by David Beers
He had stopped at the corner, his back to it, and the gun next to his face. His eyes were closed.
“What’s he doing? Praying?” Charles asked, expecting no answer. He hoped his men didn’t kill the bastard. Their pay would drop stupendously if that happened. Charles wanted his fun first.
“He’s counting,” the invalid said.
“What the fuck’s he counting?”
“Your men’s footsteps.”
Charles mouth opened to say something else, but no words left his mouth.
The man on the screen whirled into the hallway, dropping to his knees as he did. He fired two shots and Charles heard their echoes filter into his room seconds after.
Two of his men dropped to the floor, their bodies falling like bags of flour.
Windsor waited on his knees for a second, the gun pointing forward as if the dead might still rise. When they didn’t, he stood again.
Charles grabbed the two-way. “He’s coming. Go get him. Do not fucking kill him.”
The remaining four men emptied out of the waiting room.
CHRISTIAN’S BREATH FELT HEAVY, his lungs breathing deep. He wasn’t on the verge of hyperventilating, but he was on the verge of being on the verge. He walked by the two men he’d dropped moments before, not looking down at the holes his gun had created.
They’d moved too loudly down the hallway, which meant that they underestimated him. Christian couldn’t have killed them if it wasn’t for their footfalls. He had known precisely where they would be when he turned into the hallway.
He’d fired his gun and the shots had been true.
That wasn’t the last of them, though, and Christian knew it.
Another bullet soared through the hallway, tagging high and hitting the ceiling just behind him. Christian flashed into a hallway on his right. He couldn’t see where the bullet came from, the hall was too dark even with the emergency signs posted.
“WINDSOR!” the intercom screamed from above. “IF YOU DON’T GIVE UP, YOU’RE DEAD. THERE’S TOO MANY.”
Christian stood with his back to the wall.
“PUT THE GUN DOWN AND YOU’LL MAKE IT OUT OF HERE ALIVE.”
Waverly, he thought. Is he hearing this? Who all can hear what is happening, or is it just this wing? Is anyone coming?
He couldn’t answer the question, but he felt more bullets hit the wall. They were pinning him down, trying to scare him into dropping his weapon.
“There’s no way out, bucko,” the intercom said, then more squealing laughter. “Drop it!”
“Where’s Tommy?” Christian shouted.
A pause came from both the weapons and the intercom.
“One more time. What was that?”
“Where’s Tommy?”
“Put the gun down and you can come see him,” the intercom said.
“Is he alive?”
Another brief pause, Christian imagining that whatever he said was being relayed back to the man behind the intercom.
“He is, of course! We’ve got fun things planned for the three of us. Lots of them!”
Christian knew he couldn’t gun this many men down. Hell, he couldn’t even see them all.
Go get your friend, his mother had said.
Fighting right now wouldn’t accomplish that. Going forward with his weapon drawn would be suicide, and if he’d wanted to do that, he didn’t have to walk here.
Christian knelt and placed the gun down, then stood and kicked it into the hallway.
“Good! Boys, take him!” the intercom said.
And take him, they did.
CHAPTER 20
“Dr. Titan, how are you doing today?”
Charles knew Titan was aware of what happened the previous night. He only needed to turn on a television and see that the world was burning down. Each station gladly told of the horrors being inflicted upon this great nation—and there were a lot of them at the moment.
“I’m well,” Titan said.
Despite being in complete control, Titan’s strange calm raised goosebumps across Charles’s arms.
“You’ve seen the news?”
“I have. You’ve been busy, though, not in the way that we agreed.”
“That’s true. I have been busy. I’m a busybody, you might say. And no, fuck our agreement, Titan. Do you mind if I call you Luke, Luke? I’m sure you don’t, given how much money has exchanged hands between us. Well, Luke, fuck our agreement. The new agreement is this: I’m going to kill your wonder boy and his partner, and if you decide to show up, I’ll kill you too. How’s that sound?”
“Is he still alive, my wonder boy?” Titan asked.
“For now, yes. That’s going to change, though.”
“Where are you, Mr. Twaller?”
“No, no. I don’t think we’ll go into that right now. You’re a smart guy, right, Luke? You can figure out that problem in no time at all.”
“Perhaps. Are you with him now?”
Charles was feeling more and more off by the second. In a single night, he had halted Titan’s entire operation, and stolen the person he wanted most, yet this man sounded like they were discussing a play they might see later.
“He’s around,” Charles said.
“I want you to ask Christian what happened with my brother. Will you do that for me, Mr. Twaller?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“Christian will probably know the story better than I do. It was a long time ago for me, but I imagine he thinks of it often. Ask him ... I’ll see you soon, Mr. Twaller.”
The call ended. Charles sat with the phone still pressed to his ear, barely believing what he just heard.
He would see Charles soon? As if he had planned all this out?
Charles shook his head, his fat jowls swaying as he did, making him look like a cow having a seizure.
“No. No. No. I’ll see you soon, you stupid fuck!”
IT TOOK him a few minutes to calm down, but when he did, he walked across the warehouse. Charles had flown the invalid and Windsor up north. They were on the edge of Baltimore, in one of the rundown factory districts. Charles had a lease for the warehouse, though he used it for nothing—not even to store weapons when they came through.
The invalid lay face up on a mattress. Charles thought about letting him stew in his own filth as he pissed and shit himself, but decided against it. He didn’t want to have to deal with the stench when he came in here to handle business, so he assigned a guard to those necessities.
Charles was making Windsor stand. Metal chains hooked to his hands. He couldn’t bring his arms down completely, though he could swing slightly some with the chains. He was forced to either stand or hang from them.
Windsor’s face was so bruised, he looked like an overripe peach which had been handled roughly. His right eye was swollen shut and his lips nearly as big as sausages. The guys had put hands on him pretty mercilessly when they got to him. Which was fine with Charles.
He didn’t mind in the slightest.
“I spoke to your ex-partner,” Charles said as he approached the fence.
Windsor’s chains rattled slightly. He could still see out of his left eye, and he turned his face so that it focused on Charles.
“He wanted me to ask you something. He said you should tell me about what happened to his brother. What’s that mean?”
“ ... It means you’re going to die,” Windsor said, his words sounding thick because of his swollen tongue.
“Is that your autism coming out? Just unable to keep from saying whatever the hell you’re thinking?”
Windsor shrugged.
“So, Titan is going to kill me to save you?”
“I don’t know what he wants with me. You’re going to die, though. That’s what the story about his brother means.”
Charles smiled and looked down at his feet. “We’re pretty well guarded here. I think we’ll survive. He’s going to show up, though? You think that’s what he was telling me.”
“No,
you fat fuck,” Windsor said. “You’re going to die. That’s what he was telling you. I don’t know if he’ll show up. I don’t know if he’ll bomb the entire place with nuclear weapons. No one knows what Luke will do. If he wants you to hear about his brother, then that’s the only thing you can take as gospel: You’ll die soon.”
Charles felt a momentary rise of anger at the derogatory remark, but he pushed it away. He would indulge in such things later—well, sooner rather than later—but now wasn’t the time. The autistic retard would pay for calling him a ‘fat fuck’, but he needn’t pay just yet.
“Tell me about the brother,” Charles said, still looking at his feet.
“It doesn’t matter. That’s not the point. If he told you to ask me, the message was simple. What happened to his brother is irrelevant to that message.”
Charles’s thick hand flashed up and slapped Windsor across the face. His closed right eye stared blindly at Charles.
“I’ll tell you what matters and what doesn’t. You tell me what the fuck happened to his brother.”
A second passed and Windsor finally turned back to Charles, though he kept his head bowed.
“Luke was the elder. He was 17 and Mark, I think, was 15….”
CHAPTER 21
M ark is 15 years old, and Luke is indeed 17.
The two of them live in the United States, six years have passed since Father Marquez met his end.
Luke’s last name is not yet Titan, but the time is growing close to when he will change it, forever casting his past under a dark shadow.
Mark and Luke are in high school; Luke is thinking about applying for colleges. They live alone, in a small apartment in Dallas, Texas. Luke didn’t want to try and move far when they left Mexico, but he needed to get to a place where their American heritage wouldn’t be a burden. They live alone, Luke handling the paperwork to ensure that continues.
His days are simple, if hard. He wakes up at six. He and Mark arrive at school an hour later. From there, Luke moves through the school day without much trouble. His mind laps his teachers, though he is careful to keep that from being noticed. He remembers what happened when he was younger and made a fool out of a teacher. He does not have that luxury anymore. Now, he lives his life for his brother, doing everything in his power to make sure their simple home is a good one.
He leaves school at two in the afternoon. Mark does not come with him, as he still has another hour of classes, and another hour of study hall after that. He isn’t slow by any means, but Luke insists he stay for all after school programs that can assist with grades.
Luke heads to work. He flips chicken at a fast food restaurant every day when he finishes at school. He does this from 2:30 until close at 10:00. From there, he catches a bus back home, usually bringing his brother something to eat. He doesn’t like feeding him fast food fried chicken, but even with his job, money is always tight.
Luke thinks the hard parts of his life are over. What happened in Mexico didn’t happen to a different person; Luke remembers everything and no matter how much he may want to, he can’t simply wish it away. However, he is moving beyond it. He focuses on his brother and the small life they have in America. That helps, some. He still has nightmares of his mother, and isn’t sure whether those will ever disappear.
The tough part is over, though. Or, at least, that’s what he thinks. He tells himself nothing that happens in the future will ever be as bad as what happened in the past.
He tells himself that, but part of him doesn’t believe it. Later in life, Luke will understand that he controls his destiny, but at seventeen, he doesn’t believe that. A part of him says that life, or the universe—or more probably, God—isn’t done with him yet.
He feels this most strongly when he wakes up from nightmares of his mother.
Luke wakes up covered in sweat, having seen that old priest having his way with her. Tears are in his eyes and he’s breathing heavily, though he quickly gets it under control so as not to wake Mark.
It’s then, in the early morning hours, that fear washes over him. Something is going to happen. Another one of those moments that he can’t control, but will only be able to make a decision about it.
That time is nearly here, the moment nearly arrived.
THE CHURCH KILLED Luke’s mother, but it is God that kills his brother.
Moments define Luke, just as they do us all, and what came next was the final defining one. The moment that turned a troubled, but good kid, into someone the world would come to fear.
Luke doesn’t see any of the signs and that’s because he’s working too much. He won’t carry that weight forever—in the end, Luke sheds guilt and responsibility like a serpent does its skin.
There are signs, though, and Luke sees them when he thinks about it later.
His brother’s appetite should have been the first clue. It’s subtle, though, and that’s part of the problem. Had it been severe, Luke would have noticed regardless of how many hours he was working.
It wasn’t.
He first starts by not asking for an extra chicken sandwich at dinner.
Then, he’s not finishing his own sandwich. Luke is tired. Exhausted really. He will, much later, be able to go days and days without sleep while still functioning at extremely high levels. Now, he’s 17, and his body is still growing. He forces through each day, but a constant cloud of exhaustion rests over him, ready to drench him with water if he allows it.
Luke doesn’t notice what is happening until he finds his brother passed out next to the toilet.
There’s blood. A lot of it. It covers the inside of the toilet bowl and leaks from his brother’s mouth onto the white tile. It’s bright red and Luke is frightened at first. He feels a panic threatening to settle in, because this is his brother—his last connection to this world. His only connection.
Luke doesn’t shove the panic away—that might not have been possible. He doesn’t touch the panic, though; he would have been lost in it. Instead, he ducks it, maneuvering away like a boxer shirks an opponent that is getting too close.
Luke goes to his brother, dropping down on his knees and smearing blood both on himself and across the floor.
He picks up his brother’s head and places it in his lap, petting him and saying, “Mark, Mark, wake up, Mark. Wake up, buddy.”
His voice is calm at first. Gentle. But he slowly picks up the urgency until he screams in the small bathroom.
“MARK!”
His brother doesn’t respond.
Luke gets him to the hospital. He doesn’t even think about calling emergency services, but instead steals a car from the street below his apartment—he taught himself how to hot-wire years ago. He hops the curb at the emergency room, quickly runs to the other side of the vehicle, and pulls his brother from it. He carries his 15 year old sibling in without realizing how easy it is for him. Those around him do, though—however, they will chalk it up to adrenaline and not Luke’s underlying skeleton and muscle mass.
Nurses ask him about his mother as they take his unconscious brother. They strap Mark to a gurney and are trying to pull Luke away, but he won’t go. He stands right where he is and watches as they wheel his brother down the hallway.
“Where are you taking him?”
The same calmness that will frighten Charles Twaller so badly later in life is in his voice now. It’s as if his emotion has died and left only a shell there, one that understands the crucial business at hand and will handle it regardless the cost—but will do so without emotional investment … because the shell has none to give.
“Sir, they’re taking him to run tests and make sure he’s comfortable. He’s going to be fine, and you’ll be able to see him soon. I need to ask you some questions, though, so if you’ll come with me over here, I would really appreciate it.”
Luke stands for another second looking at them wheel his brother away, and then he decides to go with the woman. They walk to a small check-in desk, and the nurse goes to the other side
, sitting down and pulling up something on her computer. Luke looks over the entire endeavor, his mind memorizing the intricacies of what is around him.
Moments.
His mind, at least some part of it, knows what is happening to his brother. It is already beginning to prepare him for the inevitable. It is beginning to change into the force that the world will find hard to reckon with, doing so by observation and categorization.
Which he does in the hospital waiting room.
The nurse asks him questions about his parents and Luke doesn’t respond at first. He knows what this means, and that it will create problems. He also knows it has nothing to do with helping his brother.
“I will tell you about my parents when you tell me what is happening with Mark.”
The nurse looks at him with shock across her face. She quickly gets it under control, but as she stares at the young man, she sees something much different. There is someone barely older than a child standing in front of her, but that isn’t what it feels like. She thinks, for a second, that she’s looking at something timeless—and that freezes her to her core.
She tells Luke she’ll be right back, but she doesn’t return. She goes to a colleague and says, “You’ll have to get him checked in. I’m not doing it.” And she meant it. Wild horses couldn’t have dragged her back.
Luke ends up giving them some information, though not all they want. It creates more questions that will be answered later, but that doesn’t bother him now. He just wants to be next to his brother, and four hours later, he’s allowed to.
Mark is unconscious and a doctor stands at the foot of his bed. Luke is to the right, looking down at his sleeping kid brother. His skin is pale but there isn’t any blood on his lips or smeared across his cheeks, and that is good.
“He has cancer,” the doctor says. “It is a rare form and I won’t say we’ve caught it too late, but it is in the latter stages.”
“How late?” He doesn’t look away from the bed.