by David Beers
“Stage four.”
“There is no stage five,” Luke says.
“No, there isn’t.”
Luke turns to look at the doctor. “Is my brother going to die?”
“I can’t say for certain. No one can. There are options, though not a lot.”
“Best case scenario?” Luke asks, without tears in his eyes.
“He beats it.”
“Worst case?”
“He dies within the month,” the doctor says.
LUKE AND HIS BROTHER FIGHT. They fight hard. They begin chemotherapy and Luke forgets about school and work. The hospital figures out he has no parents, though finding records on what happened in Mexico is nearly impossible. Luke invents lies that take care of the details, but he isn’t concerned with any of it.
His life consists of helping his brother live.
Luke prays. He prays almost constantly, even when he’s feeding his brother or helping him walk to the bathroom as his strength fades. He prays and he asks God for grace, for mercy, for anything that might give his brother life.
God doesn’t answer, not in words and not in action.
His brother’s cancer continues growing and spreading, the chemo doing virtually nothing to slow it down.
The doctor sits with Luke and tells him the truth, cold and harsh.
“There’s nothing else we can do.”
“What do you mean?” Luke says in that same oddly detached tone. He may be eating himself alive inside, but to the world, he’s a machine. The doctor finds it frightening, but says nothing.
“We need to focus on making sure he’s comfortable as he goes.”
“No,” Luke says. “There must be more.”
“There isn’t, Luke,” the doctor says. “You and your brother are two of the most courageous kids I’ve ever seen, but there is nothing we can do. There are a few options as to how we can make sure he leaves without any pain. Do you feel like discussing them now, or do you need a bit of time?”
Luke discusses them but hears nothing.
His brain is on autopilot, answering questions while the core of his mind focuses on something else.
Luke goes to God. To that singular creature his mother taught him to believe was all loving. All knowing. All everything.
Even when the conversation with the doctor ends, Luke doesn’t stop seeking God. His mind is rapidly running through calculations about the universe’s size, speed, and expansion capabilities. He is trying to understand if there is a heaven, where it might exist. At the same time, he is praying harder than he’s ever done before.
He finds himself in the hospital’s cathedral. It’s the first time he’s been in a church of any kind since he helped rebuild Marquez’s. He kneels at the cross’s foot (no Jesus hung on this one, as the hospital was clearly protestant).
He prays and prays with his eyes closed. He prays without any thought of quitting. He will continue this search for God until he finds an answer.
An hour passes.
And another.
People move through the small cathedral, but Luke doesn’t look up or change position.
He prays.
And finally, something happens. Luke will go to his grave with only one belief: God could no longer deny the force of will banging at his door and ultimately answered it. Luke will know that others would call what happened a hallucination. They will say he was under tremendous pressure and finally his mind snapped.
Luke will never care one bit what these other people might say. He knows the truth.
The room ceases to exist. Luke ceases to exist in any real sense of the word. There is only nothing, and that nothing stretches forever. It is a concept that cannot be understood unless it is experienced, but in the moment, Luke doesn’t care.
He does not question where he is, not even for a second.
He is in the mind of God.
And he does not pause in awe or respect. He is raging. Luke is beyond the realm of right and wrong, beyond morality. He is in a place of such complete hate that the mind of God is simply a post that he will beat with his whip until his anger is abated.
“Make him live.”
There is no answer.
“MAKE HIM LIVE,” Luke commands.
What happens is something that Luke will only share with one person, a man named Christian Windsor that he meets years and years from this moment. He will keep what he sees, hears, and feels to himself, but the moment defines him in a way that the others never could. It changes not only the course of his life, but the course of history.
“Who is this that commands me?” Words are spoken, but there is no voice that speaks them. They are simply there.
“MAKE HIM LIVE!” Luke screams again.
“Simple child, leave me be.”
All of Luke’s rage and hate pours out into that nothingness. It spreads and fills and he somehow watches it approach this God figure, this creature that is supposed to care. To love. To show mercy.
“YOU MAKE HIM LIVE!”
And Luke looks on, his words singing out across a space that doesn’t exist.
“No.”
LUKE WAKES UP HOURS LATER.
He remembers everything, but says nothing to the preacher that finds him lying in front of the cathedral’s cross. Luke says nothing to anyone. He understands what he saw and he understands the meaning. His mother lied because someone lied to her.
Luke met God and understands that it cares nothing for its creations. God cares only for its own wants—is a supremely selfish creature. Later, Luke will further refine his belief, but when he wakes up in the cathedral, he simply knows that his brother will die and he can do nothing about it.
He spends some time with the doctor and decides it’ll be best if his brother dies at home—though that place is quickly changing too, since the authorities understand no parents live with the two minors.
They grant him space during his brother’s death, however, and Luke is by his side as it happens.
He holds his hand as his brother takes his last breath, gasping in short little heaves. And then, he’s simply gone. His body is still there, but whatever made Mark, Mark, isn’t. The body is thin and frail and looks like something that had never been alive at all.
An undertaker is called and the body is removed.
Luke decides against a funeral. The body is cremated and Luke does not need the ashes. He saw the body in the bedroom and knew that there was nothing left of his brother, ashes or not.
The church took his mother, but Luke knew God took his brother. God, who holds the world, could not spare time nor a moment’s peace for Luke. He, this creature who Luke’s mother believed was humanity’s creator and savior, had taken the last thing Luke had in this world.
God left Luke nothing and so, at 17, Luke decides he will take everything from God.
CHAPTER 22
“A nd that means I’m going to die?” Charles asked.
Windsor nodded.
“What’s his brother got to do with it?”
“I’d like to say I don’t have time to sit here and explain this to you, but that’s really all I do have,” the FBI agent said.
“Do I have to hit you in the face again?”
“I ….” Christian smiled, though his fat lips hid most of his teeth. “I have a problem. I’m sorry.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. You’re gonna have more problems soon. A lot more. Now why does that story mean he’s coming to kill me?”
“I never said he’s coming.”
“Then who would?”
“I don’t know,” Windsor said. “I only said Luke means to kill you somehow.”
“Fine. Fucking fine. Why does that story make you think so?”
“His brother ….” The FBI agent paused and looked up into the air, as if some answer might come from the ceiling above. Charles stared at his battered, blood crusted face—the blood painting dark wrinkles on it. “I didn’t know this before, but when his brother die
d, that was the last time Luke was human. I don’t mean that facetiously. There’s something inside us ….” He looked down at Charles and seemed to consider his next words. Charles knew what he was thinking of saying, something along the lines of Charles not being human either, but the agent got control of his tongue before he caught another fist across the face. “There’s something inside us that separates us from animals. It separates Luke from us, too. Because he doesn’t have it. It died with his brother. That … that ability to see the other and understand they’re like you. To respect what’s in them because you respect that it’s in you, too. Luke lost that when his brother died. There is no one like him, in his mind, and maybe he’s right. There is only him and this war he’s created.”
“What war? This one? The one we started?” Charles asked.
Windsor’s one good eye met Charles’s. “How much do you know about Luke?”
“I know what he hired me to do. That’s it.”
“And you thought it would be wise to halt what he hired you to do? To take me and my partner, and then try to kill Luke once he was angry?”
Charles said nothing. He wanted to slap the man again, but something in his voice kept Charles’s hand at bay. Amazement. That was the emotion he heard. Windsor was truly amazed, but not at Charles’s bravery or courage. He sounded amazed at his stupidity.
“I’ll make this simple. Luke declared war on God after his brother died. And now, he’s just declared war on you.”
LUKE WONDERED if Mr. Twaller had gone to Christian and asked about his brother.
He hoped so. He knew Christian’s honesty would help Mr. Twaller understand what was coming. Which was important. Luke wanted the man to anticipate his own death. To worry about it.
Luke did not have time to dwell on his mistakes here. Christian’s (and to a lesser extent, Tommy’s) life was in a very precarious position and Luke’s actions had to be perfect to ensure neither died. He could tolerate Tommy’s death, but not Christian’s. Not yet.
Luke waited in a hotel room, with one leg crossed over the other. A glass of water sat on the table in front of him, a pistol next to it. He wore black, leather gloves, but not to avoid any finger prints. He planned on driving after this, and had purchased the car he wanted to make the drive in. A Tesla, of course.
The gloves were simply driving gloves.
He wasn’t worried about prints for the FBI right now. They were in disarray, so much so that he wondered if they even knew Christian was missing. Mr. Twaller hadn’t killed Waverly, but the Director’s own life wasn’t exactly guaranteed at the moment. The sarin attack was still working wonders, even after the fact. The FBI had an interim director, and while Luke might still be their major priority, finding him during this much chaos would be an exercise in futility.
The door to the hotel room opened. Luke was hidden from those entering, and would remain so until the door shut. He picked up the gun and stood quietly.
The door closed and Luke fired the silenced pistol.
The second person to enter dropped to the ground. A mist of blood hung in the air like a small balloon of red paint had burst.
The first person to enter turned to the second, even as Luke put the gun down on the table. Her mouth hung open and abject terror spread across her entire face, but not a sound escaped her lips.
“Hi, Veronica,” Luke said. “We have some work to do.”
There are only two more stops on this crazy train. Find out what happens in the second to last book!
The Animal
Chapter one on the next page!
THE ANIMAL
C hristian sees Luke. He sees him a lot now, and that’s because there is more light inside his head than out. He retreats to his mansion often, especially when the pain grows too great to bear.
As it has now.
Luke is 18 and his brother, Mark, is a year dead. His mother died seven years earlier. Luke was born with a different last name, but he is now Luke Titan.
After his brother’s death, Luke spent time burying his history, the final piece being his name change. The boy that left Mexico—a body and a burnt down cathedral behind him—no longer exists. Not legally, nor practically.
Luke Titan is what remains of that person, and Christian watches him sit on a bench in front of a gorgeous building. A book is closed on Luke’s lap; he hasn’t opened it since taking a seat. It’s a book for a philosophy class, an introductory one that outlines Kant and Descartes, as well as a few other notable figures.
Luke does not need to read the book. He is well versed in all the philosophers. He goes to class, though, because he knows it is expected of him and expectations are important.
Luke is an attractive young man. Thin and well dressed. He did not naturally have impeccable taste, but has spent much of his free time learning what clothes are both in style and fit him well.
He notices the women passing him, or rather—notices when they glance over at him. Many do. Even professors. He can read some of their thoughts, almost as if he is a telepath. He isn’t, of course—it’s just their thoughts are basically written across their faces.
There is something stunning about Luke Titan, even sitting on a bench underneath the autumn sun. Christian can see it, too.
He’s beautiful, Christian thinks.
Luke watches the girl approach him—she is not beautiful in the same sense he is (Timeless, Christian thinks), but she’s very pretty. Long blonde hair with dark blue eyes.
“You sit out here every day,” she says as she arrives at his bench. “Why?”
“I have class in the building behind me.” He smiles; it looks both cocky and friendly.
“But why do you sit out here not talking to anyone?”
“I like the view,” he says.
“Do you like it now?”
Luke’s smile widens. “The view, at this moment, isn’t bad at all.”
“Then why don’t you take this view on a date?” the girl asks. “I’ve watched you sit here for two weeks and you never once open that book. So instead of sitting here, get something to eat with me.”
“Are you asking me to ask you, or commanding me to take you out.”
“Both,” the girl says.
“Well, would you like to get some food?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
THE TELEVISION TURNED OFF, leaving Christian sitting on Luke’s floor inside his mansion.
“I haven’t seen this one yet,” the other said—the negative of Christian. He looked exactly the same, except for the endlessly dripping blood seeping from his eyes, his hands, and sometimes even his mouth. The other was something Luke left behind; one of many things, Christian supposed.
He could never tell, however, whether the other was more Luke … or more himself.
“Neither have I,” Christian answered.
He spoke to the other now, and had been for the past few days—if days had actually passed. Christian didn’t know, his usual grasp on time failing between the pain and darkness that waited outside this place, this mansion. He spoke to the other because he thought he might go insane if he didn’t.
“Did Luke write you any letters about this?”
“No,” Christian said.
“So are you just making it up? Trying to entertain yourself so that you don’t have to go back out there with the fat man?”
The fat man was Charles Twaller, and the question wasn’t a bad one. Charles had captured both Christian and his FBI partner, Tommy Phillips. Captured and was now in the process of slowly torturing them to death. That’s where the pain outside originated from, and why Christian spent so much time inside his mental mansion—even if he only had this floor now.
“No, I don’t think I’m making it up.”
“Ha!” the other shouted. “There’s no way you know any of this for sure. You can’t go downstairs anymore, and you certainly don’t want to be out in reality, so you’re just making up stories to tell yourself.”
Christian
stood from the chair, ignoring the other’s taunting.
He walked across the top floor of the mansion. He didn’t look at any of the sights on his left or right. He knew them all intimately: each video or hologram a piece of Christian’s life that he spent with Luke Titan.
Right now, he wanted to see how far the water had risen.
He made his way to the floor’s balcony and looked down the stretching staircase.
Christian was stuck up here; a flood was happening beneath, and the water had filled half the stairwell, which meant the rest of his mansion was already flooded. Christian knew the water was only a metaphor for his own death, his mind’s best approximation for how much more torture he could take from Charles Twaller. When the water reached this floor, Christian would drown—though, he doubted it would matter much at that point. He’d probably be close to brain dead by then.
“This Twaller man is pretty ruthless, huh?” the other said, stepping up behind him.
“I love it when you state the obvious.”
“Did you think Luke was going to save you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe,” Christian said. He had considered it, especially after Luke told Twaller to ask about his brother. “ … No, I didn’t expect him to save me. I expected him to kill Twaller.”
“You don’t anymore?”
“ … I don’t know …,” Christian said. “If Luke was coming, he should have been here already.”
“You don’t even know how many days have passed. How can you say he should have already come?”
The other was probably right. It was the torture causing him to lose hope. The unending pain that would return the moment he left this place. Christian was capable of blocking it all out from his mansion, of somehow severing the brain/body connection … for a time at least. He didn’t know how it worked, was only grateful that it did.
“I have to go back,” he said.
“Tommy?”
Christian nodded. He could come here and hide from the pain, from Twaller. Tommy could go nowhere. Tommy stayed in that small area they shared, lying on his cot as his body died.
