by David Beers
He hadn’t found his target yet, but he was getting closer. He had come back to the motel to rest for an hour or so, then he planned on returning to the city. It wasn’t late enough to do what he needed.
He undressed, folding his clothes the same as he always did, then lay down on his back. The animal closed his eyes and sleep washed over him quickly. He was capable of incredible feats of sleeplessness, but he preferred sleep when he could get it. He needed it now, especially with what was to come.
His sleep was restful, the ever present pink light finally keeping away.
The animal had spent the past 24 hours learning everything he could about Luke Titan’s ‘partner’, though the animal used the term loosely. Charles Twaller. He didn’t know exactly what happened in the hospital, but his instinct told him Titan hadn’t been involved. That meant Twaller had to be, or at least a high probability.
The animal used his connections to learn what he could about the man. Twaller did a decent job of hiding his activities, but the animal’s 30 plus years in this business allowed little to be kept from him. The FBI and other law enforcement agencies might have snitches and informants, but the animal needn’t rely on rats. His network was vast, and when he needed information, he could find it. He used his network to understand as much as he could about Charles Twaller, and was finally given an address.
He would use it tonight.
After two hours, the animal woke. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He looked on for another moment, unsure if he saw the pink light shining across the ceiling. He blinked, saw only darkness, and then swung his legs out of bed.
He dressed and put on his backpack. The animal walked out into the night and got into the car he’d bought yesterday. He’d paid a thousand dollars cash. The interior was frayed, with stains on the cloth seats. The radio didn’t work and the car smelled strongly of cleaning fluids. The animal didn’t care about any of it; he only needed the car to move from A to B.
He rolled the front windows down slightly and pulled out of the motel, then drove 30 miles to Philadelphia.
He parked the car in a public deck, taking his ticket and putting it on the dashboard.
The animal stepped out, grabbed his backpack, and then took the elevator down to the street level. He had no paper or digital device with the address written on it. It was memorized.
He walked four blocks south and then three blocks east before finding himself in front of a high-rise building. The person the animal wanted to see was Charles Twaller’s lawyer, and unlike his client, he didn’t attempt to hide. No, the lawyer lived near the top of the building, his condo surely one of the nicest on the premises.
The animal walked into the building’s lobby. It was one in the morning and only a single security guard on duty. The animal walked to the desk and placed his backpack down on it.
“Hi, sir. Who are you here to see?” the woman asked from behind the desk.
The animal said nothing. He unzipped the backpack with the opening facing him.
“Sir?” the woman said, standing up.
The animal pulled his pistol out and shot her in the chest twice, then put another bullet in her head. She stood staring at him awkwardly for a second, as if he hadn’t just murdered her, then collapsed in a heap.
The animal took the elevator key from her belt and then zipped up his backpack. He put it on and walked across the lobby, his right hand holding the pistol. He rode the elevator up to the correct floor, seeing no one on his way, and stepped off.
He walked down the hallway and found the correct door—the number 2046.
The animal didn’t look left or right. He simply lifted his foot and kicked the door in. A shout cried out from inside and the animal moved quickly into the condo. He turned right, toward the sound of the voice, recognizing it as a woman’s. He saw her sitting on the couch, staring with an open mouth.
The animal put two holes in her head.
The lawyer walked out from the back bedroom then. He was standing in a loosely tied robe and holding a drink. His fat stomach hung over his tight, white underwear.
“Sit down,” the animal said.
The lawyer tried to say something but only dropped his drink to the floor.
“Down. There,” the animal said, pointing with his left hand at the chair across from the dead woman.
The lawyer stared at his bleeding lover, his lower lip shaking. The animal stepped forward, blocking his view. “If you don’t sit down right now, I will kill you.”
The lawyer didn’t so much sit as fall backward into the chair. Tears ran down his cheeks; the animal knew they wouldn’t hinder his ability to talk.
“Charles Twaller. You’re his lawyer. Where is he?”
The attorney looked up with eyes that said they didn’t have the first clue as to what the man was asking. Charles Twaller could have been an alien from Mars for all he knew. The animal recognized, and understood, the look. The man was useless.
He fired two shots into his chest, another into his head.
The man didn’t even gasp.
The animal let his arm relax and the gun rest at his side.
He walked down the hallway the lawyer had just come from, finding an office quickly. A laptop sat on the desk, closed. The animal placed it in his backpack, then went into the couple’s bedroom. He found two cell phones and took them both. He made another cursory check through the home, but found nothing that might help him.
He walked out the shattered door, leaving the two behind him to enjoy the rest of their endless night.
Chapter 14
“Simone is here,” Waverly said. “She’s in the waiting room.”
“Better late than never, I guess,” Tommy said.
“I wouldn’t let her come until I was sure you two were going to make it. Even then, I didn’t clear her to fly up here until yesterday when I left. She got on the first plane.”
“Is she coming in?” Christian asked.
The three of them were in Tommy’s room again. He hadn’t slept well last night. They kept him on a low dosage of pain pills, having to monitor the amount they gave him with his paraplegic condition. That meant the pain didn’t rage all night, but could probably be ascribed to a dull roar.
And now, at seven in the morning, Waverly was here.
“No, she’s not coming in yet. I need to talk with you both before we continue. That’s the real reason I asked you to get some rest. I needed time to think.”
Tommy would have sat up straighter if he could. His eyes darted over to Christian, unsure if his partner might say some obscenity, swearing that Waverly’s dilly-daddle would get Veronica killed. Christian must have heard the same thing Tommy did, however, because he kept his mouth shut.
Tommy heard fear.
He hadn’t heard that from Waverly before. Over the past few weeks, the Director had shown a range of emotions, from exasperation to desperation, but not fear.
Not until now.
“Sir, is it something we need to know?” Tommy whispered.
Waverly paused and looked down at his black shoes.
“Yes.”
Tommy didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to know whatever was scaring this man, someone that he had followed for years without end. Someone who made the tough decisions even when they weren’t popular. Someone he respected.
Tommy was silent, his eyes not glancing to Christian.
“If either of you decide to tell, I’ll lose my job and face criminal prosecution. I’ll probably cop a plea deal, and I doubt I’ll serve time, but there will be repercussions. I don’t tell you that to scare you. If you don’t tell, you could be considered accomplices. I won’t blame either of you if you turn me in. I might do the same if the situation were reversed.”
Waverly looked up and measured them both with his eyes.
“I thought you two were dead. I thought that Luke had taken you and finally won. I hadn’t really considered whether he would come for me next, but I guess it woul
d have made sense. I didn’t make my decision based on that, though. I didn’t have any fear for my own life, however stupid that might have been.”
“What are you getting at?” Christian said.
“I went outside the law in order to catch Luke.” Waverly stared at him with eyes of the condemned.
“What does that mean, exactly?” Tommy whispered.
“I found someone whose job is to kill. I found them and I hired them, paying out of my own pocket.”
“A mercenary?” Tommy asked.
Waverly nodded.
“Jesus.”
The room was silent for a few moments. Tommy kept his eyes on Waverly but Christian looked away, staring at the floor.
“Who is he?” Christian finally asked.
“I don’t know his name, but he’s very good. If Luke can be found, this guy will do it.”
“And when he finds him … what are his instructions?”
“He only does one thing when he finds people. He kills them.”
Christian looked up. “And what about Veronica? What will he do with her?”
“That’s why I’m telling you. If he gets to Luke, and she’s with him—he’ll kill her too.”
Luke looked at Veronica. He didn’t prefer her like this. He preferred the woman with personality, the one with enough fire to go about spouting off that he might have been involved with his superior’s suicide.
The woman next to him had no fire, no personality. She was a drone—his drone—but a drone nonetheless.
“Veronica, will you get me a glass of water, please?”
She turned her head to him, the words registering in her new mind. She nodded without smiling, and stood, walking into the kitchen like a pod-person.
Oh, this wouldn’t do. Not for long.
Luke wasn’t meant for servants.
The two of them were renting a large house on the edge of San Diego. They were within an hour of the border and Luke was contemplating whether to cross. He had enjoyed Mexico, but this wasn’t the time for retirement. He had saved Christian and Tommy, but Christian’s fate hadn’t changed.
Veronica walked back in with his glass of water. He took it and looked up at her from his chair. She didn’t move, waiting on his next instructions.
He turned the glass upside down, the water pouring out all over the floor in front of him.
Veronica didn’t flinch.
“You can sit down,” Luke said.
She did.
Luke’s hypnosis was strong, stronger than he actually had imagined possible. Which, when he thought about it, was silly. Why would he not have excelled at it, when he really put his mind to it? It made sense that he could keep her in a permanent trance, given the amount of time they spent practicing.
He crossed one leg over the other and stared out the house’s bay windows. He could see the ocean from here, though it was miles away.
Christian knew Luke had Veronica. He would come for Luke as long as Veronica was his captive. And Tommy? Perhaps the fire in his belly was extinguished—as it was for Veronica, although for different reasons. Would he keep coming, though? Would Christian’s desire convince him?
Luke thought so. He was planning on it.
He had made his way to the opposite side of the country, but knew he couldn’t stay here. Like it or not, his purpose was now intertwined with Christian’s.
Twaller’s death signified the war was over. Was all the money Luke invested worth it? He looked over at Veronica; she was staring out the window too, but without registering what she saw. Her expression was as blank as her mind.
And Tommy? He was a broken man, most likely ready to quit—to retire into a hole and never come back out. Living whatever remained of his life alone.
Christian?
What was happening in his mind? Was he nearing the point that for so long Luke had hoped he would see? Was he finding his own purpose, and was that matching up with Luke’s own? Yes, he thought so.
The insanity had to be taking hold, and that meant all the money spent was more than worth it. Still, Christian was supposed to kill those he loved, and he hadn’t yet.
Chapter 15
Luke decides to start small with his ambitions. Brenda Manor, the girl who asked him out that day on campus, is the perfect target.
They begin dating and Luke acts as he is supposed to. He holds her hand, makes the requisite amount of love, and meets her family and friends. He is a gentleman and a charmer. He is someone that every father or mother would want their daughter to date, at least on first appearance.
Christian watches these months pass, though time isn’t the same in his mansion. He sees them go by but it is more like downloading something into his mind than actually watching it.
Christian sees their dates and he sees their arguments, the ones Luke pretends to participate in, though Luke doesn’t care in the slightest how they turn out. He only allows them to happen so that the relationship seems normal. That’s what people do. They argue. They fight. Then they make up.
The girl falls for Luke and how could she not? He is, by any measure, as perfect as humanly possible. He says the right things at the right times; he listens with abandonment; he touches when necessary and he loves fiercely.
It is all a ploy though, and Christian understands it.
Luke needs this woman’s love. He needs her adoration. He needs her complete trust.
When he has those things, he can begin his purpose. This war on God. This war on what he deems the unrighteous control of the universe. He will test the waters with her, sticking his foot into the ocean to determine how cold it is—how much he can handle. So far, looking upon it from the beach, Luke thinks he will swim long and hard.
One starts small, though. One does not simply begin putting anthrax in FBI offices, after all.
The day arrives after many months.
“I don’t want to say.”
“Tell me,” Brenda says. Her face is firm and her eyes hold anger in them.
“It’s just going to cause problems and it’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me. I need to know what she did.”
Luke looks at Brenda, playing his role perfectly. He needs to make her think that he would rather keep silent about the entire situation, just let it blow over. He needs her to want to know, her anger to grow some.
Because a choice is coming for Brenda. One that will tell Luke how persuasive he can be.
“Can we please just forget it? I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No. If she did something, I want to know.”
Brenda is talking about her roommate, and what she did is nonexistent, but that matters little to Luke. It’s what Brenda will do after the revelation that is of importance.
“She just made a pass at me. That’s all.”
“What did she say?”
Luke sighs and looks out the dorm room window. He is sure that Brenda’s roommate won’t show up, not while he’s lying about her at least. He knows her schedule through and through.
“She said that she could fuck me better than you. Something about how you’re a prude and that she would take better care of me.”
Brenda is quiet for some time.
“What did you say?”
“That I love you. What do you think I said?”
“Is that all?” Brenda asked.
“I asked her not to speak to me like that again, and that if she did, I wouldn’t talk with her anymore.”
Brenda nods. There are tears in her eyes. Luke stands and walks to her, wrapping his arms around her.
“Are you going to say anything? She’ll just deny it.”
“I don’t know,” Brenda answers.
Which is good. Confusion on her part is exactly what Luke wants—because he thinks he knows what Brenda will do. He’ll give her the choice, but in the end, he thinks he knows.
“This could all be made up,” the other said. “Invented.”
“No,” Christian responded. He d
oesn’t believe it, even though Luke never mentioned anything about this in any of his letters.
“How can you be sure? Things aren’t exactly … great in here, you know?”
Christian looked across Luke’s floor at the top of his mansion. The other was right about that. Christian looked up at the ceiling and saw that Luke’s portrait was starting to crack. The bricks that held the mansion together were pulling apart, most likely from the waterlogged foundation. All of this simply meant Christian’s mind was breaking.
So, no, things weren’t great up here.
But he didn’t think he was making this up.
Christian thought something else might be occurring.
Back when Luke arrived at his hotel room, Christian had surprised him. Christian could have actually killed Luke if he’d simply pulled the trigger instead of trying to beat Luke with the gun. He thought something like that might be happening now.
This girl, this Brenda, was inconsequential in the larger picture of Luke’s life. She was so inconsequential that Luke wouldn’t consider her worth noting at all. Yet, Christian was learning something Luke wasn’t aware of.
“I can use it,” Christian said.
“How?”
“I don’t know yet.”
And he didn’t. But he trusted his mind, even now, to understand things that he didn’t—not consciously, at least.
Something was here, or else his mind wouldn’t be recreating it.
Christian hadn’t come to his mansion to watch Luke; he’d simply meandered back there, unable to really stop himself.
“Are you more at peace when you’re here? Because you’re closer to him?” the other asked.
Christian ignored him. He walked through Luke’s floor and down the large staircase. The water had receded, leaving the rest of the mansion open to him.
He moved through the hallways. It had been a while since he ventured down this far. There simply hadn’t been a need to—
