The Luke Titan Chronicles: Books 1-4: The Luke Titan Chronicles Boxset

by David Beers

  The lights were off, but Luke saw everything perfectly. He took in the smell of the house. Somewhere in here was sweat and dirt. Blood, too. He could smell their traces, and the emotions each carried—primarily fear—moving across the air conditioned foyer.

  Luke went through the house like a ghoul, making no noise and leaving no trace. The smells led him to a locked door. Other rooms resided on the hallway, but what he wanted to see wasn’t inside them. No, the dirt, sweat, and fear all rested behind this door. A padlock was attached to a small clasp, confirming Luke’s thought that Mr. Hinson held something valuable inside.

  Luke pulled his utensils from his pocket again, working them into the padlock. Once it was open, he removed it, then opened the door. He immediately saw a staircase and took the first step down, closing the door behind him. He didn’t walk further, though, letting his senses take in the staircase and room beneath.

  He heard people breathing, and from the patterns, he thought there were six women below. Mr. Hinson hadn’t even paused; he simply went ahead and kidnapped another woman.

  Once Luke’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he walked down the stairs, stopping just before he reached the floor. Luke’s eyes saw more in darkness than other people’s, though not as much as nocturnal animals—much to his chagrin. His retinas could pick up very small amounts of light, allowing him to see great detail.

  He didn’t step onto the floor, because he didn’t want the women seeing too much of him.

  A white woman sat about ten feet from him, chained to the wall. Luke looked to his right, and saw another woman, black. As he looked further, he saw one more—a larger gap between her and the black woman than the first two. Even Luke couldn’t see into the rest of the room, though. The women on the other side were hidden from him, though he heard their breathing.

  Their breath’s pace had increased at least four-fold since he descended the stairs. He couldn’t hear their heartbeats, but knew they had probably doubled.

  He looked at the floor beneath the black woman and saw traces of blood. Stained, though Luke could smell the remnants of bleach which had been used to clean it up.

  The black woman’s face was bruised, her right eye nearly shut. Blood crusted her nose as well.

  The stain wasn’t from her. Mr. Hinson wasn’t concerned with his victim’s cleanliness, at least not from what Luke could see.

  “Ted?” the woman directly in front of Luke said. “Is that you?”

  It confirmed they couldn’t see him, which was good.

  Luke walked back up the stairs, opened the door, and went into the main house. He made his way through the hallway, checking the rooms like a person hoping to buy the place. He found the master bedroom, entering it and stopping as he looked it over. He could smell Hinson. The other women, too. Hinson had brought them here.

  And what? Do you fuck them, Mr. Hinson, or do you make love? What do you call it?

  Luke went to the bathroom and looked through the medicine cabinet. The usual staples of Tylenol and shaving necessities. He saw no trace of antidepressants or other medications.

  “Perhaps they might help,” Luke said with a smile.

  He went to the living room. The entire house was neatly kept. The furniture well picked, though not what Luke would have done. Taste could run a gamut, however.

  “This is good, Dr. Hinson. This will work just fine,” Luke said to the empty room.

  TWO AND A HALF weeks had passed since Christian last saw Melissa.

  She opened her office door and motioned for him to enter. “How are you?” she said as he passed.

  Christian said nothing in return, just went and sat on his corner of the couch.

  “That’s a nice entry,” Melissa said.

  “I’m about as well as I was last time, though probably worse if I really stop and think about it.”

  “Thinking is overrated,” she said, smiling. “Except for one thing, did you think about the question I asked you last time? What do you want to get out of this?”

  Christian had known she would begin with it, and he had thought about it. A lot. When he left here over two weeks ago, he believed Melissa would tell him soon that their sessions needed to stop. Perhaps she would recommend someone else, or maybe she would let him go into the world alone. She, of course, didn’t know about the FBI assigned psychologist yet. That might even make the whole thing a bit easier.

  “I don’t know what I want anymore, Melissa, and that’s the truth. I used to. I used to be almost singularly focused on what I wanted in life and what I wanted in here. I started coming so that you could help me relate to people better. I used to want to make people’s lives better. Now, though, I don’t know if either of those are true.”

  “Why are you confused?”

  “I’m being pulled in two directions. I don’t know, I guess people always have a choice, don’t they? Whether you do what’s right or wrong. What you want or what is better for someone else. I don’t think I ever really saw life in those terms before, but now, I have two options: to do what is right or to do what I want.”

  “I’m not understanding, Christian. Are you talking about Veronica?” Melissa said.

  “Yes and no.” He looked down at his feet. “There’s someone kidnapping women. He’s taking them from multiple states, and I know who he is. I don’t have any evidence, though, and Waverly ordered me to drop it.”

  “I see.”

  “Luke, though—in a way only he could—suggested that I ignore Waverly. He thinks I should keep going after this man if I really believe he’s kidnapping women.”

  “Luke did?” Melissa’s eyebrows rose.

  Christian nodded.

  “He’s telling you to break the law?”

  “I wouldn’t necessarily be breaking any laws, only directives from my boss.”

  “What did you think when Luke first said that? Not right now, but your first reaction,” Melissa asked.

  “I thought he was right. I still think he’s right.” He looked at his psychiatrist. “If that man is killing people, and I can stop him, why shouldn’t I? Because someone who has an imaginary title told me differently? On a person by person level, the only control he has over me is what I grant him, and I only grant it because of that invented title: FBI Director.”

  “Our world is built on titles, Christian. From policeman to plumbers. All of our positions allow the world to keep running. If you just start ignoring them, and do what you want … Society will push back.”

  “You asked what I thought,” Christian said.

  “Fair enough. Maybe I should ask what you plan to do?”

  “Waverly assigned me to a psychologist,” Christian said, ignoring Melissa’s question.

  Her eyebrows rose again. “He did?”

  Christian nodded. “He’s concerned about my mental stability, apparently.”

  “So you’re cheating on me?” Melissa said, a slight smirk on her face.

  “No need to be jealous. I lie to him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I tell the truth, I’m not sure I’ll be working at the FBI much longer,” Christian said.

  “But you’re not telling the truth in here, either, are you? Not the whole of it.”

  “I’m not sure I know the truth any longer.”

  CHRISTIAN LEFT MELISSA’S OFFICE, lighting a cigarette as soon as he hit the building’s front door. He was tired of talking to people. So many, all the time, each one wanting to know the same things—everyone except Luke. He was the only person that held a different opinion (prerogative, another part of Christian said, though it was whispered and barely, if at all, heard).

  Christian took a drag on the cigarette, not slowing down at the smoking area. He had grabbed one of the FBI vehicles this morning and was planning on finishing the cigarette inside, despite regulations.

  Christian rarely drove, but he was done talking with people. He wasn’t going back into his mansion. Luke was right, and Christian had said as much to Melissa
, even if she didn’t think he would act on it. He was going to, though. Christian decided last night that Hinson must be stopped.

  Christian opened the car door and got inside, starting the vehicle and then rolling down the windows. He blew the cigarette smoke outside.

  He wasn’t going to think about Veronica today, or what happened between them last night. He couldn’t begin processing that right now. When he woke this morning and she was still next to him, he kissed her lips briefly before leaving for work. That’s all he could give her right now, until this was done.

  Christian had decided something else after they had made love.

  His career was over. That made the Hinson issue much easier, because Waverly firing him didn’t matter. Christian wouldn’t quit until Ted Hinson was apprehended. Or dead. Christian didn’t care which. Only, this route meant he was done at the FBI.

  Christian drove the cruiser from Atlanta to Athens, Georgia. It was a smallish college town; a lot of money lived around it, and the poverty was contained in a three neighborhood area locals called The Iron Triangle. Pizza shops wouldn’t even deliver inside it.

  Christian had done his research over the past few nights, learning everything he could about Ted Hinson and the college he worked at.

  Ted Hinson was divorced with a daughter; both his ex-wife, Christy, and daughter, Callie, lived in Athens, too. The mother had primary custody and from what Christian gathered, Ted didn’t try to fight it much. A much more detailed report on Hinson resided in Christian’s mind, but he wouldn’t go to it. He didn’t want to know this man, and he had no need for huge, logical leaps in the case—Christian knew Hinson’s address.

  He parked the vehicle across from Ted Hinson’s house, not knowing that Luke had done the same thing only hours before. He didn’t cross the street as Luke had, though. He didn’t even exit the car, instead just looked at the house; he’d seen it on Google Maps the previous night, but wanted to see it in person.

  Two stories, with a well attended lawn. A large porch with white rocking chairs adorned the open space. It looked like the perfect upper middle class, suburban home. Except for the five or more women imprisoned inside. Dead or chained up. Maybe a bit of both.

  The two windows on the second story stared out at him like eyes, as if they knew what he was doing in their neighborhood and didn’t like it.

  This is our place, and you’re not welcome. Go away, lawman. Go away, you pseudo-priest. You bring only false righteousness and this house will not tolerate it. We will not stop.

  Christian heard the house speaking, it’s voice filling up the car.

  Is this a delusion? Christian wondered. Is this what Dr. Hanson is afraid of?

  Because he wasn’t imagining the house speaking to him. He actually heard it.

  Then leave, lawman. Go home where you can’t hear us speak anymore. Leave us be.

  Christian thought he should feel fear, fear something, but he only stared at the talking house with an odd indifference. Perhaps he was hallucinating, or maybe this was another piece of his extrasensory perception. Neither mattered, though. He had something to do and when he finished, he didn’t think much would matter anymore.

  So let the house talk. Let everything talk.

  Christian was focused.

  He rolled the window up and drove down the road. He had another stop to make before finishing the day. Christian drove across town (the length of Athens a little more than ten miles) and parked his car in front of Christy Mackenrow’s house. Hinson’s ex.

  No vehicles sat in the driveway, just like Hinson’s home.

  Christian listened, but this house didn’t speak. It silently looked over its yard.

  Christian got out of the car and slowly walked across the street and up the driveway. He went to the front door, placing his hand on the knob, though he didn’t turn it.

  Christian closed his eyes.

  He focused on the cold metal beneath his hand. He stood like that for a few seconds, listening to the neighborhood’s silence, and the soft creaks from inside the house.

  Finally, he opened his eyes and returned to his car.

  One more place to go.

  CHRISTIAN SAT on a bench in what the University called North Campus. It was beautiful, even to Christian’s poor sense of design and taste. Buildings surrounded the inner quad, which held green grass, white concrete walkways, as well as fountains.

  Christian sat on a stone bench and looked at the building on the quad’s opposite side.

  Ted Hinson worked in it and would exit shortly, done for the day. Christian wore a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses. He didn’t want to be seen; Waverly couldn’t know about this, and if Hinson spotted him, lawyers would be on the phone within the hour.

  Christian wanted one last look at the man, though, before he started in earnest. Luke had been right, even if no one else thought so. Faith. What else did Christian have anymore, besides faith in his own mind? Nothing. He’d thrown the rest away. Now, his world was his mind, and to not trust it, to not put faith in it, was like having no world at all.

  Waverly would learn that Christian was right, and then he could be done with Christian—publicly if needed. Christian didn’t care.

  Hinson walked out of the building. A messenger bag hung over his shoulder and he took a right once he reached the bottom of the stairs. Christian stood from his bench and started following. The sun shone down across the quad, though it was fading as the day grew long. Hinson didn’t look back, but kept walking further north.

  Christian wondered whether he would walk home, drive, or take the bus. He couldn’t imagine someone like Hinson getting on a bus with the city’s riffraff. His house was only about a mile away, so with weather like this, the chances were high that he walked. Which Christian preferred. He would only have this chance to be near Hinson. The next time, the man would be detained or dead.

  Why do you want to be next to him? the other asked from inside his head, not making an appearance.

  Christian gave no answer. He didn’t need the other; his mind was made up and anyone else’s input might only confuse him.

  It’s Veronica, isn’t it? That’s the reason you decided to go forward. Because last night you realized a life with no one isn’t a life at all. That’s sweet, Christian. It really is and I’m sure she’d certainly appreciate the sentiment. The problem, as I see it, though, is that you’re not going to be able to come back. Not fully. Not to whom she first fell in love with. She fucked you last night, but how well does she know you now, Christian? How well does your mother? Luke’s winter is real and you’re deep inside it, with snow storming all around you. You can’t see a path out, even if you want to imagine you can. That’s the real delusion.

  Christian ignored the speech. He looked ahead at Hinson, memorizing his gait. The man didn’t look at the stunning buildings surrounding him; perhaps he’d seen them too many times to take notice. Or perhaps he had other thoughts on his mind. Thoughts about what was waiting at home.

  Hinson walked across the main street, meaning that he wasn’t driving. Christian had to stop at the crosswalk but kept his eyes on Hinson. He picked up his pace when he was allowed to walk again, catching up quickly.

  Hinson took a left, and so did Christian. The neighborhood was a block up on the right, and Christian stopped walking. He wouldn’t follow any further. He’d seen all he could without being caught. Christian was done looking now. It was time to use his mind for the FBI—one last time—even if it meant breaking all the rules.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Hey.”

  Luke looked up from his computer. He’d been lost in thought, so much so that he didn’t see Tommy approaching. Unusual for Luke, a sign of how deep inside of himself he’d been.

  “Hello,” Luke said, his face showing nothing of the annoyance he felt at being interrupted. He had been planning important things. Ted Hinson’s situation was much more complex than either Bradley Brown’s or Lucy Speckle’s had been. Luke was using a good
bit of brainpower in figuring out how to operate around the man, despite Waverly’s cease and desist order.

  And now Tommy was here, most likely with another useless conversation.

  “Did you look at the email from Roger this morning?”

  Luke hadn’t opened any emails at all, and certainly would have put the pathologist’s at the end of the line.

  “No.”

  “He’s got a body he says we might want to look at.”

  “Why?”

  “Appears to be a ritualistic killing.”

  “Biblical?” Luke said.

  “No, the email said it appears Satanic.”

  “Are you going to him now?”

  “Yeah,” Tommy said. “He asked if we could show up at 3:00, and it’s 2:50 now. You coming?”

  Luke looked across the hall to Christian’s office. It was empty, as it had been all day. Yesterday, too.

  “Haven’t seen him either. I didn’t even bother calling. Did you?” Tommy asked.

  Luke shook his head. He was giving Christian space, or at least the appearance of it. Christian had been at home last night, alone. No phone calls. No talking. He stayed up late working from his computer, and Luke realized his large error in not tracking that as well. He’d made a mental note to do it soon, though he knew it might prove difficult.

  So many challenges, so little time.

  “Well, you want to go with me, or you going to stay here?”

  “I’ll go,” Luke said. He stood up and grabbed his blazer off the chair, putting it on. He wasn’t going because he felt at all interested in the body. He thought he had figured out Tommy’s place in all this, and … well, it was grand. Which meant Luke needed to stay close to Tommy. Luke would be the glue that held their small group together over the next few weeks, until everything finally exploded.

  Luke planned for no one to know his orchestration of the coming events. If everything went well, he would even land a large promotion. Luke’s ascent wouldn’t stop once Christian and Tommy were out of his life; they were stepping stones to grander plans—though Luke wouldn’t deny they were very large stones.