The Animal: The Luke Titan Chronicles #5

by David Beers

  The door bursts open, ripping the boy from his sleep. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, but wakes, sits up, and wraps the blanket around himself. He’s in his underwear and the blanket gives him some sense of comfort, though in reality, it doesn’t matter.

  His brother is thrown across the room by his hair. He lands on the couch, tries to stand, but a large man slams his fist into the brother’s face. He falls back to the couch, his mouth and nose bleeding, his hands covering his mouth.

  “I didn’t do it, Sean. I swear to God, I didn’t do it,” the brother nearly shrieks while blood drips down his chin.

  There are three other men in the room, and they’re big guys. Much bigger than the boy’s brother, who is a scrawny thing with ripped jeans and a dirty t-shirt.

  “Billy, stop lying to me,” the big man in front says. He’s got a beard, a thick one that nearly touches his barrel-like chest. “Where the fuck is the money?”

  “I ain’t got it, man. I didn’t take it. I wouldn’t rob you, man, Jesus CHRIST!”

  The bearded man turns and looks at the boy. “Who’s this?”

  “Nuh-Nobody,” Billy says through a bloody mouth.

  “No, it’s somebody. You tell me who.”

  “My brother, man. Just my brother. The state gave him to me a few months ago.”

  “You let your brother live in this filth?” the bearded man asks.

  Billy doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing.

  The bearded man moves across the floor, kicking trash out of the way as he does. The sound of aluminum snack bags crinkling fills the room. The bearded man squats down next to the boy, his knees popping as he does. He looks the thin kid over; the boy stares back at him.

  “Your brother here took some money from me. Did ya know that?”

  The boy says nothing. He doesn’t move at all.

  “Your brother is a junkie who thinks it’s okay to steal from me. Did ya know that, too?”

  The boy can smell the man. He smells of hours old sweat. The bearded man turns to his brother. His eyes are wide and all the color in his face has drained away.

  “Ya see, Billy, your brother, he doesn’t want to give me my money back. He wants to take it and snort it up his fucking nose, just like he does every other dollar he gets. I could kill him, I suppose, but then I wouldn’t get it back, would I?”

  The boy says nothing. Neither does the brother. He looks at his brother, his own face still. Billy, for his part, seems to know more than the boy. His eyes aren’t full of tears or anything, but his lower lip is trembling. Blood still flows over it, but Billy has forgotten that for now. Something else occupies his mind.

  “I could beat the hell out of him,” the bearded man continues. “But, I’ve beaten up junkies before. It’s not very fulfilling and it doesn’t seem to work, more often than not. A junkie is a very specific type of individual, ya see? They are completely invested in their drug. So, if Billy here was to get tuned up a bit, it wouldn’t matter to him as long as he knew he had some more booger sugar waiting when he was done.” He turned to the boy. “Am I making sense?”

  The boy doesn’t look at the man. He’s staring at his brother. The pink light hangs over this place heavily right now, because the boy thinks something very bad is near. The pink light is the reminder of that, of the very bad. The boy can almost see the light casting his brother’s pale face in its pink glow.

  “Sometimes, though, a junkie does value something more than drugs. Once in awhile it values a loved one. So, maybe I tune you up a little bit, and he tells me where my money is.”

  The boy doesn’t know what tune means and he doesn’t care. He wants his brother to look at him. He doesn’t want him to say anything, nothing like, it’ll be okay, because the boy doesn’t think anything will be okay. That is not in the realm of possibility. He just wants his brother to look at him because the boy doesn’t know anyone else in this entire world.

  Billy only stares directly at the bearded man.

  “So, what’ll it be, Billy? Do I have to hurt your kid brother here, or you gonna tell me where my money is?”

  “I ain’t got it, Sean. I told ya,” he whispers.

  The room grows silent for a second—the other two men, the boy, and the junkie all staring at the bearded man.

  After a few more seconds, the boy begins screaming again.

  “More,” Christian said as the light died once again. He was hungry, insatiably so. The more he knew, the more likely it was that he could hold this killer off for a few seconds, allowing Luke to hopefully perform a miracle. The more he knew about this creature, the more likely it was he could save his friends. He wasn’t delusional about being able to stop him, not with this little bit of time invested, but a few seconds could make the difference. “Show me more.”

  The mouth laughed from outside the door. The laugh was shrill, and Christian recognized it as his own.

  “Oh, we’ll show you, Christian. We’ll shoooow you everything!”

  And they did.

  Chapter 31

  The animal walked across the house to the kitchen. The target sat there alone, staring out the window.

  “Are you ready to finish your game?”

  The target didn’t turn around. “This is a nice view.”

  “It’s time,” the animal said. He didn’t care about the view. He did not purchase the land for the view, but for the solitude it provided him. The house had already been built, though the animal did provide additions to the basement down below—the concrete rooms were his work.

  The animal removed the gun from his belt. He didn’t point it at the target, the sound of it moving was enough.

  “I suppose it’s time,” the target said. He stood up from his stool and gazed out the window for another second. He then turned and looked at the animal. They stared at each other for a moment and then the target walked forward, passing by him.

  Titan didn’t hold his ribs quite as tightly as he had before, meaning the man was healing, but the animal wasn’t concerned. In a few moments they would all be dead.

  The animal followed the target downstairs, all the way to Windsor’s room. He stood outside the door as Titan entered.

  “How are you feeling, Christian?” the target asked.

  The agent opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, saying nothing. The animal watched everything very closely, as he knew this was the opportune time to try something. The two might think they could overwhelm him—or at least think this was their best chance.

  “It’s time to go,” the target said.

  Windsor didn’t extend his hand and Titan didn’t offer one. The agent simply sat up, then climbed to his feet. He turned around and gazed at the animal, their eyes locking.

  The animal had looked at a great number of men in his life, in situations very similar to this. He didn’t believe you could tell a lot about a person through their eyes. People might appear strong or they might appear weak, depending on when you caught them. The animal believed you could tell a lot about a person when their head was squeezed between a steel clamp. Even so, looking at the FBI agent, the pink light shone in his head for a moment. That old bulb hanging above that dirty mattress.

  It disappeared quickly. The animal paid it no mind. The light came and went, but it meant nothing.

  “Go ahead,” the target said and the agent walked forward. He didn’t take his eyes from the animal, not until they were right next to each other. The animal didn’t like it; his trigger finger twitched, but he steadied it. He knew he should kill them now, both of them, then go upstairs and finish the last two.

  He wouldn’t be rushed or unnerved, though. Not by a man staring at him. It wasn’t exactly principle, but it was the closest thing to it that the animal understood.

  He followed the two back upstairs, his gun at his waist the entire time. He walked six steps behind Titan, enough distance to keep him from being able to kick out with his leg.

  They reached the top of the stairs and
Windsor stopped walking once he saw the couch and the two people sitting on it.

  “Go to the chair opposite them, Christian,” the target said.

  Christian did as he was told.

  He saw Veronica as he walked in, and though their eyes met, he was barely more than another piece of furniture.

  Christian looked to Tommy. His head lay lazily against the back of the couch, but his eyes were alive. Tommy stared back at Christian, though he said nothing.

  Luke walked around the back of Christian’s chair and then stood just to the side of the three. Christian didn’t know what Luke expected of him; Luke was dictating the path they would take. Christian’s job was simple: keep the animal from killing them for as long as possible. Christian had looked at him when he passed downstairs—a blankness existed in the man that Christian hadn’t seen in anyone else.

  The other criminals he chased, they all had severe passions. This man, his life, had erased any semblance of those … until only a blank mind stared back out. A mind that seemed intent on very few things, with the greatest being completing contracts.

  Christian didn’t know if he had enough knowledge to do what was needed. He didn’t know if Luke would keep his promise either: that the two people in front of him would live, while Christian died. He only knew he would try. The rest was in God’s hands … or Luke’s.

  “Christian, no sense in wasting time,” his ex-partner said. “Do you have anything for us?”

  Christian looked at the two people in front of him, ignoring the killer to his left and right.

  Do you have anything for us?

  That wasn’t the question being asked. Not really, at least not for Christian. The real question was: do you have anything for them?

  Those two, right there in front of you. Veronica is in this because of you, and Tommy sure as hell wouldn’t be paralyzed if you’d been able to figure things out faster. Do you have anything for them?

  Christian turned to his right and looked at the animal.

  His gun was pointed directly at Christian.

  “Is the light shining now?” Christian whispered. “Can you see it? Or is it only in your head?”

  The animal didn’t move; his face didn’t flinch and his gun didn’t raise.

  “It’s pink isn’t it? Does it always shine for you? Or does it only come out sometimes?”

  The gun rose a bit, the barrel staring at Christian with its single black eye.

  “There is no light,” the animal said. He didn’t look away from Christian, though his next words were directed at Luke. “Get this over with.”

  “Do you ever think about that room? The one you found your mother in?”

  The animal shook his head, a small jerk that might not have been voluntary.

  “I’ve seen it,” Christian said. “I saw the room.”

  Another jerk of his head. “There’s no room and no light. Stop talking.”

  Christian closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “I told someone once, his name was Bradley … I told him it wasn’t his fault what happened to him. Not all of it at least. I told someone else, her name was Lucy, that it was her fault. What you saw in that room ….” Christian paused breathing in again, actually smelling the aroma that room gave off so many years ago. Sweat, semen, coppery blood. “The pink light was on, do you remember? That shade was so constant it seemed to be a single light, always everywhere, inescapable. It followed you from the room with those four mattresses, down that hallway, and into the room where you found her. The blood should have been a deep, dark red, but the light made that impossible, didn’t it? It was everywhere, though, red or pink, that didn’t matter. The blood had soaked deep into the bed and was across the walls. I mean, really, who knew that slitting someone’s throat could cause so much goddamn blood?”

  “Shut the fuck up,” the animal said, a raw edge in his voice that said more than his words.

  “Are you remembering? Is the pink light finally shining on more than empty space?” Christian opened his eyes and looked at the man standing across the room. The gun wasn’t shaking and no tears rested in his eyes, but the color was missing from his face. The placid look he usually possessed had been replaced by … fear?

  Was that what Christian saw? Was the animal scared?

  Push it. Just like you did with Lucy. Push it now, Christian, even harder than before.

  It wasn’t about connecting what happened in his past to what he was doing now. That connection wouldn’t matter because this man didn’t care. This was a job, and he looked at is as such.

  The point was to make him remember.

  And then hope Luke did something.

  “Your brother. He was a gem, too, wasn’t he? That guy with the beard beat the hell out of you. I mean, you were in the hospital for what, three weeks? Your brother showed up at the end, didn’t he? You still had black eyes and broken ribs, though the bruises were fading. What did he tell you? Do you remember?”

  “None of that happened.”

  Still no tears, but the gun was shaking—shaking and pointing at Christian.

  Lose control then, buddy. I wanted Lucy to kill herself, but you firing that thing at me is more than fine.

  “It did happen. Your brother said you should’ve been sleeping in his room and everything would have been fine, didn’t he? He told you he ended up giving the money back, and that was your fault, too. You were never sure that actually happened, though—because he certainly didn’t return it before you got your ass beat. So, tell me, do you think he gave it back, or was he just trying to make you feel guilty?”

  The animal closed his eyes tightly for a second. He opened them again, though, and they were suddenly bloodshot. “No more. Titan, stop this or you all die.”

  “He can’t save you,” Christian said. There was no joy here, no anger, just a grim determination that he had to keep going until Luke could disarm him. “How old were you when you were paid to kill your brother? Billy. That was his name. Your first contract, right? You were, what, 12 when another dealer said he’d give you some cash if you would make your brother not such a big problem for him anymore?”

  The animal closed his eyes, his face full of strain.

  “He’d switched from cocaine to hero—”

  The sound of the bullet filled first the room, then Christian’s mind. It took control of everything. Christian stared forward, not seeing a bullet, but knowing one had been fired.

  He looked to his left and saw that the two people sitting on the couch didn’t appear wounded.

  He shot someone. No way he missed.

  Christian looked down to the left of his belly button and saw a red flower. It was growing. His mouth opened in the shape of an ‘o’, but no sound came from it. He looked back up at the animal, not fully understanding what had just happened.

  Did he shoot me?

  The animal’s eyes were closed.

  He’s seeing the pink light, Christian thought calmly. The flower was growing hot on his stomach. Everything had slowed down to a crawl. His ears were still ringing and he couldn’t hear anything, but he saw something flash from the corner of his eye.

  Luke, he thought. Luke’s moving.

  And he was—Christian watched, his mind breaking down movement nearly too rapid to be seen into frame by frame motion. Luke broke to the right, gliding across the floor without a hint that he was ever injured. He went wide, and Christian understood why—despite the bullet in his stomach, his mind still saw the logic. If the animal opened his eyes, could somehow force the pink light away, he wouldn’t immediately see Luke.

  And then Luke was on top of the animal, attacking like a velociraptor. His blows were precise, brutal, and quick. He snapped the animal’s wrist before his eyes could open, the gun falling to the floor. Luke slammed his palm into the animal’s nose, just as he looked around. Blood squirted from his nose as bone crushed beneath Luke’s hand, driving up into the animal’s skull.

  Christian—his stomach’s flow of blood no long
er able to be mistaken as a flower—watched Luke move like an eastern trained warrior. His face showed no emotion as his left hand chopped across the animal’s throat.

  The mercenary was trying to fight back now. Even as one hand went to his neck, the other lashed out at Luke’s ribs. Luke didn’t slow or grimace, he simply spun, his feet taking him to the other side of his victim, and as he did he jabbed a thumb deep into the killer’s eye.

  Black waves spread from the edge of Christian’s vision, threatening to take him under. He looked down and touched his stomach. When he pulled his hand away, hot, sticky blood sat across his fingers.

  Christian fell from the chair to the floor.

  He heard someone whisper his name, but he couldn’t see who it was. He stared forward; Luke had the killer by his hair, his free hand breaking his face.

  Christian’s eyes closed as the black waves took him.

  Chapter 32

  Christian came in and out of consciousness, though he didn’t know it. To him, both the conscious and unconscious parts of his life were the same. It was all a horrible dream with mixtures of pink and white lights. He felt hot all the time and his lower torso like someone had simply reached in and rearranged his organs. When he was conscious, he saw very little—a face every now and then, one that looked down on him with a combination of concern and humorous interest.

  Christian thought it must be the Devil, because he had surely entered hell. That was his clearest thought during this time. Luke had kept his promise and now he was in hell.

  At one point, the face smiled at him. “Is that what you think? That I’m the Devil?”

  Christian fell unconscious again, unable to register or respond to the inquiry.

  Time passed as Christian flirted with death.

  Luke watched Christian with some trepidation. For days and days, he didn’t know if the man would survive. He put his odds around 40%; Luke worked around the clock to try and raise that number. The mercenary had a wide array of equipment for him to use, from drugs to IV drips to surgical instruments—all definitely for his own murderous adventures. Luke made use of them, his medical training more important than ever.