  He stands outside of the cathedral, the sun still not over the horizon. He is on the street, leaning against a tree, and staring at the closed doors.

  Luke is young and doesn’t understand the error in his strategy, though he will very soon. His natural inclination is to attack hard, to leave no doubt that he is the superior in any struggle. That is his plan this morning, and though he will leave no sign that he is responsible, the preacher man is smart enough to understand.

  Enough time has been spent watching, and Luke crosses the street. The Church doors are unlocked, and he quietly opens the one on the right, slipping inside. He has yet to learn how to move without making sound, though he already travels as if he is nearly weightless.

  The cathedral is silent, the priest still asleep. Luke had been counting on that, the man not waking early for prayers or meditation. This was a false priest, an imposter. He collects his money no differently than the Mexican gangs that ran many of the neighborhoods. There is always someone to pay, always someone that wants to harm Luke’s family. Perhaps he will deal with the gangs once this preacher man is taken care of, but the largest portion of his family’s budget is dedicated to this mockery of God.

  Luke walks through the cathedral, paying no attention to the empty pews. He heads to the statue of Christ on the cross. Luke kneels before it.

  “I’m sorry, Lord. I do not mean any disrespect, but I think you know that.”

  He keeps his head lowered for a few more seconds, hoping that his prayers are heard. He understands the nature of this attack, and the very real possibility that his soul will be damned. He must hope that the Lord understands it is for a bigger cause, for a holy cause. For Luke’s family.

  Finally, his prayers finished, Luke stands and walks onto the chancel. He moves to the right, going to where the fake plants stand. Inside the pots, there is imitation straw, and he knows this will be flammable. His mind has figured out all the necessary details over the past few days, most of the time without any active input from Luke.

  It is, both for Luke in the past, and Christian now, a remarkable thing to witness.

  Luke pulls a lighter from his right pocket and a tiny bottle from his left. It contains no more than eight ounces, but they are a potent eight.

  He douses the false straw with lighter fluid, then pauses. He looks to his left, seeing the church’s organ, and using the bottle, draws a line to it. From there, he circles around the back of the chancel, going behind the cross, and ends on the other side of the room.

  He heads back to the fake plants, his movements eerie in their silence.

  Luke flicks the small lighter in his hand and brings it close to the plant. The fire ignites almost immediately and he steps back. He watches it rise up the plastic plant, the coating clearly flammable. The fire crawls out of the pot and down to the floor; from there, the race is on. It follows the half circle Luke created, and the interior of the church is quickly ablaze.

  It’s in this moment that Luke decides to wait. He hadn’t planned to leave any evidence, but now he can’t help himself. The arrogance that he would show later in life first reveals itself in this cathedral.

  He steps down from the chancel, the smoke growing as the fire spreads. He walks to the front of the church, pausing in front of the doors and waits.

  The fire alarm starts its siren, and still Luke waits, even as sweat erupts out from his forehead. The room is heating up, the smoke becoming darker and darker.

  Luke waits.

  Finally, the preacher man emerges. He’s naked except for underwear, his fat stomach protruding further than his dick could ever hope.

  He’s staring at the fire, but Luke’s eyes never leave him. The priest turns, looking for the door, hoping to make it out of this alive, and he sees Luke. Their eyes meet for a single second, and then Luke turns. He walks out, leaving the priest to deal with the fire. His message is clear.

  He would come to realize, albeit too late, that he would need to create much clearer messages in the future.

  THE SCREEN WENT black and Christian stood from his chair.

  Why that one? Why is it progressing chronologically again? There’s more to his life, so why is it focusing on the beginning?

  He looked over to the other, but his bloody eyes only stared back, no answer coming.

  “You never shut up, and now you’ve got nothing.”

  “This is your mind, Christian. Answer your own questions,” the other said.

  Christian turned away and looked back to the maze showing the time he had spent with Luke. Answers lay there, too, but not the ones that Christian needed. Those answers had brought Christian to Luke’s truth, but what he needed was something to take him to Luke’s future.

  Christian walked through the floor, heeding none of it. He took the long stairs all the way down, and wound his way to a much smaller room. Above the door, the name Charles Twaller was inscribed. Christian opened it and stepped inside. His mind had created this place from today’s research; he clearly wasn’t getting anywhere with the television upstairs, so maybe finding Twaller would at least stop the carnage for a bit.

  That’s all Christian could hope for right now. To stop all the death.

  “You could give some consideration to his offer,” the other said, standing just outside the door.

  It wasn’t even a possibility; Christian had told no one, and he wasn’t going to either. Tommy might have known he lied to Waverly about what happened; hell, he might even know what actually happened, even if unconfirmed—but Christian wasn’t going to tell him the option Luke had given him.

  He wouldn’t entertain it, but the FBI would. They’d watch Christian aro
und the clock if they knew the ultimatum, destroying any possibility of effectiveness.

  “You never think you’ll do what Luke says, but somehow, you always do. Remember The Lover? You almost killed him, and did you think that was possible in the beginning?”

  “Just shut up.”

  The room in front of him held what he knew about Charles Twaller’s life. It wasn’t much, but his mind was filling in the missing pieces. Twaller hadn’t been poor when he was younger, not in any real sense of the word, but when you look around and see nothing but rich people … well, you feel poor.

  That’s what drove Twaller. The accumulation of wealth, and it stemmed from his parents being middle class in an upper class town.

  Christian felt certain the man had been born about as near to a psychopath as possible—no one could say for certain whether nature or nurture controlled everything. Still, it was possible to accumulate wealth and not kill people while doing it. Luke had picked a near perfect person for this job, a smart psychopath, and one that knew how to hide.

  That was the biggest problem with Twaller. He was almost completely hidden. His life was a blank slate, with him currently owning some laundromats up north. Or, at least, that’s what the record showed.

  Christian moved his hand through the air, as if shooing a fly away. The screen built into the wall flashed to life, displaying a map with three green lights on it. These were the only three spots where anything amiss appeared when it came to Twaller.

  Drexler hadn’t been lying. Drivers did come up missing around Twaller. However, there wasn’t any way to pin the missing people to Twaller. In fact, there was no real reason to suspect he had anything to do with them at all. The only connection was what Christian figured out earlier that day—Charles Twaller was in the same town—at the same time—that these three people came up missing.

  Their names weren’t important. They were extremely low level operators. What mattered was that they died, apparently for no reason, and Christian believed at Twaller’s hand.