by David Beers
“Our host isn’t that conversational. However, we need to talk as there is much to do, and like I said, we’re going to go out as partners.”
“We’re not fucking partners, Luke. You’re mad and this is only more proof. We’re kidnapped and about to be murdered.”
“Which is why our partnership is so crucial.” Luke stood and pointed at the camera in the corner. “I imagine there are microphones too, so it’s best that we’re open and honest with everyone involved.”
Tommy glanced to the camera. He couldn’t read Luke like Christian, but he knew Luke was warning him. Perhaps Luke wanted Tommy dead, Christian and Veronica, too—but he didn’t want to die, and probably didn’t want them dying at someone else’s hand either.
“He’s going to kill me, but he says that I can finish what I started with Christian. You and Veronica are key pieces to that.”
“What are you going to do?” Tommy asked. It didn’t matter how Luke answered, the plan would be insane. There was nothing to find inside Luke, despite what Christian might think. The man was mad, and Tommy only need recall the hole in his fiancée’s skull to remember that fact. Tommy asked with the slight hope that Luke might pass on something useful—in the interest of his own self preservation.
“Give him a choice,” Luke said as he turned to Veronica.
A ray of hope rose through the darkness in Tommy.
“Hello, dear,” Luke said, Tommy’s hope dying a merciless death.
He’d forgotten about the hypnosis.
Chapter 23
Christian stood just outside the pink light’s glow. A light bulb sat in the middle of the room, casting its oddly creepy shine across everything.
Shadows swam in the corners, though it didn’t seem possible. It was as if the shadows were actually—
“Ghosts,” the other said. “That’s what they are. Make no mistake about it.”
Christian swallowed, not even thinking about arguing. Whatever they were, they weren’t normal, not even for this place.
Christian stepped inside the room, jumping slightly over the stream in front of him. He moved no further in but stopped and looked back at the other. Dark trails of blood lined his face as he shook his head.
No.
Christian watched as the door closed on its own, shutting him off from any contact. He turned around slowly, not wanting to see what was in this place. It didn’t feel like his mind anymore; it certainly didn’t feel safe. Before, he’d always known there was a reality waiting outside, but in this pink room with darting shadows, he wondered if he’d met his final reality. If this was where he would stay forever, even while his body remained in Waverly’s office—for a time, at least. Eventually people would come for him, taking him away and putting him in a ward somewhere.
And while that happened, he would remain in this room, the other standing outside, forever waiting on him to return.
Christian looked to the other side of the room at the shadows darting across the walls. They were moving away from the corners, filling the middle of the room, coalescing into one dark area right beneath the light. The pink color tried to penetrate the darkness, but it couldn’t, and the more shadows moved in, the greater the darkness grew—thrusting the pink lighting to the corners, eliminating its rule over the room.
“There’s space for you here, Christian.” The shadows had formed a mouth, a large smiling thing with black jagged teeth protruding from plump black lips.
“There’s always space for me,” he said. “I made this. I made you.”
“Did you? Did you create all of this? What about the room above, the animal’s? Do you think you have any control, any longer, in here?”
“Yes. It’s mine. It’s always been that way.”
The mouth laughed, its voice echoing off the walls.
“No more. This was created outside of your grasp, and the longer you stayed with the FBI, the darker the rooms in here have grown. If you could control it, a figment of your imagination wouldn’t be waiting outside. There would be no room like this.”
“Then who controls it?”
“Now?” The mouth chuckled. “There is no control. Control is something that has long since been lost. Luke is not in control. Waverly is not in control. And you certainly aren’t in control.”
“Shut up,” Christian said. “Why bring me here if you’re just going to preach this insane gospel?”
“Very well, then. Go look at what you came for.”
The mouth opened wider and wider, until it was twice the height of Christian. He stood staring slightly upward as it closed around him.
There is a man walking in an office building. The lights are off and he’s carrying an AR-15 in his right hand, the barrel facing the ground. The man is young, younger than Christian is now. Maybe 20, 21 at the most.
Something breaks behind him and the man falls to the ground. He spins, landing on his stomach with the gun pointing at the noise. He sees nothing, and after a second rolls behind a desk. He sits up, placing his back against its drawers.
Is this who I’m chasing? Christian wonders.
He looks to his right and sees the large black mouth made of dark clouds.
“You’re chasing Luke,” it says.
Christian ignores the mouth, doesn’t have time to even consider it. Someone is firing a weapon now. Bullets wreck the desk the man sits behind. He again collapses all the way to the floor, lying on his stomach. Bullets that miss the desk tag the back wall, decorating it with large holes.
The man knows he is about to die.
He reaches down to his belt and pulls a grenade from it; the pin is still lodged in place.
The office space is too small to use the weapon; it’ll kill whoever else is in here, but it will also kill him. The man pushes himself up to one knee and throws the grenade.
Christian barely realizes the pin is still in.
Someone screams something on the other side of the room and the gunfire stops. Two people scramble; Christian realizes their mistake. The man is already up and moving, the AR-15 at his shoulder, and he’s unloading round after round. He finds the one who went left, and a bullet nearly decapitates him.
The man swings the gun right and sends off two more rounds. The first hits the runner’s neck and the second the left side of his skull.
The room is still and the man is breathing heavily. He keeps his gun raised for a few more moments, and then lets the barrel drop toward the floor. He stares at the destruction, completely detached.
Christian looks at this, slightly annoyed. He understands this animal is dangerous, already knows he’s been trained to kill—that is why Waverly hired him the first place. He turns to his right, but the mouth is opening again and as Christian opens his own to say something, he’s swallowed whole.
There is blackness for a few minutes and nothing else.
Christian watches the mouth open and he sees light again. The mouth backs away and Christian finds himself standing in a room with white stone and concrete floors. The lights above shine brightly, leaving no place for shadows.
The man from the office building is here, though older.
Two women sit in the middle of the room. Ropes are wrapped around their chests and legs, tying them both to separate chairs—they sit back to back, staring at opposite ends of the room.
The animal stands about three feet away.
“Do you know how long you’ve been here?” the man asks.
The women’s faces show that it’s been too long. Neither have been beaten, or really even hurt, but their faces are swollen from crying and salty remnants of fallen tears line their cheeks.
“Six days. Tomorrow, you both die if one of you doesn’t choose.”
The woman on the left lets out a harsh choke. Her chin dips down to her chest and she begins crying again. Christian sees she is older, and as he looks closer, he understands this is a mother and daughter.
“LET US GO!” the daughter shrieks while the mother cries.
“No. One of you must say, ‘kill the other’, and then I’ll release one of you. You have until tomorrow.”
The man walks out of the room, leaving Christian alone with the two women. The mother continues crying and the daughter joins in. It takes a moment for the mother to hear her daughter, and then she tries stifling her own tears. She wants to be strong.
“Listen to me,” the mother says. “When he comes back in here, you’re going to tell him to kill me.”
“No … no,” the daughter sobs.
The mother’s voice takes on a raw edge, fear and anger rippling through her words. “Yes, goddamnit. Yes you will. Listen to me. I’ve lived my life and you haven’t. You’re not going to die in here. I am. Do you fucking understand that?”
“No, Mom. No. I can’t do it.” The daughter’s words are growing harder to understand. Her tears are falling faster and her chest heaves up and down with them.
“It’s okay. Listen. It’s okay. I promise, I’m not scared, Julie. It’s okay.”
“WHY’S HE DOING THIS?” the daughter shrieks and then the rooms falls quiet. The only sound is the mother’s sniffles and Julie’s crying, but there is no talking.
Someone paid the man to do this, Christian understands. They paid him to set up this torturous dilemma for mother and daughter. He was once a paid mercenary, but as the years passed, he was no longer hired to walk around office buildings and kill those inside. He was paid to kidnap. Paid to torture. Paid to do anything his buyers wanted, as long as the money was right.
The lights remain on inside the room, but eventually the two women fall asleep. Christian watches, unsure how the time that passes in here correlates with the time in the real world. It doesn’t truly matter, though. There is something else here that he is supposed to see. He turns to look at the mouth, but sees nothing. He is truly alone with these two sleeping women.
The night passes. The women wake from time to time. They talk some, but not much, each one dreading what is to come in the morning. The man—the animal—will return and if one of these ladies doesn’t tell him to kill the other, then both die.
Finally, the door to the room opens and the man enters. His face is smudged—like someone wiped a thumb across it, hiding his whole identity from Christian.
He walks to the same spot as before. “Who dies?”
“No,” one of the women says. Christian doesn’t know who it is because he’s staring at the man’s face, focusing hard.
The blurriness is disappearing.
His face is clearing and Christian can nearly see who it is.
“Tell me,” the man says. “One of you must say, ‘kill her’.”
Christian sees the man’s face fully, his own jaw dropping open, though no words come out. It is Christian that stands before the two women. He looks down at his hands, seeing them clearly, then looks over to the man—the animal—but Christian’s hands are attached to his arms as well.
He steps closer, studying the animal’s face. But it’s not the animal’s. It’s his own.
Christian snaps his head to the chairs and the women are no longer there. He’s sitting on each of the chairs as well, tied down just as the ladies had been.
“Which one dies?”
Christian looks at the man asking the question—at himself—and he is looking back at Christian. Somehow, he’s asking himself the question.
Christian’s head jerked up, even as his body slid down in the chair. His eyes were wide and fear nearly crawled out from them.
“Are you okay?” Waverly said.
“I ….”
Christian had no other words. He stared across the room at Waverly, unsure what to say. Unsure what he’d just seen.
“You don’t look good,” his boss said.
“I ….” Yet once again the words died before they could be born.
Waverly stood and walked to the small refrigerator on the other side of the room. He grabbed a bottle of water and brought it to Christian, who tried to sit up as he took it.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Christian said, unscrewing the bottle’s cap. He drank deeply, the sides of the bottle bending in as he sucked the water down. There was a loud popping sound as the plastic expanded back once Christian released it.
“You’ve got to do better than that, Christian. There isn’t time for ‘I don’t knows’.”
Waverly sounded calm. Sweat dampened Christian’s hair and forehead.
“What did you find out?” Waverly asked.
“I need more time.” Christian didn’t look up from the spot on the floor. What he’d seen inside the mansion had shaken him, and hard. “It wasn’t about the killer,” he said, talking to himself. “It was about me. I mean, some of it was him. He’s remorseless. Almost unthinking in the way he operates, as if his life is on autopilot. But … everything else was about me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Director said from his side.
Christian looked up. “I’m going to have to make a choice.”
“Stand up, Christian.” The Director reached down and took him by his shoulders, helping him to his feet. “We’re going outside to get you some goddamn air. We’ll talk out there.”
The two of them took Waverly’s private elevator down, and were on the street minutes later. The elevator ride down was good, giving Christian some time to think and creating separation from what he just saw.
Finally, the two were walking beneath the morning sun. Christian blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the natural light.
Waverly led the way, which was only to say that he walked in front. Christian knew there was no end destination in mind.
“Talk to me now. What did you see?”
“I think Luke is alive,” Christian said, growing more sure even as he voiced the words. “I can’t explain it yet, but I think he is. I will be able to explain it, just not right now.” He paused, trying to make sense of his jumbled thoughts. “There’s some kind of choice being set up for me.”
“By who?”
“I don’t know. It could be Luke or it could be this other guy. I … I don’t understand this killer well enough to know if he’s setting up the choice. So that leaves Luke; he wants to make me choose something.”
“Can you tell me exactly what you saw?”
“It won’t make sense. It barely makes sense to me.”
“Just tell me,” Waverly said.
Christian sighed. They walked a little longer before Christian attempted explaining. “There were three people in a room. Two were tied up on chairs. The third was demanding that they decide which one he’d kill. Then, right before I woke up, they all turned into me. I was them. The two tied up, as well as the one threatening to kill them. I asked myself, which one was going to die?”
Waverly was quiet for 20 steps or so.
“That sounds like a dream, Christian. It doesn’t sound like anything that can help us. I know I haven’t asked you to explain this to me before, how you work, but … What am I supposed to think? Is that normal?”
“No,” Christian said. “Not like that. Nothing has ever happened like that before.”
Waverly stopped and looked down at his feet. “I don’t have to tell you time is short. I’m guessing it’s almost completely gone. If you have anything I can work with, then I need to know, Christian. If you don’t, it’s time I turn this entire operation over to someone else.” He looked up. “Are they dead? Tommy and Veronica?”
“I don’t know about them. I only know Luke probably isn’t.”
“It’s nine in the morning. By nine tonight, I need you to have something, Christian, or else I’m resigning.”
“Why?” Christian said.
“I’m beaten. I’ve corrupted myself, my values, and damn near everyone around me. I’ve lost multiple agents and it’s not like the attorney general doesn’t want me gone. If you don’t have anything for me, Christian, then I’ve got nothing left to give.”
&nb
sp; “You’ll go to prison when they find out.”
Waverly shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve still got a lot of connections and clout. But if I can’t help get those two back, then I’m just in the way.”
Christian stared, both believing and not believing what he was hearing. Waverly had been a rock throughout all of this—even in his most desperate moments, he’d been the bedrock everything else stood upon. And now … he was just … leaving? Resigning? Giving up on himself for hiring a murderer?
Waverly turned about face to the office and started walking. Christian followed, his head down, almost positive he wouldn’t have enough by this evening.
And what then?
“You know what,” the other said from up ahead. He stood slightly in the street, Christian’s bloody thumbprint still smeared on his face. He stared at Waverly as he walked by, not looking at Christian. “You resign too, and then they all die.” His eyes flashed to Christian. “Unless, they’re already dead. Then maybe you and Waverly could go meet them in the afterlife. It sure as hell beats that room with the pink light, doesn’t it?”
Christian kept his head down as he walked forward.
“What information can you get me on the man you hired?”
“What do you mean?” Waverly asked.
“A dossier. Anything. I need to know more about him if you want something from me.”
Waverly nodded, not looking over at Christian. “I’ll give you what I have.”
Chapter 24
Christian went back to his corporate apartment. He shut and locked the door, though he didn’t know why he bothered. It was as pointless as putting on sunscreen indoors.
Waverly had gotten him a dossier, though nothing extensive. Christian didn’t know what computer the Director had used, or how he’d been able to do it so quickly—and though it was light, it was still something. Christian had looked it over at the office and on the car ride over, trying to absorb everything. It didn’t contain a picture of the man, but the basics were there. His full name—irrelevant (they weren’t finding him by putting out an All Points Bulletin). Known associates—very few. His family history was mostly blank. His mother’s name was the only thing known. There were no listed residences.
