by David Beers
He turned to the middle of the room and saw a manhole cover residing on the floor. Out of all the rooms and floors in this building, there was not another one of those. It was unique to this room. To this contract killer. This animal.
That’s what he was, a cousin to the wolf. Hunger. Kill. Eat. Those are the things this man thought about.
Christian walked to the manhole cover.
“Here,” the other said from behind him. Christian turned to find a crowbar being presented to him. “Use this.”
Christian took the tool and hooked it underneath one of the cover’s openings. He pushed down on the floor and lifted it from the ground. Christian turned it and then pushed.
He was breathing a bit heavier as he approached the opening. Darkness stared back at him, though he could see the metal ladder descending, the same as in any city.
“You coming?” he said, turning to the other.
“I guess, though your mind is becoming a scary place, Christian. You know that right? Things aren’t exactly kosher in here anymore.”
Christian smiled. “They haven’t been kosher since you showed up. Let’s go.”
Christian stepped into the opening and started climbing down. The air grew cold and thick immediately, as if water pooled here.
It took him a few minutes to climb down, much longer than he had expected. Blood dripped from above as the other followed. Christian felt the warm drops falling onto his hair, sometimes hitting his hands and forehead as well. He didn’t bother trying to wipe them off.
Isn’t that why he first showed up? To show you that blood was on your hands? That what Lucy Speckle did was as much your fault as anyone else’s?
Blood is on all our hands, Christian thought. There’s no hiding from it.
He reached the bottom and waited another few seconds for the other to reach him.
“You don’t happen to have a flashlight, do you?”
“No,” the other said.
Christian nodded, expecting as much. Wherever they stood, it was dark. Christian could see a pathway a few feet in front of him, but not how far it went.
“This is his mind,” he said, talking mainly to himself. “The animal. He doesn’t even know this place exists. It’s beneath his conscious mind, deep down.”
The other killers Christian had caught all had issues, obviously, but none like this. They remembered their issues and those memories fueled their actions. This man remembered nothing. His conscious mind was like the room upstairs, and beneath, in this place … the monsters lay in wait.
For who?
Christian?
Luke?
Had they already taken Veronica and Tommy?
“Are we going deeper?” the other asked.
“Is it my mind or his that you’re scared of?” Christian asked, feeling a sick sense of humor in the question. The other was finally on the defensive, the apparition that plagued Christian no longer feeling comfortable.
“There’s only ever been your mind for me, Christian. It was strange at first, coming to understand how everything worked and how I fit in. Then it was normal for a long time. And now … strange doesn’t even begin to describe it.” The other spoke from Christian’s side, his voice echoing off the walls.
“What describes it?”
“I don’t want to be here anymore.”
Christian didn’t need to ask if he meant this basement—that wasn’t it. He didn’t want to exist, because the only place he could exist was inside Christian’s head.
“Stop being a pussy,” Christian said. “Let’s go.”
He started walking, his last friend taking a second longer before falling in behind.
For the first time, Waverly watched Christian doing his unique type of work. The young agent sat in Waverly’s office, leaning back against one of the leather chairs. His eyes were closed, though he wasn’t slumped down as if he was asleep. He sat upright and his eyes twitched rapidly beneath his lids.
Waverly sat behind his own desk, staring at Christian.
For the first time in your career, you’re out of your element, he thought. You’ve gone too far down this road and there’s no way back. There’s no way to even control it.
He hadn’t called the Attorney General yet. He didn’t know what to say to her, had no plan on how to either cover this up or come clean. Certainly he couldn’t go to her and say: Hey, Wendy, how’s it going, babe? You remember Luke Titan? Well, I sort of hired a killer to go get him a week or two ago, and apparently, the killer took the job pretty seriously, because he grabbed him this afternoon. By the way, just as an FYI, he also took one of our agents—Tommy Phillips ... aaaaand that lady who was on the television last month. You know the one? We put her in Witness Protection a few years ago. Yeah, they’re both gone.
And yet, what was he supposed to say? Tommy and Veronica were missing. There was no way around it, and they’d last been seen with Luke.
You’re going to end up in jail, Alan. There’s no other play here. You’ll eventually have to come clean.
His only hope, and it wasn’t much of one, was the person now sitting in front of him—eyelids twitching and a scar resting on his face like some type of malformed cancer.
What hope is there? What’s he going to do? Find the man you hired to kill Luke? Is that going to get you out of this goddamn mess?
No. The only salvation lay beyond even Christian’s ability. Waverly had to hope, against all odds, that the three were still alive—Luke, Tommy, and Veronica. Then, he had to believe in nearly the supernatural: that they could get the three back … or at least two of them … Luke’s body would suffice.
Waverly smiled. A small, sad thing.
Hope was the last refuge of the damned.
Christian listened to water running on either side of him. They were walking over some kind of waterway, though Christian didn’t know what exactly it was. The place smelled of mildew, and Christian felt confident if he touched the walls he would stroke moss.
The other walked next to him, both of them going slow as there was nothing to light the way.
“How far are we going?”
“I don’t know,” Christian said. “I suppose until we find something of use.”
“Are you sure this is his mind? Are you sure it’s not yours?”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe,” the other said, “you’re tricking yourself. Maybe you think this is the killer’s mind, like any other of your creations, but maybe you’re simply finding somewhere new inside the mansion. A dark place. Or maybe, it’s both of your minds. Your dark side and his, all thrown down here.”
Christian hadn’t considered such an idea … but it wasn’t impossible.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, tossing away his worries. “We’re here, and if it’s me, then we should find out. If it’s him, we’ll find that out too.”
They walked on for another few minutes, only the sound of running water keeping the silence at bay.
Christian saw it first, stopping, and the other following suit.
“Are you going to it?”
Christian said nothing, only gazed forward. Though he couldn’t have known, he and Luke were doing very similar things at the same moment—if in different surroundings. They were both walking down hallways with rooms attached to the side; Christian saw the first room in front of him now, further along on the right. The door was open and a pale, sickly pink light emanated from inside. It illuminated what Christian was walking on, a platform of sorts, which indeed was raised above running water. The platform didn’t turn into the door, though—it kept going straight. The running water separated Christian from the room, though the distance could easily be stepped over.
Christian walked forward, leaving the other to stay if he wanted. He was going to the pink light and whatever it might hold.
Chapter 22
Luke’s eyes remained closed though he was awake. He didn’t know if his assailant could sense his consciousness, but he th
ought the chances good. The man was in the room with him, but sitting abnormally still—as still as anyone Luke had ever been around.
They remained motionless, Luke trying to ascertain anything about the man holding him hostage. There was nothing to be gained, though.
“I know you’re awake.”
Luke’s mind ran the accent through all the possibilities he knew of, but he couldn’t place it. The man’s voice could have been born nowhere. Most likely he’d gone through training to erase any hint of accent, which meant deep military.
Luke opened his eyes. His body felt pain, but he was disconnected from it. He had done something similar when Speckle kidnapped him, though he hadn’t stretched himself this far back then.
No, this was new territory for Luke, because he understood death was very near. The man that now sat across from him was nothing to toy with. Christian may still be coming for Veronica and Tommy, that was possible, but he wouldn’t make it in time if Luke made even one mistake.
It was not lost on Luke, these reversal of roles.
The assailant’s hair was somewhat stylish, though Luke thought came more from accident, rather than purpose. It wasn’t short as many military peoples’ tended to be, but rather sat at about an inch and a quarter—tossed messily on his head. He wore glasses and his face was thin, though not as chiseled as Luke’s.
Luke took in the man’s attire, trying to gain any bit of knowledge that might help; it was clear he did not put great importance on clothing. He wore them out of necessity, and picked them based on utility. He sat in gym shorts and a t-shirt. Luke knew he wore them to stay mobile in case he needed to move quickly.
“I’ve been hired to kill you.”
Luke said nothing. His first instinct, as always, was sarcasm—but to trifle now would most likely mean death.
“I am going to complete the job,” the assailant said, and Luke thought he heard the first bit of information he could use. This man wasn’t speaking to Luke, not completely. He was also convincing himself.
He was speaking to himself because this was new for him, to converse with a contract. Why?
“Those two people downstairs. Why did you take them?”
“I wanted them,” Luke said.
The man’s jaw flexed. Luke saw no other anger in his face—wasn’t even sure the flexing was anger, perhaps it was involuntary.
“You were not chasing them, though. Why did you take them?”
And why are you curious? Luke wondered. His clothes. His dress. The way that he seemed to be speaking almost as much to himself as to Luke—it all was telling Luke very simple, but very powerful things. Are you naturally curious, or is this different? Was that why your jaw flexed?
“I am playing a game,” Luke answered.
“With the one you were chasing? The FBI agent?”
“He is part of it, but he is not the main participant.” Luke felt confident this man had been trained in lie detection. Luke could hide a lot from almost anyone, but he wouldn’t take chances now.
“Who is the main participant?”
“God.”
The man stood at that, and walked across the room. Luke had only taken in the area around him peripherally, but now allowed his eyes to flash across the room. Another regally decorated place, like the hallway below. Deep wood panels covered the walls, and large pictures showing beautiful views. Paris. London. The American West.
The man stood with his back to Luke, even though Luke wasn’t bound.
“What do you need to finish this game?” the man said.
“For the other FBI agent to find me with the two down below.”
“And what will happen to him, to Windsor?”
Luke was very still as his mind rapidly played out the scenarios before him. A second passed as he chose to continue telling the truth. “He will be wrecked.”
“Mentally or physically?”
“Mentally.”
“Will your game be over then?” the man asked.
“Close, yes.”
“Do you wish to finish playing?”
“It is the only thing I live for.”
The man was silent for a long time. Minutes. Perhaps half an hour. Luke stared at him, sincerely impressed at his ability to remain motionless.
“I will let you play your game, then. You will die after. Does that sound agreeable?”
Luke’s curiosity desperately wanted to understand this man’s psychology. Something was amiss with it, Luke held no doubt about that. Paid killers didn’t dicker with those paid supposed to die, and the distance so prevalent in this man … Luke felt more and more sure this was unnatural for him, yet to delve into such a thing now would end disastrously.
“You’ll kill me once I finish?” he asked.
The man nodded.
“Yes. That’s agreeable.”
“I gave them midazolam. They will wake up in two hours.”
“Injuries?” Luke asked.
“The woman broke her humerus. I set the bone; her arm will need to remain in the sling. The man’s body couldn’t tighten up, so he broke nothing. Your ribs are also broken.”
Luke knew that well, though as he stood in front of this man, he did his best to keep from favoring his torso. He looked down at Tommy and Veronica.
“What are you going to do?” Luke asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you plan on watching me?”
“Yes, but not like I am now. I’m sure you’ve seen the cameras throughout the house.”
Luke didn’t look behind him, though he thought his abductor was standing at the door. It didn’t matter. He could have been standing upstairs, and Luke would still have no chance at escape. Not in this condition.
“He’s coming for me,” Luke said.
“The other agent?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
Luke nodded.
“How long will it take him?”
Luke had been considering this since the man told him he could finish his ‘game’. Luke, of course, had no plans on dying here, and Christian would hopefully ensure that. So his arrival was key, and Luke—despite all the odds against him—thought he could turn this around to his advantage.
He smiled, but only because the man behind him couldn’t see it. A thought had come to Luke: was his arrogance finally growing too great? Broken ribs, busted face, high probability of concussion, and kidnapped by a man with a horror house and military training—yet, the Great Luke still thought he saw a way out.
Christian would be impressed.
“No longer than a week. He will have seen what you did with the van and that’ll be all he needs.”
“Needs for what?”
Luke turned around, momentarily forgetting to remain motionless and mostly silent. “You don’t know anything about him?”
The man said nothing, standing placidly behind his glasses.
“Oh, goodness, sir. You’re in for a treat. A real treat.”
“Explain it to me.”
Luke tried to fight his smile, but couldn’t hold it back. “He’s going to see into you and then he’ll come. Most likely he thinks I’m dead, but he’ll make sure. After all, we have his best friend and ex-lover. Within a week, whatever he sees at the accident will give him everything he needs to find us.”
“I’d rather not wait. How much time do you need to prepare?”
No nervousness in the man. No emotion at all. He was like something from another planet, one that Spock would have envied.
“A few days.”
“Okay. I’ll go to him instead. No sense in wasting time.”
The kidnapper turned from the room and walked out, leaving Luke with two of his favorite people.
“Tommy, welcome.”
Tommy swallowed and looked at a white room containing concrete floors. Unable to turn his head, he saw someone sitting next to him, though he couldn’t see their face.
Luke was in front of him.
“Our lady, Ms. Lopez, is still underneath the spell placed upon her. She should wake soon, though, as you were both administered a similar amount at the same time.”
His head felt loopy, but Tommy pushed all it to the side as best he could. None of this was familiar, not even remotely so.
What had happened? He remembered the National Mall. He remembered Veronica and Luke.
They’d placed him in a van and then …
Nothing. The last memory he had was of the van door closing. If they even left the parking deck (which they clearly had, or he wouldn’t be sitting here now), he had no recollection of it.
“I can see the wheels turning, Tommy. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Where am I?” Tommy said, his voice a raspy whisper, paper scraping across stone.
“I’m not exactly sure. I was hoping you might be able to explain some of that. You and I are going to be partners again, for a bit, I think.”
Tommy knew the games too well, and pushed them from his mind just as he had the haze. “Don’t fuck around. What is going on?”
“Someone was hired to kill me. Are you aware of that?”
Tommy slowly closed his eyes. His head was resting against the wall behind him, and he let himself relax for a moment. That’s what happened. The killer Waverly hired had finally found Luke.
Tommy’s eyes snapped open. “Why aren’t you dead?”
“I’m not completely certain,” Luke said. “It would appear this murderer for hire has taken a liking to me … Who hired him, Tommy? It wasn’t you, and it definitely wasn’t Christian.”
“Waverly,” Tommy said, closing his eyes again.
“You’re kidding.”
Tommy said nothing, though he wanted to shake his head. His silence would have to suffice.
“After Twaller took you two, I imagine,” Luke said. “He thought it was me and did the only thing he could think of. He was never the most creative person, but …” Tommy opened his eyes to see Luke was mostly speaking to himself. “… I didn’t think he’d do this. I knew he had conviction, but goodness.”
“You’re more talkative than usual,” Tommy whispered.
