The General: The Luke Titan Chronicles (4/6)

by David Beers

  “It’s your home, Christian. I don’t know why you do the things you do.”

  Christian sat down in the chair on the left.

  The other remained a few feet back, not venturing forward.

  “I’m getting tired of watching these,” he said.

  “Then don’t. Feel free to disappear … forever, if you’d like.”

  The drip-drip from behind Christian didn’t stop, though the other grew quiet besides that

  The video turned on, and again, Christian had no control over what it displayed. Turned out to be an oldie, but a goodie.

  Luke Titan is a young boy when he first realizes the gifts bestowed upon him. Christian isn’t completely sure of the age, but he knows it’s before Luke is ten.

  Christian has watched this video many times before, but each time he views it, he sees something new.

  Luke sits in class. The classroom isn’t like those built today, massive schools with computers and tablets handed out to each child, regardless their age. Christian can’t be sure, but he believes it’s south of the United States border. Mexico, perhaps.

  Luke is in the back of the class and he’s staring out the small window. He’s the closest to it, and a look of longing rests on his face. Whatever is happening in class, it doesn’t concern him at all. He looks similar to the man he’ll grow into, though the predatory nature—that will one day always reside just beneath the mask he wears—isn’t there yet. He is a young boy, not the terror he will grow to be.

  Christian fully believes that Luke wasn’t born a murderer. He’s seen too much of Luke’s life to not recognize the power focal points had on it.

  One is almost upon him now. One of these points that would irrevocably change Luke’s life.

  “Luke?” the teacher asks from the front.

  He turns his head, the longing on his face being replaced with a nervousness that would one day completely disappear. This is only the second day of school, and Luke has been passed forward for years despite his failing grades. The teachers in this shoddy school aren’t concerned with much more than receiving their government issued paycheck. If a child doesn’t want to learn, then that is on the child. It is their job to provide the information, not force feed it to each student.

  For years, Luke has been allowed to stare out the window and think his thoughts. The grades he brings home don’t reflect this, of course, as the teachers do not want to deal with angry parents. As and Bs are given out like candy on Halloween. If you show up at the door, you get a piece.

  Until now.

  This teacher wants more from him, though there’s a certain sadistic nature to it. Christian cannot see directly into the teacher, but he sees enough: if the child wants to ignore her lesson, then he will suffer for it.

  “Sorry, Señorita Gomez,” Luke says. He speaks English besides her title.

  Here it is, the time that Christian came to see—the place where something in Luke’s mind changes forever. The focal point.

  “You’ve been daydreaming a lot, Luke. Can you come complete this problem on the board for the rest of the class?”

  Snickers erupt from his classmates like tiny firecrackers. Luke doesn’t look over at them, he’s much too nervous for that. He stares forward at the board, and Christian can practically see the thoughts going through the boy’s head. If his and Luke’s connection had been close two years ago, the floor in his mansion has increased it ten-fold. Even time can no longer separate them.

  I don’t want to, is the first thought that goes through Luke’s head, nearly a whine; again, something that would never cross the mind of the man this child would grow into. Not in front of everyone, please. Anything else. I’ll stay after. I’ll have detention, just don’t make me go up in front of the class.

  Even at such a young age, though, there is a grit to the boy. A determination that would bloom into a force of nature later in life. Now, though, it’s only a tiny sliver of steel that runs through his spine, yet causes him to stand up and walk forward.

  The boy goes to the front of the class and looks at the math problem on the chalkboard. The teacher stands next to him with a grin on her face, one that says, You should pay attention, you little shit.

  Luke takes the chalk but doesn’t look at his teacher. His eyes are already focusing on the math problem, something simple for any adult, but not something Luke should know. His young life hasn’t been spent focusing on math, but Christian sees a fire start inside Luke’s eyes. A small light, but there nonetheless.

  The chalk remains at his side for a few moments, and Christian knows his mind is rapidly assimilating the knowledge that most children in the class haven’t grasped despite trying, and some never will.

  “Nine,” Luke says.

  The teacher stares at him without saying anything for a second. She’s shocked he knows this, and is thinking he only guessed correctly.

  “Show me,” she says. “Show your work on the board.”

  The first focal point has passed, and no one in the classroom notices it. For the first time in his life, Luke understands there’s more to him than what he’s been told. It isn’t a thought, but knowledge. A crystallization in his mind that no amount of brainwashing will ever change. Math—and perhaps other disciplines—need not hold mysteries for him. He sees through its riddles with the clarity of a man holding a scoped rifle.

  The next focal point is near, though he doesn’t know it. He is as blind to these moments as the rest of the class. That changes nothing, though, as the moment will come regardless of who sees it.

  “No,” he says, not looking at the teacher next to him—answering her question about showing his work. He doesn’t know why he says it, only that he sees no reason to waste time showing something that is obvious. There are other reasons, deeper ones, that he will understand as life moves forward: disdain for those in power, hatred for those trying to hurt him, even if only in a small way. For now, though, he only says: No.

  The teacher is considering arguing with the boy, but she quickly understands what is happening. The child guessed and now is afraid his guess will be exposed. She must regain control of the situation, though, as an inferior just told her no.

  “Okay, Luke,” she says. “Then solve this problem.”

  She snatches the chalk from his hand and scribbles out another one across the board.

  Luke stares at it, but his mind is quicker this time. He absently receives the chalk from his teacher, though he doesn’t raise it to the board.

  “Twelve.”

  The teacher grabs the writing instrument again and nearly pounds the chalkboard as she writes out a problem.

  “Do that one.”

  Luke wastes no time.

  “Seven-and-a-half.”

  Again, a problem is written.

  Again, the boy solves it.

  This continues for a half hour with the rest of the class only watching, unsure what exactly is happening in front of them, but still able to feel the tension pouring out across the classroom as thick as smoke.

  The math has advanced to high school, and is nearing the point of a freshman college class. Still the boy doesn’t relent, doesn’t even slow. His mind is expanding like a supernova, growing larger and hotter with each passing second. He’s addicted now, no longer caring about the teacher or the challenge he presents to her. He is concerned only with the knowledge on the board.

  “Go sit down,” the teacher finally whispers.

  Luke turns to her for the first time, shocked to hear her giving up. Shocked and slightly angry, because he doesn’t want to stop. He doesn’t want to go sit down. He wants to continue.

  “Why?” he says.

  “Because I told you to.” The teacher turns to the class. “Recess.”

  No one wastes any time and the shuffling of desks and chairs echoes in the small room.

  Luke is still staring at the teacher.

  “This won’t be tolerated,” she says. “I’m having your mother in for a conference.”


  The fire inside Luke dies a quick death, smothered by the threat of parental involvement.

  “Go to your desk,” the teacher says. “You’re not having recess today.”

  Luke trudges across the floor and finds his desk, defeated. At least he feels that way in the moment. The truth is, two life changing events occurred in less than an hour. His mind had its first taste at the possible. The second, and perhaps even more important, was his refusal to follow authority. His denial when asked to show his work.

  The body Luke possessed had been born years earlier, but the soul of the man was conceived that day.

  “Why that scene?” the other asked as the television screen went black.

  Christian didn’t turn around, but stared at the TV.

  “How many times have you watched it?”

  Ten. Christian knew the answer, though he didn’t say it. He didn’t know why his mind kept going back to it, nor why he enjoyed it, either.

  “Shall we do another? Perhaps something a little different?”

  Christian looked at the yellow tinged box in front of him, the screen still dark. Would it keep going, or was that it?

  The television flickered on, and Christian went back inside.

  Luke thinks of the priest as ‘the preacher man’. He knows at eleven years old how sacrilegious that is, and how severely his mother would punish him if she ever heard him say it aloud.

  He won’t say it though—not where she, or anyone else, can hear it.

  The preacher man isn’t old; Luke knows he’s 52, and also that he makes a lot of money from his parish. From Luke’s mother.

  From Luke and his brother, as well.

  Another focal point looms close by, and Luke feels this one. Some might blame it on the Mexican summer heat, but Luke knows better. Something is going to change, and very soon.

  Every Sunday and Wednesday, Luke’s mother brings him and his brother to mass. Sometimes they go twice on Sunday, to the morning mass as well as the evening one.

  Luke’s mother’s name is Maria Santiago. His brother’s is Mark. Neither of them know their father, and Maria never speaks of the man. The only father either boy needs is Father Marquez, also known as the preacher man.

  It is time for Luke’s confession. He gives confession once every six months, his mother writing down the date and time with the fervor of someone who truly believes heaven can be achieved if they just work hard enough. Her boys will make it to heaven if it’s the last thing Maria Santiago ever does. Some mothers want their children to attend college, some to marry well. All Maria cares about is their eternal soul, for that is most important. Colleges and marriage certificates will burn when the end of time arrives.

  Christian knows all this because his mind has recreated Luke’s childhood to the best of its ability. Christian finds it odd how similar Lucy Speckle and Luke’s mother were. Large differences existed, of course, but their belief in an afterlife dominated their lives.

  Luke steps into the confessional booth, and he knows the moment has arrived. He will know this for the rest of his life, when those few seconds that define a person approach. When he encounters them, he will meet them with a ferocity similar to his mother’s … only Luke’s ideas on heaven will differ wildly as the years grow longer.

  “Forgive me, father, for I have sinned,” Luke says once seated. The preacher man is on the other side of the booth, a thin wooden screen separating them. Murder hasn’t crossed Luke’s mind yet, and won’t for quite some time, but he does wonder why that screen is there. Is it to protect the preacher man? He smiles at that, given what the preacher man has done over the past decade. As far as Luke is concerned, the whole parish should have constant armed surveillance to keep the preacher man away.

  “Tell me your sins, my son, and we will plead with God to forgive you.”

  “I’ve thought evil thoughts, father.”

  “About who?” the preacher man asks.

  “You.”

  A brief pause as the preacher man understands what Luke just said.

  “What about me?” his voice is harder, and Luke knows all he needs to. The kindness that the man showed when Luke first sat down is only a facade. He knows as well as Luke what he’s doing to the parish, and perhaps the guilt weighs heavily on him. Luke has not said a word, yet suddenly the preacher man is defensive. Maybe it’s not guilt, though—maybe it’s fear of being discovered.

  “Six months ago, I gave you five hundred pesos at confession. I found old history books in the library, Father, and the Catholic Church condemned that practice over a century ago.”

  The silence which comes next is longer. The preacher man is quiet and Luke thinks it’s because he’s trying to hold down his anger. He could be determining a response, but Luke thinks this man is far too arrogant for that. He is wondering just what in the hell this kid thinks he’s doing, questioning a priest.

  “Libraries also have books that say the Catholic Church is evil, that all our works should be judged based on the worst actions of the worst people to ever be members. Should you listen to those books as well?”

  A shot of dopamine spreads across Luke’s brain at the verbal joust the priest gives.

  “If what the books told me matched up with my own experience, yes, I suppose I would.”

  “Then you are a fool, young man. I am God’s beacon and to have thoughts against me is to have thoughts against him. Do you have your money today?”

  The moment is here and Luke knows it.

  “No, Father, and you will receive no more money from my family. Not from my mother or my brother. Not from me. Any money that you receive will be through alms, not through purchasing our soul for God.”

  “Purch—” the preacher man tries to get the word out, but nearly chokes on it and begins coughing. After a second, he gains control of himself. “Son, you go home to your mother and tell her to bring me a thousand pesos. Five hundred for your soul and five hundred for the blasphemy you’ve said in here today. If I don’t have a thousand pesos by the end of the week, I’ll go to her myself.”

  “No more pesos, Father,” Luke says. He stands from the confessional booth and steps outside. He listens to the other side of the door, wanting to see if the preacher man will follow quickly or wait inside. Luke hears no movement and then walks through the empty cathedral.

  He did well and he knows it. He spoke truth to power. Luke knows there is a God and that such a being would never receive money in exchange for someone’s soul. Such a being must be good, or how could He be God? The preacher man is not part of that God or His love. Luke spoke truth to power and the preacher man will leave his family alone now.

  That’s what Luke thinks as he leaves the church. He would understand later that even though another important moment in his life had passed, and he had met it true, his youth had been full of naiveté.

  The screen turned black again and Christian came forth from his trance.

  He looked at the wall behind the television. The letter Luke had written about that confessional booth was spread large across it, in digital form.

  Some parts of Luke’s life Christian had to piece together himself, knowing that those were less accurate than the ones Luke wrote about. This one, the one with the priest … Luke had thought it important enough to tell Christian himself.

  Dear Christian,

  I am of the belief that you can fool me once, but that I’ll never be fooled again. As I’ve grown older, the chances of someone fooling me the first time have lessened considerably, but it is still there. The chances of someone fooling me a second time is essentially zero.

  God fooled me once, but never again.

  I used to love God. Do you believe that? Do you find it odd, that someone you consider a monster once held complete faith in the greatness of God—the genuine goodness of him? In fact, I used to capitalize words like ‘him’ when even discussing the creature.

  Life disposed me of that notion.

  And as these things no
rmally go, a priest—a messenger of God—was the first to show me the truth.

  My family was poor, Christian, though I’m sure you’ve figured that part out by now. We weren’t poor in the American sense, where the lowest among you walk around with phones connected to the Internet. We were poor in that my brother had one pair of pants all the way through the fourth grade. My mother hand washed them once a month in order to keep the material from growing too thin. By the time my brother reached fifth grade, you could practically see through his pants.

  That sort of poor is what I mean when I discuss my family’s finances.

  And this priest, for the first 11 years of my life, took thousands of dollars a year from us in exchange for eternal life. We weren’t special in that regard; the preacher man (as I used to call him) did this with his entire flock. He really loved us all, I suppose, willing to take loaves of bread from the mouths of children in order to save their souls.

  Once I understood the inherent evil in this act, I could abide by it no longer. I told the preacher man the same, but like most men with power, he refused to listen. He wanted his payment every six months and was going to get it. At least that’s what he thought at first.

  There will be records of what happened to that preacher man.

  My mother never paid another cent to him, but you might say my soul was damned afterward. Personally, I don’t think that’s true in the conventional sense of the phrase. My soul’s damnation came later (if it can be damned at all, which I reject the notion as God has no right to it in the first place, but I digress), though I would love to hear your thoughts on the matter.

  Perhaps I will one day, Christian. Perhaps you can tell me where I went wrong, and how I ended up here, alone and intent on watching you burn.

  It’s in your burning that you’ll reach your potential. You don’t see that yet. You think your freedom, your greatest moment, will come when you look down upon my dead body. I tell you now that is false. It’s in our pain when we grow, Christian. You must feel pain to finally grow into the beautiful person I know you are.