The Animal: The Luke Titan Chronicles #5

by David Beers

  He spent very little time around Tommy or Veronica—just enough to ensure Tommy was cared for and Veronica remained in her state of hibernation. The two were separated from each other.

  It wasn’t until the end of the first week that Luke finally thought Christian might make it, his bleeding slowing and his vital signs stabilizing some. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, as the saying went, but perhaps he could see the end of the forest.

  Luke remained by his ex-partner’s side day and night. He slept very little, ensuring that Christian had everything he needed. Luke made no contact with the outside world, knew nothing of Waverly or the FBI. He sometimes wondered what the Director was doing; surely he thought Christian dead. Was he fessing up to his own wrongdoing? Telling the world about the killer he’d hired, and the trouble resulting from it? Luke hoped so. Luke hoped the press was excoriating him.

  Another week passed—a total of two—before Christian finally awoke. Luke was there when he did.

  His mouth was dry and all he wanted was water. He blinked hard a few times, but his eyes were still blurry.

  “Water,” he whispered, his vocal chords barely able to create the word.

  A cup was placed in front of his mouth and tilted slowly upward. He tried to drink greedily, wanting to force it all down at once, but whoever held the cup pulled it away after a second.

  “Slow.”

  The cup came back and Christian did as he was told, or tried to. He still spilled some on his face, and after a second, the cup was removed again. Christian rested his head against the pillow beneath him. He closed his eyes.

  “Rest.”

  Christian knew the voice. Luke’s. He had no energy to rage and question, though. Christian slept.

  His sleep was restful and dreamless.

  He awoke not knowing how much time had passed. His bed was raised some, a hospital bed just like he had laid in so many times before. Christian didn’t move his head, but glanced around the room all the same. This was no hospital room, even if it used the same bed. He didn’t know exactly where he was, but if he had to guess, he was in the same house as before …

  I was shot.

  I was dying. I was bleeding out right there in the living room.

  Luke stared at him from a chair across the room, one leg crossed over the other. Christian found his eyes and looked on silently for a time.

  “You were supposed to make sure I died,” Christian whispered. He saw no apparitions at the moment, but he didn’t care. They would return, just as Luke always returned.

  “I made sure you lived, Christian. I always make sure you live, don’t I? Bradley Brown. Lucy Speckle. Venezuela, not a single explosion touched you. Charles Twaller. And the man who is dead in this house. I discovered his name, by the way: Martin Cianado.”

  “You said if I did what you wanted, you’d make sure I died. You said they would live, and I would die.”

  “I kept half my promise then. Veronica and Tommy are still alive. Fifty percent will get you into the hall of fame in almost any sport.”

  Christian closed his eyes, fighting back tears. He was still here, still in this unending torture. He couldn’t escape, not by knives, whips, or guns. He couldn’t escape by force of will. He was doomed to continue this life, to continue with this madman sitting across from him.

  “You have more healing to do, Christian, but we’re not done yet. I think in another month you may be ready to finish what I had planned.”

  “No,” Christian whispered. “Please, no.”

  Because he knew what he was supposed to do. He couldn’t hide from it or deny it any longer. Luke told him and the truth was simple: Tommy or Veronica died and he would decide which one.

  “Mercy, Luke. Please give me mercy.”

  “God is cruel, Christian, and I must be too. I cannot wage a war against a madman without becoming one myself, I suppose. Though, I’d argue that I’m not nearly as bad off as he is. I’m sorry I must be so cruel to you, whether you want to believe me or not. You’re the only person I would ever say that to.”

  Christian shook his head, a tear streaming out his closed eyes. “I can’t. I won’t.”

  “You can and you will, Christian. Because when you do, you’ll nearly be what I need. In fact,I think you will be what I need.”

  Christian said nothing, only lay with his eyes shut, not wanting to see the world. He wished it would all go away, dissipate like a puddle beneath a blazing sun.

  Either him or this world, one needed to go.

  “Rest, Christian. There will be time for talk later.”

  Letters from a Killer

  Dear Christian,

  I’m leaving this where you will be able to find it once I depart. You’ve yet to do what is necessary, though it’s coming. Two weeks have passed since you first awoke, and your progress is moving along as expected. In another two weeks you will be ready to make your choice.

  Though when you get this, one of the people you love will already be dead, I’d like to talk in the present. You know this is an easy choice. Tommy … his life was over the moment I stuck a knife through his neck. Perhaps if I had only killed his fiancée, he would have been whole enough to continue his quest for me. Now, though, he is unable to perform the duties necessary to truly do what he wants—which is capture me. His mind was never fast enough to only rely upon it. He needed his force of personality, as well as his above average physicality to make it as an agent. Now, his body is destroyed and his personality has mostly wasted away. Sure, you can see it, and I know him—but everyone else sees what he is now, not what he used to be.

  Veronica should live. That is clear and you must know it.

  Your choice is clouded because you love them both. I’m not sure who you love more.

  I told you that I am sorry for putting you in this position, and I am. You were a good person placed in bad situations. It is a painful process, this moving beyond the world of right and wrong. Moving into the world of purpose. Your purpose has continually changed, though you thought it would be permanent when you started chasing me. You thought that would be the end. Charles Twaller made you change your purpose, however—it became only to die.

  When you’re done here, your new purpose will transcend all the others.

  You will be free. Then, you will be able to kill me, Christian. Because there will be nothing to hold you back.

  Yours,

  Luke Titan

  Chapter 33

  Christian sat in Tommy’s wheelchair. He wasn’t able to walk yet though the wound was healing; too much movement created unnecessary (and almost unreal) pain. Luke wheeled Christian wherever he wanted to go in the house. Luke had, more or less, become his hand servant. The past month was spent hurting, and also awake more and more of each day. Luke rarely spoke about what was to come. Christian thought of little else.

  As his awareness of his surroundings grew, so did his thoughts on escape.

  “Can I see Tommy?” he had asked.

  “Plan on plotting against me, I see? Not a very stealthy way of doing it,” Luke answered.

  “I’d rather speak with him than you.”

  “No,” Luke said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea for either of us right now. You will talk to him soon enough.”

  Christian didn’t try forcing the issue. There was no sense in it.

  Luke measured out pills to Christian, helping with the pain. All in all, Luke made a great doctor/nurse. Christian felt no sense of gratefulness, though. He felt nothing but hate and despair. He had, in the first week of being awake, hoped Waverly might make some fantastic effort at rescuing them. By the end of the week, he knew no such thing would happen.

  Wherever Waverly was, and whatever he was doing, he would not end up here. No savior was coming.

  Only angels of death.

  The only positive thing during Christian’s healing process was that the apparitions ceased.

  “Are you still seeing the other? The mouth?” Luke asked.

&
nbsp; Christian didn’t answer, but would have told him no. He didn’t need to tell Luke anything, though. His silence was enough.

  “It’s because we’re near each other, Christian. The separate parts of your mind are whole now. There is no need for the different factions. When we’re together, you’re whole again. That’s nice, isn’t it?”

  So the weeks passed and Christian grew resolute in what would happen. He would not choose. He would do what Jennie Goodrow should have done—he would pick the only right thing available to him. Luke, of course, would kill them both, but that wouldn’t fall on Christian. It would fall on him.

  Christian tried convincing himself of that, but it was futile. He didn’t need an apparition to tell him that his refusal simply meant he chose that they both die.

  The mind games went on and on, and the days passed, growing closer and closer to Luke’s month deadline.

  And then the day arrived and Christian sat in Tommy’s wheelchair.

  “I know you’ve been dreading this as much I’ve been looking forward to it,” Luke said as the chair rolled across the living room.

  Christian said nothing.

  “You performed miraculously, Christian. I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to, that you might not find what was needed about Martin Cianado. I thought you might be too far gone, to be honest. You weren’t though. You did the impossible again, something I—nor anyone I’ve ever met—could have done. You’re amazing, Christian.”

  “I did it because you were supposed to kill me,” Christian said, trying to keep the strain out of his voice. Any stress on his body, and his stomach’s dull ache would explode into searing pain. “You were supposed to let them live.”

  “That was the first time I’ve lied to you. I hope I never have to do it again.”

  Christian was quiet and watched as the wheelchair turned the corner into the living room.

  “We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” Luke said, louder so the other two people in the room could hear. “There was a third guest with us then, but fortunately, he won’t be returning.”

  This time Tommy sat on the chair across from the couch, with Veronica resuming her old spot. She looked the same as before, that same cow’s glaze in her eyes. Tommy had been right; she was hypnotized. Christian didn’t think she really recognized anyone, but was living her life like a druggie—dazedly going from day to day with no real clue what was happening around her.

  Luke stopped the wheelchair in the middle of the room, creating a triangle. He walked to the other side of their triangle, so that he faced Christian. The sun was setting behind him, casting his shadow forward and down across his angled face.

  “And here we are, my friends. I consider all of you that. We know why we’re here, so there’s no sense in delaying the matter. You know my purpose. Christian, who will it be?”

  Christian looked at this ex-partner, not sparing a glance for either Tommy or Veronica. “No.”

  “Then they both die.”

  Veronica stared forward as if nothing was happening and Tommy only watched Christian.

  “Shut up, Luke,” Tommy said. “Look at me, Christian.”

  He turned to his partner, sitting slumped in the chair like a life-sized rag doll.

  “It’s okay,” Tommy said. His eyes were full of tears and he didn’t try blinking them away. “I promise, it’s okay.”

  “No. No it’s fucking not. It’s not!” Christian shouted.

  Hot tears flooded his own eyes, immediately running down his cheeks.

  You’re not in control. Neither is Luke. No one is, the mouth’s voice came back to him—a haunting reminder of what his mind had already known.

  “Look at me, Christian. I’ve got nothing left to give. I haven’t had a goddamn thing left to give since he cut me and we both know it. I’m here because I’m dedicated, not because I’m some kind of asset … It’s okay. I promise.” Tears rolled from his eyes, fat ones that streamed down his face just like Christian’s.

  “No, no, no, no,” Christian whispered over and over. He looked at Luke. “No. Please. Luke, have mercy. Fuck, please.”

  Luke looked on motionless, without feeling in his eyes. He said nothing.

  “PLEASE!” Christian shouted, spit shooting from his mouth.

  “Stop,” Tommy said. “Stop killing yourself over this. I’m ready, Christian. I am.”

  Christian only stared forward at Luke, crying and pleading with his eyes. Pleading with everything in him.

  “We’ve wasted enough time. Decide. Five seconds, Christian, otherwise you choose both of them,” Luke said. “Five …”

  “It’s okay,” Tommy said.

  “Four,” Luke’s harsh voice rang out.

  Christian looked over at his friend, his partner. Christian reached up to wipe the tears away, wanting to see Tommy clearly.

  “Three …”

  “Do it, Christian. Do it,” Tommy said.

  “Two …”

  “I promise. It’s okay,” he whispered.

  Christian nodded, turning to Luke. “Him,” he said. “Tommy.”

  “Good.” The shadows were long across Luke’s face, the angles sharp underneath them. He moved to Tommy’s chair, a small knife slipping out from his pocket, nearly undetectable. His thumb swiped the blade open, and he raised his arm to Tommy’s neck.

  Christian turned away.

  “You did well,” Luke said.

  “Fuck you,” Tommy returned.

  Christian heard blood splash out. He listened to Tommy gasp for air in short, tiny breaths—like a fish being brought up from a lake onto a dock. Christian kept his eyes closed and his face turned away.

  He heard Luke move to his chair after a minute or so. Luke turned him so that he was facing Tommy.

  “Look,” he commanded.

  Christian kept his head turned, refusing to see his partner. He felt Luke’s hands grab his temples, turning his neck despite him fighting. Pain roared in his gut, but still Christian fought.

  “LOOK!” Luke roared like Christian had never heard before. His eyes reflexively opened, out of his control, and he stared at the dead man.

  Tommy lay in the same position. His eyes no longer looking at Christian, but now staring endlessly up at the ceiling. They were as glazed as Veronica’s. Blood trickled from the massive wound in his neck, a gaping thing that looked like a toothless, red smile. It flowed slowly now, but Christian could see where it had already spilled heavily, his clothes soaked with it.

  The smell of copper filled the room.

  “You did well, too, Christian,” he said. “Veronica, do you remember your purpose?”

  Christian wanted to tear himself away, but he couldn’t. He could only stare at the person who had been with him this entire time—his partner, his friend. Dead, having bled out, basically at Christian’s own hand.

  “Okay,” Luke said. “I’m going.” He walked around to the front of Christian’s chair. “Now. Your shackles are gone. There is no FBI to hold you back. There are no rules that matter any longer, and if you doubt that, look behind me. You are free to come get me, Christian. You are free to do whatever you want. I’ve granted you that.” He nodded to Veronica on the couch. “Veronica is going to ensure you make it to civilization. When you get back, and you heal, I expect you to call on me. I expect you to finish this, Christian.”

  To be concluded in the sixth and final installment: The Titan

  On Purpose and Other Things

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