by David Beers
“No, but ….”
“But nothing. If it wouldn’t be my fault, then it’s not yours either. I won’t hear anymore about that.”
“Mom, if I wasn’t out there in the public, this wouldn’t be happening. Ryan Goleen would still be alive. I looked him up today; he hasn’t been in any trouble since that one incident. He changed his whole life around, and now he’s dead.”
“Oh, honey, if you didn’t exist, then this crazy person would have simply killed someone else. And then it would just be another person dead. They wouldn’t have known you at all. This isn’t about you; it’s about whatever is wrong in that person’s head. It’s not your fault. It isn’t.”
The two sat in silence for a few minutes, holding each other. His mother ran her hands through his hair until the tears finally stopped.
“It’s your job to catch these people, the ones that are hurting others. Whatever this sicko is thinking, it’s your job to make sure he stops.”
Christian nodded, but didn’t let go of his mother.
The phone woke Christian. It was buzzing on the nightstand next to his bed. He looked at the time as he picked it up, seeing that it was nearing eleven in the morning.
“Hello?” he mumbled, kicking himself for sleeping in this late. It didn’t matter that it was Saturday—neither Tommy nor Luke would still be in bed, and what his mother said last night was the truth. It was his job to stop this person.
“Hi, Christian? It’s Veronica Lopez. How are you?”
Christian blinked as the name came to him. He remembered every time he’d seen or spoken with the woman, but the first memory that surfaced was her lying on Bradley Brown’s couch, bound and scared.
“I’ve had better weeks.” He said nothing else, realizing he probably sounded rude, but truly unsure what else to say.
“You’ve had worse ones, too, I’m sure,” Veronica said. “I was wondering if we could meet sometime this week. Not to discuss Luke,” she said and laughed.
The last time they met privately, both thought Luke was involved in something nefarious, perhaps even murder.
“About what?” Christian asked.
“Well, I’d like to explain it in person, if that’s okay? It’ll just be easier.”
Christian sighed. “Okay, but I’m pretty busy right now with everything that’s happening. You’ll have to come by the office.”
“That’s fine. Tuesday morning work?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks a lot, Christian. I’ll see you then.”
He hung the phone up without saying anything and let it drop beside him. He leaned his head back on the pillow and looked up at the ceiling. He knew he would have missed calls from Luke, given their task today. He could smell pancakes cooking down the hall, his mother clearly having expected him to sleep in after their talk last night.
“You’re avoiding it,” Christian said. “Why?”
He was talking about his mansion. He hadn’t gone to it this entire time, though he knew things were starting to form inside. His mind was beginning to formulate ideas about whoever was doing this, yet Christian didn’t want to see them.
He was scared, in a way that he hadn’t been with Brown.
“Not yet,” he said.
He got out of bed, and after using the bathroom, walked down the hall to the kitchen.
“Good morning,” his mom said.
“Hey.”
Christian sat down at the kitchen table, and a plate with three pancakes were placed in front of him, as though he were at a restaurant. “Thank you,” he said, reaching for the butter and syrup already on the table.
“You’re welcome. Are you feeling any better?”
“Some.”
“Do you have plans today?”
Christian nodded as he poured syrup onto his food, the sugar quickly coating everything. “I’m going to talk with Goleen’s wife.”
Christian stood to the left of the door and Luke to the right.
Luke reached up and pressed the doorbell. Christian stood with his hands in his pockets, consciously knowing how childish he probably looked, but unable to pull them out. He didn’t want to be here, but knew it was the right thing to do. Tommy could have come instead, but Ryan Goleen wasn’t dead because of Tommy.
“Hi,” a woman said, opening the front door. She had long brown hair, a thin, pretty face, but her eyes looked haunted.
Christian was sure they were. Haunted by a priest.
“Hi, Mrs. Goleen. I’m Luke Titan and this is Christian Windsor. Thank you for allowing us to come talk with you today. We’d both like to offer our condolences for your loss.”
Christian nodded as Luke spoke.
“Come on in,” she said, stepping back a bit. She was wearing a robe despite it being three in the afternoon. “Britt’s at her grandparents; I’m picking her up today.”
The woman led them through the house, and despite the haunting in her eyes, she kept her voice level—it not cracking as she spoke.
“Would either of you like something to drink? I’ve got soft drinks, water, some liquor if you’d like.”
“No, ma’am. Thank you, though. We’d prefer to get out of your way as quickly as possible,” Luke said.
The three of them sat down in the living room.
“We have all your notes that you gave the police,” Luke began, “but we’d like to follow-up on a few specific items. If you need to stop at all, please let us know and we can most certainly come back.”
Christian admired Luke’s ability to show such sympathy while remaining calm and to the point. Christian was having a tough time holding himself together as he looked around the man’s house. He saw pictures of Brittany, Goleen’s daughter, hanging on the walls.
“I’ll let you know,” she said. “What do you want to ask?”
“Had your husband discussed my partner with you, or anyone else, lately? Had anyone, that you know of, asked him about what happened in high school?”
Mrs. Goleen looked directly at Christian, and he saw a woman that would never heal from what happened to her husband—she’d seen the videos; the wounds were fresh now and would probably heal on the surface, but deep down where they really hurt, they’d never scar over.
“He was thankful for you. You, or what happened after you, changed his life. It took him a long time to forgive himself for it, but he eventually did. He said that he apologized to you once?”
Christian nodded. “That’s true.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I just stared, I think. I’m not very good at communicating.”
She nodded, her eyes narrowing. “Yeah, I can see that. I can see why people might have picked on you back then, or wanted to, anyway. Ryan said you were a brainiac?”
“I guess you could say that.”
Mrs. Goleen looked back to Luke. “No. No one ever mentioned what happened back then, and he didn’t talk about it anymore either. It was something a long time in the past, and he’d moved on.” She paused and looked at their empty hands. “Do either of you need to write any of this down?”
“No,” Luke said. “We’ll remember.”
“You’re a brainiac, too, I take it?” she asked.
Luke gave a self-deprecating smile. “I guess you could say that … Mrs. Goleen, we’d like to put some surveillance on your house, if that’s okay. We think there is a chance that whoever did this to your husband might come after you.”
“Why me? I don’t know him,” she said as if Christian wasn’t there.
“No, but you were married to someone who hurt Christian. We think this person might be obsessed with Agent Windsor, and that puts you, and your daughter, at risk.”
Mrs. Goleen didn’t say anything for a moment, but she finally nodded. “Okay.”
“Thank you. They’ll be here within thirty minutes of us leaving, and most likely, you’ll never know they’re around. They’ll blend in with the surroundings, unless they need to make themselves known.”
“Okay. What—“
“Mrs. Goleen,” Christian interrupted. “Would it be okay with you if I attend the funeral?”
The woman turned her face back to him. Tears were in her eyes. She nodded.
“Thank you,” Christian said. “I don’t have a lot of questions to ask, and I’m sorry about that. I know this isn’t easy, having us here.” Christian looked down at his feet, not fully sure where he was going with this, but unable to stop his mouth from continuing. “I just wanted to say I’m going to find whoever did it. I’m going to find them and I’m going to stop them.”
“Thanks, but I wish you would have done that after the first head showed up at your door.”
“Veronica Lopez called me,” Christian said. “Are you still her shrink?”
“Yes,” Luke said.
“Any idea why she’s calling?”
Luke looked at his rearview mirror as he pulled away from the curb. Christian was avoiding what happened inside the house, what Mrs. Goleen had so ruthlessly said at Christian’s heartfelt—if childish—pledge. Luke had wanted to smile at the woman, but kept his lips still.
“I recommended it.”
“Why?” Christian asked.
“I think you two might be able to help each other. She’s wanting to write again, and you need to talk to someone other than your mother, so I thought I’d recommend this.”
“Are you trying to set us up romantically?”
“No,” Luke said, “though, if something happened, you could do much worse.”
The car went quiet after that. “Are you blaming yourself?” he asked after a few minutes.
“Yes.”
“Do you really think this is your fault, or are you feeling what you think you should be feeling?”
“What do you mean?” Christian asked, though Luke knew he understood the question perfectly. He didn’t want to answer it, was all.
“You know what I mean. Are you avoiding it because you’re afraid to tell me the truth, or because you want to know why I’m asking it?”
Christian looked over from his seat. “Why you’re asking it.”
“Well, logically, there’s absolutely no reason for you to feel guilty. You’re no guiltier of this than an ant queen is when her worker drones bring back the entrails of a dead beetle.”
“There’s no guilt in that at all. That’s nature. This isn’t nature. There’s no need to kill humans to survive. That’s a horrible analogy, Luke.”
“Only if you’re seeing this through your own schema. If you looked through The Priest’s, you’d see it as a very apt analogy. You’re the queen, and this Priest is the worker drone. His survival depends on yours—actually, his entire world’s survival depends on yours—and so he must bring you the beetle. He must keep bringing you more beetles, too, if he wants to ensure that the world continues spinning … Now, answer my question, do you actually feel guilty?”
“Yes,” Christian said.
Luke believed him. Christian’s guilt was good, something that could be used and stretched for a long, long time. “It’s affecting your work.”
“I know.”
“Do you have any plans to mitigate it?”
“The guilt, or the effects?”
“The effects. I don’t think Mrs. Goleen cares too much about your guilt, given our conversation,” Luke said.
“Yeah, Luke, I’d like to, but I don’t fucking know how.”
Luke smiled internally. Rage and guilt were just fine. Luke could deal extensively with those emotions.
Chapter 9
Lucy dreamed about Ryan Goleen. She couldn’t help it.
In her dreams, he swung in the air, his arms attached to ropes on either side of him. Lucy saw the way his muscles and ligaments stretched, his shoulder even eventually popping out of its socket.
She woke with a smile.
Of course, what mattered wasn’t her enjoyment, but Christian changing into what the Lord desired—but Lucy found herself having some fun, which she thought was okay, too.
Lucy hadn’t been able to stay with Goleen the whole time, though she would have liked to. She had her own copy of the video, but no where to watch it yet. Instead, she relied on her dreams and memories to see Ryan Goleen again.
It was ten at night and Lucy was almost ready for bed, but she couldn’t pull away from the photo on the computer screen.
She was looking at the award ceremony from two years ago, the one in which God first showed her Christian Windsor. The picture had Christian in it, but he wasn’t the focus. No, that had been given to Luke Titan—as if he was special.
Lucy didn’t like that one bit, someone taking the spotlight from Christian.
Could she get to Titan? Sacrifice him for the Lord? For Christian?
A silly question. Of course she could. God was on her side after all. Lucy logged off the computer and walked across the campus to her bedroom. She was being given more and more privileges—all the staff agreed she was a model occupant. She’d be free from this place soon, and then she could really pick up the pace. The Lord’s work wasn’t to be put off, after all.
She lay down in bed and instead of hoping for another dream, she thought about Luke Titan. He was tall, and Lucy thought a lot could be done with that. The Bible had many lessons on how best to hurt people.
Chapter 10
Night had fallen three hours ago and Christian’s mother was sleeping. Christian couldn’t fall asleep, though, and he knew why: his earlier conversation with Tommy. They’d spoken after Luke dropped Christian back off at his mother’s—their conversation was simple.
Firm was also a way to describe it.
“I don’t know how your mind works, Christian,” Tommy said, “but I know what you did with Brown. I know that you got us inside that house at exactly the right time before he killed innocent people. I know that you figured out his life story without ever meeting the man. All this guilt bullshit you’re feeling … It’s keeping you from stopping this person, which means he’ll kill again. What if it’s me, Christian? Or Luke? Or your mom? Whoever he is, you’re letting him continue by not going inside your head.”
Christian hadn’t said anything after the spiel.
“Are you there?” Tommy asked.
“I have to go,” he had said, then hung up.
Now, three hours later, he still hadn’t done what Tommy suggested.
To go inside himself, to his mansion, would mean that he’d have to understand this person—this murderer—and he didn’t want to. At all. Brown had been different; it wasn’t personal, even in the end. Now, though, this pseudo-priest had made it personal.
“Just shut up,” he said. “Just shut up with your excuses.”
The Priest was probably stalking his next victim. Deciding who would be sacrificed for the great Christian Windsor.
Christian closed his eyes.
When he opened them, he stood at a door that was right next to Bradley Brown’s room. He looked over at the older room and saw that where The Surgeon had once been written at the top, it now simply read the man’s name. Dust rested at the bottom of the door. Christian hadn’t gone inside that room for a long time; he didn’t know if he ever would again.
Christian was in his mind’s mansion. A glorious structure that housed every instance of his life, categorizing everything and allowing him access at any time. He started this place involuntarily as a boy, a sanctuary where he could hide and deal with the intense intelligence gifted him. The corridors stretched on endlessly, his mind constantly creating new rooms and hallways as needed. His brain never bothered him with the construction or categorization, but simply let him come and go as he needed.
The room he stood at held the exact same door and frame as Bradley’s, but different words were carved in the marble above the doorway: The Priest.
Blood dripped from the letters’ grooves, reaching the top of the doorframe, where it pooled before spilling over, finding its final resting place in front of Christian’s
feet.
Christian knew the blood was only his guilt.
He swallowed, reached for the door handle, and stepped over the small puddle.
Christian went inside the room he’d been avoiding. His eyes narrowed as he took in his mind’s new creation. A circle of statues sat in the middle of the room. Concrete, life size, things. All were bowing down and all had blood dripping from the holes in their faces—eyes, ears, noses, and mouths. Some wore shrouds, others were in the act of ripping out their hair, and some were merely praying. All bled, though, and all knelt.
Christian stood in the middle of their circle. A stone replica of himself that was smiling. His hands were in front of him, palms turned up, and blood dripping from them, hitting the floor beneath with sickening smacks—as if each droplet weighed far more than it should.
Christian stepped closer, looking at the maniacal grin across his stone face. “What is this?”
The vents from above turned on and Christian looked up. He hadn’t turned them on, yet air was pumping out.
“You don’t like it?” a voice hissed from the vent.
Christian took a step backward, still looking up, but unconsciously putting distance between himself and the statue. He didn’t recognize the voice from above, only knowing it wasn’t his. Nothing had ever spoken to him in here before. This place was his, and his alone, but yet …
“It’s okay, Christian. You’ve been inviting me here for a long time. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
Christian’s mouth was slightly ajar but he said nothing. He wouldn’t speak to it. Whatever it was, it shouldn’t be here.
“What do you think about the statues in front of you? I watched your mind build them, but I’m not sure if I had any influence over it. I’d like to think I did.”
Christian shook his head. He couldn’t see anything inside the vent, but the voice came from it all the same.
“Cat got your tongue?” it asked. “It’s okay, Christian. There’s no need to be frightened. You and I, we’re the same. You might not see it yet, but you will.”
Christian had backed up so far that he slammed in to the closed door. His hands desperately searched for the handle behind him.
