by David Beers
All of them were of him—Christian—and his partners. The further up they went, the less Christian saw of himself, and the more the paintings focused on Luke. Large things, showing Luke as Christian had seen him at different times. Sitting in his living room. In Christian’s own office. Hanging upside down on a makeshift cross, convincing Christian to force Lucy Speckle to suicide.
Finally, the stairs ended, and both took their last step onto a vast floor.
Does it even end? Christian thought.
“There,” Luke said, and pointed to the ceiling.
Christian followed his gesture and saw a final painting. It stretched across the entire ceiling; Luke Titan reigned over this floor. Christian had to actually move his head to see the entire thing, and even then, Luke’s feet were too far away to see well. The painting showed Luke in one of his three-piece suits. His hands were at his sides, not hiding in his pockets, and his eyes stared directly at Christian.
Christian walked across the floor, not looking away from the painting, and Luke’s eyes followed him. They didn’t seem to follow him, but actually did. His brown irises stared out as if they were alive, each eye large enough for Christian to lie across and not cover them.
“You need to come to this place,” Luke said.
Christian looked back down and saw his partner had turned and was staring at him.
“It’s important that you do.”
“This … is real?” Christian spoke, and it was him this time, not something else controlling the words.
Luke nodded. “Yes. This is inside your mansion, and it’s important you see it.”
“Why?”
“Everything you care about depends upon it, Christian. Perhaps it always has.”
THE ALARM on Christian’s clock sounded with a ferocity that broke the dream into pieces; it fell away, leaving reality to stare back at him.
He sat in his office chair with his eyes open, not reaching down to touch the phone. He didn’t blink, but looked forward, trying his best to remember what he’d seen.
Luke.
The staircase stretching upward.
You need to come to this place.
Luke rapped his knuckles on Christian’s door. Christian blinked rapidly, finally seeing the world around him. Luke slowly opened the door and Christian knew only one thing: he didn’t want this man in his office. He didn’t want to be anywhere near Luke. Christian didn’t know why, only that it was so, and no amount of thought or logic would make it otherwise.
“I wanted to ask you how Tommy’s doing before we go down there,” Luke said as he approached Christian’s desk. “Taking a nap?” He glanced down at the still buzzing phone.
Christian looked at his phone, immediately feeling a need to hide the alarm. He didn’t want Luke to know he’d been sleeping, fearing that he might somehow know about the dream. Christian’s hand darted to it and hit the ‘stop’ button.
“Are you okay?” Luke said.
“Yes. I just woke up. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Luke said. “How is Tommy?”
Christian wanted to run from the room, to jump out the window behind him if necessary—anything to get away from the man standing here. He’d never felt fear like this; Christian could hear his heartbeat thumping in his ears, thundering rapidly away.
Don’t let him know, Christian thought.
But that was impossible. Luke was too perceptive.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, you just startled me. Tommy … Tommy’s trying to hold it together. Let’s go down to his office. He told me to let him know when you got here.”
Luke stared at him, obviously waiting on him to stand.
“You mind giving me a minute? I just need to clear my head.”
“Sure,” Luke said, though he paused a moment longer. Christian held his eyes, but it took a will similar to that of the Pharaohs building the Egyptian pyramids. He wanted to look away, even to beg Luke to leave. Anything that would get him out of this office, away from Christian.
Finally, Luke turned and exited without saying anything.
Christian sighed.
“What the hell was that?” he asked himself.
You need to come to this place. The words spoken in his dream returned. Christian didn’t have time, not at the moment. He knew Tommy would expect him shortly, and he also needed to hear what Luke had to say. If there was a plan to save Alice, Luke would have it.
Christian’s heart still was beating far too rapidly, but he stood from his desk and did his best to push away the fear nearly crippling him.
“HOW ARE YOU HOLDING UP?” Luke said.
He didn’t care what Tommy answered. His mind was still on the interaction that happened with Christian moments ago. Luke didn’t like what he’d seen. The boy had been positively frightened—terrified, even.
“I’m okay. Where’s Christian?”
“He’s on his way. I think he took a brief nap. He was just waking up when I went to his office.”
“I spoke to the police. They’ve been questioning Alice’s friends and family. They’ve got nothing so far, no other leads. The FBI agents are going back to my condo to reinspect the crime scene. They want to see if the police missed anything.”
“You think that’s a waste of time?” Luke asked.
What was Christian frightened of? The entire endeavor going on around him? No one he knew was in danger, so that didn’t make much sense—especially given what the boy had experienced the past few years.
“Probably. I don’t know where else to send them, though.”
Luke saw Tommy look up from his desk and turned to see Christian arriving. His skin was pale and Luke saw a very slight tremor in his right hand.
“You don’t look good,” Tommy said.
“I took a nap and had a nightmare. Taking me a minute to shake it.”
Tommy nodded but said nothing else about it, turning to Luke. “Tell me you have something.”
“We need to go back to his ex-wife’s,” Luke said as Christian took his seat. “I checked again, but it might be time to sit on the house.”
“We need to tell Waverly, then we need to go over there.”
Tommy sighed and then Luke watched him regain his focus, pure force of will shrugging off the exhaustion and self-hate, slugging forward like some knight facing insurmountable enemies. Going forward only because his duty, and love, demanded it. Going forward knowing that he and everything he cared for was already lost.
Not yet, old friend, but soon, Luke thought. He wanted to turn and look at Christian, but didn’t. Staring too hard at the boy wasn’t good, though Luke wasn’t exactly sure why. That annoyed him, not knowing why, though still knowing it to be true. It was as if … Christian had been scared of him.
Tommy hit the button on his speakerphone and dialed Waverly’s cell.
“Hold on,” the Director answered. Luke heard him click the mute button and thirty seconds passed before Waverly came back on the line. “Sorry, in a meeting. What do you have?”
“I’m here with Luke and Christian. Sir, we haven’t been able to find his ex-wife, so a tail on her house may be in order.”
“Okay. Twenty-four hour surveillance on her, too. I’ll reassign six more agents. When was the last time you went over?”
“Last evening,” Luke said.
“It’s 5 AM now,” Waverly said. “Get over there by 6:30 and if she’s there, tell her whatever you need, to ensure that she cooperates with the surveillance. Tell her what we suspect and that she might be in danger. Figure out if she knows where Hinson might be. Any news from the police?”
“Nothing useful, sir,” Tommy said.
“If you have the capacity, direct some of the agents following Hinson to start looking into all his friends and family. It’s time to widen the investigation. If you need more people, let me know, okay?”
“We will.”
“Okay, I have to go,” the Director said. “Call me
once you’ve made contact with the ex-wife.”
“Yes, sir,” Tommy said.
The line went dead, leaving the three partners sitting in silence.
“We’ve got an hour and a half,” Tommy said. He stood from his chair and stretched his hands high above his head, ligaments popping in his shoulders. “I’m going to finish reading these reports. We’ll go meet the woman in an hour, okay?”
“I think one of us should stay on Hinson,” Christian said. “Someone should be with the agents watching his house. If he goes there, they might not move like we’d want them to. If we’re there, we’ll be able to command the situation better.”
Tommy said nothing, and finally Luke let himself turn toward Christian. The boy was still pale, though the tremor had stopped. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Having one of us watch a house seems like a waste of time, especially with what we need to be doing.”
“Think about it,” Christian said. “If he shows up, the agents will call it in, but they’re not going to move on him. If one of us is there, we can convince them to move in, even if we have to take the blame later.”
Tommy nodded, though Luke thought reluctantly. Tommy didn’t like the idea, and neither did Luke, but for very different reasons. Christian’s suggestion held some logic, but it wasn’t very strong. Luke didn’t understand why he would say it, especially with such force.
“You want to do it?”
“No,” Christian said. “I want to meet his ex-wife. It might help with the mansion.”
“Luke? It’s not a bad idea. A few hours with them in case he shows up.”
Luke stared at Christian, not caring if it set the boy off again. He wanted Christian to feel pressure, perhaps even to cause a panic attack. Something was happening here and Luke didn’t like it. Christian didn’t return his gaze, instead keeping his eyes on Tommy.
“Luke? You still here?”
“Sure,” he said, turning to Tommy. “I’ll go with them.”
CHAPTER 5
C hristian knew the plan of action wasn’t smart, especially given Luke’s brainpower. It was a waste putting him in a car to watch an empty house. If anyone should go, Tommy was the one—but Christian didn’t want that.
Christian made the suggestion because he needed distance from Luke, desperately so … and, he needed time to think. He really needed time to go to his mansion, but what waited for him on that upper floor … well, that would take a lot of time.
Christian didn’t want to take another nap, but was scared to go into the mansion.
He was afraid—as he had been before—of what he might find. No … that wasn’t accurate. He was scared of what he would find.
Christian went to his office and set another alarm. He didn’t know if he would dream again, but he thought that better than actually going inside. At least for right now. He did want to see Hinson’s ex-wife. It would add something to the mansion and when he went to it, he wanted all possible information to be waiting on him. He wanted to see everything in one inspection. He was too frightened of the place to make more than one trip.
How did it come this far? That you’re afraid of what used to be your sanctuary?
Christian leaned back in his chair and sleep came quickly.
His mind, apparently, hadn’t finished speaking—even if Christian wasn’t ready to hear it.
This time, he found himself in his mansion again, but inside the room marked The Priest.
The statues were still there, the women in different states of prostration before himself (or, the other). A statue of Christian no longer stared back at him, but the other—his mind’s replication of Christian.
The wild grin was still on his face and blood leaked from the corner of his eyes, falling down his cheeks and to his neck in awful, endless streams.
“You dreamed of Luke,” the other said. “And now you’re dreaming of me. What do you think that means?”
Christian found himself in control again. The other looked down at the statues. He shook his head violently and the bloody tears sprinkled on the stone sculptures.
“HA!” the other laughed.
“You’re going insane,” Christian said.
“And you aren’t? I am you, Christian. You are me. You keep this mental barrier, as if it matters, but we both know it doesn’t. Not in the end. Our destiny is to finally grow into one.”
Christian didn’t try denying what was said. From the other’s first appearance, Christian knew it to be true. He had, momentarily, thought he could break free when he went to Hinson’s house the previous night, intent on killing the man. That chance was gone, though.
“It’s not gone, my man. You can still kill him. You might even be able to kill him at his ex-wife’s house. Though when you do it now, it’ll be our marriage. Things have changed, even in the past few days, and your separation from me is over. It’s you and I to the end.” The other reached forward and smeared one of the drops across the stone figure’s face. He reached up to his own, touching a stream of blood, and then rubbed it across the eyes of the statue directly in front of him. “That’s better.”
He looked back up at Christian.
“Do you think that once you kill Hinson, you’ll ever be able to sleep next to Veronica again? In the end, Hinson is finished, and you know it. Waverly is onboard with Hinson as a killer, and so if you murder him now, you’re not doing it for yourself. You’re doing it for Waverly. And the thing that really makes me get a chuckle … you know what that is, though, don’t you?”
Christian nodded. “That I won’t be able to stop myself.”
“Exactly. You’ll murder him because you want him dead, and it’s not necessary any longer. He’ll spend his life in jail or take a ride on old sparky, if you let him live. But you won’t. He’s going to die and you’re going to enjoy it. Then, Christian, as your friend Luke analogized, the winter will be here forever.”
Christian wanted to say he was wrong, but that would be futile. While everything in Christian’s life was wrong—perhaps besides Veronica—what the other now said was right.
“NAIL ON THE HEAD!” he screeched in a horrible gale of laughter.
“Why did you come here?” Christian said.
“That is the question. The one you never really tried to answer. And now it’s too late, isn’t it? Because you don’t have the time to chase down the answer. You barely have time to sleep, and I wonder how rested you’ll feel when you leave here?”
The other’s smile died, and Christian stared at a reflection of himself, the only thing missing from his own face were bloody tears. It was shocking, seeing the other like that—without the maniacal aura it always radiated. Christian saw that he really was looking at himself … communicating with himself.
And then, the other’s eyes went fully black. His pupils swam out across his irises and then covered the surrounding white. Christian stared at dark orbs, now reflecting him. A different man than the one who had first joined the FBI.
“Before we’re married, Christian, I’d answer that question. I’d do it before you kill someone. When that happens … well, it will be too late, then.”
THE SUN WAS ASCENDING above the neighborhood’s houses. Luke sat in the backseat of a car, the other two agents in the front of the vehicle.
Luke didn’t need to be at Ms. Mackenrow’s house, and actually thought showing his face there wasn’t a great idea. Seeing Hinson again might create a bit too much stress on the actor and actresses in this play.
Yet, it wasn’t Luke’s idea to end up in the back of this car, watching a house that held nothing of interest—at least not for Luke. The FBI agents might find the house’s basement a bit interesting, but in reality, those women were barely bit players.
Luke knew he needed time alone with Christian, but he also knew he wouldn’t get it. All his brain’s power, and he couldn’t figure out where Christian’s strange fear originated from. Every path his mind followed led to only one answer—though it was impossible: Christian W
indsor knew Luke was behind all this. He knew Luke had been behind everything.
That couldn’t be. Nothing had changed. Perhaps the boy did have a nightmare, and maybe that’s all this was.
But you’re the one sitting in a car doing grunt work, Luke thought. That’s not part of your plan. This is Christian’s plan.
Or was it God’s? Was this another movement of his hand, trying to rearrange the game’s pieces, giving him yet another unfair advantage?
Luke was powerful enough to withstand it. His plan would win out, and then … Well, then, Luke would be one step closer to achieving his purpose.
He pulled out a small notepad from his pocket and began writing another letter.
FOR CHRISTIAN WINDSOR
Dear Christian,
AT THE BEGINNING of these letters, I said that you would die soon after reading them. A trait that has allowed me to move around this world with such ease, is that I readily adapt to changing circumstances. That is what separates species which die off from those that thrive: the ability to adapt. When you break evolution down, adaptation is its primary essence.
I don’t want you to die, as your remaining life will be a testament for God. As he looks down from his throne, he’ll see you and know he lost another round between the two of us.
You’re going to survive this, and so that means I must find a different way to give you these letters. It certainly wouldn’t behoove me to give you them in their current form, as that would ruin all of my detailed planning. Do not fret, though; I will figure it out.
I told you that my next letter would describe my hate for God, but I’ve also changed my mind on that point. You’re going to live, and I think it appropriate to give you goals while you sit knowing I did what is coming.
I won’t hide my purpose from you. That will come before this chapter in your life closes. However, the goal I set out for you is to understand why I have this purpose.
Find out why I hate God, Christian.