The Titan: The Luke Titan Chronicles 6/6

by David Beers

  “Drink my blood, Christian. The blood of the new and everlasting covenant.”

  Christian turns the chalice up and drinks.

  He keeps turning it up and keeps pouring the blood down his throat, ignoring the thick taste that fills his mouth.

  He pulls it away from his face, blood smeared across his lips, his tongue a deep, dark red.

  He offers the chalice back to Luke. His ex-partner takes it and smiles. “To your soul, Christian.”

  Luke drinks deeply.

  The television shut off. Christian was still sitting on the high-backed chair on Luke’s floor.

  His hands darted to his lips, wanting to wipe away the blood. There was nothing on his face, though he still felt the viscous liquid in his throat. He couldn’t get rid of it, even if it never actually happened.

  Christian turned around expecting to see the other.

  No one was there, just a broken floor lying in front of him. One that used to teach him things, that used to hold the secrets to Luke. Now it held nothing but broken walls and a shredded painting.

  It was odd, missing the other. For years, he had turned around from this chair and heard the other’s thoughts on what they just watched.

  “Where are you?” he called into the room.

  No answer came back, just silence.

  Christian turned around and sank into the chair. He swallowed, the taste of blood heavy in his mouth. He had come here to find options, to find ways to kill Luke, and yet he’d been given communion. He’d been asked to join an everlasting covenant and he had accepted it.

  Don’t shirk from this, he thought. Not like before. What does it mean?

  But the answer was simple, needing no genius to understand it. The body of Christ, the blood of Christ. Yet it wasn’t Christ he’d eaten, nor drank. It was Luke. The covenant was with him.

  By going to Mexico, by doing this, he would lose his soul.

  Christian sighed.

  “Stop being scared,” he said to his mind. “There is no soul to lose. Tell me what I need to know. Tell me what I came here for.”

  The television flashed on again.

  Christian stands at a lake. The sun beats down from overhead like a detonated nuclear bomb roaring in the sky. Christian immediately starts sweating. A single boat sits in the lake, a small canoe. Someone is in it, but Christian can’t make out details from here. The boat is still, unmoving, not giving off a single ripple into the surrounding water.

  Christian turns from the lake and looks at the surrounding grass fields. Thousands of people sit in front of him. He cannot see their end, as they seem to stretch forever.

  He looks at the faces in the front, 30 feet or so from him. They, and those behind them, all stare at him—as if everyone is expecting something.

  He knows some of the people he looks at.

  Bradley Brown sits on a blue blanket. He’s sitting next to his mother, though her head is not attached to her neck. Only a bloody, ragged stump protrudes from her shoulders. Her head instead sits in her hands, its eyeless holes staring forward.

  Christian glances further over and sees Lucy Speckle. Her throat is slit wide open, the skin sagging and blood still pumping out as if her heart has not received the message that she is dead. She is alone, just as she was in life. Christian keeps going, and he sees Alice—Tommy’s fiancée—sitting with Tommy. A hole is in her forehead, but she holds herself up fine. Tommy lies on the grass, his throat open too, though having been done with more precision. He isn’t bleeding like Speckle; his skin is waxy and pale.

  Christian shuts his eyes, blocking out the people, not wanting to see any more of his past.

  “They’ve come to be fed, Christian.”

  His head whips to the side and he sees Luke standing next to him. He is in a tunic, something like Jesus himself might have worn. It’s pure white, hanging loosely off him.

  “You must feed them. I cannot do it,” Luke says.

  “I have nothing for them,” Christian says, not turning away from Luke, not wanting to see the dead that sit before him.

  “You have yourself. Why not let them eat you?”

  “But …,” Christian begins, yet stops.

  “They’ve come to eat. We must feed them.”

  “I don’t have enough for them all,” Christian says. “I’m not large enough.”

  “Ye have little faith. Did Jesus himself not feed a multitude with only a few fish? A few loaves of bread?”

  Christian nods, but he’s scared. There are tears in his eyes.

  “And do you not want to die? Is that not why you are here? Only you want to make sure I die first, no?”

  He nods again.

  “I will not feed myself to them, Christian, but they must eat.”

  Christian turns around. Veronica is in front of him, that cow’s gaze filling her eyes as strong as ever.

  “She will help you, Christian. That is her purpose, after all,” Luke says.

  Veronica extends her hand and Christian takes it. He lets himself be led away from Luke, heading toward the crowd.

  He sees the girls that Ted Hinson killed. They all sit together, their heads bashed in, blood leaking from their ears and eyes. Veronica walks him away from them, though. The two go to the far edge of the crowd, where Christian’s mother sits.

  “We will give her the first bite,” Veronica says.

  Christian nods. If he is to be eaten, his mother should go first. She should get whatever piece she wants. Veronica pulls him gently forward, passing his hand to his mother who reaches up for it. She looks in his eyes and there is no smile on her face.

  “Eat,” Christian says. “That’s what you all came for. So eat.”

  His mother’s mouth goes down to Christian wrist, and he watches as she begins ripping into his flesh.

  The TV went black.

  “Insanity,” Christian said, his eyes flashing to his wrist. It burned, but there were no marks. He looked back up at the television—the thing that refused to show him anything usable.

  “If you have nothing to give me anymore, then what is the point of this place? Why is it still even here?” he asked.

  Silence answered, the cold voice of the dead.

  “GODDAMNIT!” Christian shrieked, slamming his hand down onto the chair’s armrest. “SHOW ME WHAT I NEED TO KNOW! SHOW ME HOW TO KILL HIM!”

  His voice echoed off the walls, shouting back at him, but dying quickly.

  Christian stood and turned around, his back to the television. He looked out at the room.

  It was empty now. No statues. No maze. No winding trail of memories with Luke. There were only dead, black panels on the walls and open space.

  “Fine then,” he said. “You forsake me, too.”

  Chapter 6

  Christian opened his eyes on the plane.

  “We’re about to land,” Veronica said from his side.

  He looked out the window and saw the runway beneath. He stared as it grew larger, thinking about what he’d just witnessed. Two scenes, neither showing what he needed to see. He was about to meet one of the deadliest criminals alive, who had been preparing for a year for Christian’s arrival.

  And Christian was almost there.

  Instead of showing him what Luke might do, his mind simply showed him what he already knew. That he would give up his soul for Luke, as well as allow those already dead to eat him alive.

  A little late on that, he thought. They’ve been feeding on me for years.

  So, his mind was checking out. Done with him. Going to go ahead and finish falling apart while he kept moving forward. Fine. He would go on alone if his mansion was finished.

  The plane landed, a brief jolt rustling Christian and Veronica. It taxied for a few minutes and then came to a stop.

  “We’re here,” Veronica said, as if it needed announcing.

  Christian looked over at her and nearly froze.

  Veronica was smiling.

  Ryan stood with the rest of the crew while he w
atched everyone exit. He was waiting for Windsor to step off, and the moment he did, Ryan would follow. He didn’t know how many of the crew knew his actual title, though any that did had been told there was no immediate danger.

  Either way, he wouldn’t be bothered.

  Windsor had dozed the entire ride, Ryan watching him from a few feet away. He woke up shortly before landing, even the announcements to buckle seatbelts and put seats in the upright positions not waking him. The woman hadn’t moved at all. She didn’t read a magazine, didn’t fool with the television right in front of her. Instead, she remained perfectly still, blinking her only noticeable movement.

  What did Titan do to you? Ryan wondered.

  He pulled his cell phone out and shot a text to his boss—Landed—then looked back up at Windsor. He was turning the corner, the woman already off the plane.

  Ryan stood and followed, having absolutely no idea about the hell that he was walking into.

  Christian found a taxi easily enough, he and Veronica hopping in the backseat. They each had a single bag, and the cab driver put them in the trunk. The driver spoke a bit of English, enough to communicate, which Christian was glad for.

  But, he didn’t want the cab driver hearing his next discussion with Veronica.

  “Where to, señor?” the driver’s eyes found his in the rearview mirror.

  “Find a hotel for us. Something nice.”

  “Si,” the driver said and pulled the car from the curb.

  “Veronica?” Christian said.

  She turned and looked at him for the first time since exiting the plane.

  “I’m taking you to a hotel. I’ve written down some instructions for you, and I want you to follow them when you wake up tomorrow morning, okay?”

  She shook her head. “No. I should go with you. We’re going to see Luke today, right?”

  Christian swallowed. “Why? Why should you go?”

  “It’s supposed to happen like this. We’re to go together.”

  “Luke said that?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I think so.”

  Of course he had. Because who hadn’t Luke killed yet? Veronica and his mother. It couldn’t just be the two of them to finish this off; no, Veronica was needed because why leave a shred of sanity left inside Christian?

  You’re free.

  Luke’s voice came to him, but he shoved it away.

  “I need you to go to the hotel,” Christian said. “Go there and read the instruction in your bag, okay?”

  She turned her head back to the front of the car and said nothing else. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  The cab driver pulled up under the hotel overhang.

  “Here,” he said.

  Christian nodded. He stepped out of the backseat and went to the trunk. The cabbie popped it and helped unload. Christian paid the fare and then the two walked inside the hotel. The name on the marquee read Hotel Indigo.

  “What’s the nicest room you have available?” Christian asked.

  “Our Presidential Suite,” the female clerk said with a heavy accent.

  “It’s available now?”

  “Si, señor.”

  “We’ll take it.”

  “Señor, it costs—”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Christian interrupted. “Here’s my card. Just give me the key.”

  The clerk said nothing, just took the card and set the room up.

  “How many do you need?”

  “Just one,” Christian said.

  Christian signed the receipt and took the key. “Let’s go,” he said to Veronica. The room was on the top floor, and the two made their way to the elevator, then onto the correct floor, searching until they found the room. Christian slid the key through the reader and the two went inside.

  Christian placed Veronica’s bag next to the bed, leaving his backpack at the door. He knelt down and opened her suitcase, digging through the clothes until he found his pistol. They had checked her bag, getting the necessary paperwork filled out to carry the weapon across international lines.

  Christian zipped up the bag and then looked at her.

  “I’m going to leave, okay? Remember, tomorrow you’re going to read what I left in your bag, okay?”

  “He won’t show if I’m not there,” Veronica said. “You must know that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re all in this together now. I have my purpose. He has his. You, yours. But they’re all turning into one.”

  “He’ll show,” Christian said.

  Veronica was quiet. Christian looked at her, sure it would be his last time. The woman he’d once known wasn’t here, though. The woman he fell in love with, sitting at that restaurant and telling her he liked her. Watching as she stood up and kissed him. The woman who had the guts to first accuse Luke of murder, to see past his facade when no one else did.

  Luke had already killed that woman, or wounded her so deeply that nothing of real value remained.

  That’s not true, he thought. She’s valuable, or you wouldn’t be leaving her here like this.

  “Good bye, Veronica,” Christian said. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. She didn’t move at all.

  It took two hours to get from Mexico City to Luke’s birthplace. Christian rode in silence, not pulling out his phone, but simply looking out at the surrounding landscape.

  Luke would show. He had to. Christian didn’t understand how Luke would know when he arrived, but there was no doubt that he would. Luke was a thousand steps ahead of everyone, always, and when Christian arrived, Luke would be ready.

  Christian held his backpack in his lap, hoping that he had everything he needed in it.

  Finally, the cab driver parked the old vehicle.

  “This the place, señor?”

  “Si,” Christian said. He handed the cab driver two hundred American dollars, for which the man began praising him effusively. Christian ignored it, not even thanking him for the ride. He stepped from the car, his backpack in his hand, and waited for the cab to pull off.

  He stood in front of a small church. He’d never seen it before and it looked very different from what his mind had shown him.

  “Is this what they rebuilt?” he asked the empty parking lot.

  Perhaps. Perhaps once the priest died, the need for ostentatiousness had dissipated.

  Either way, this is where God told Christian to come.

  The parking lot was empty and there were no signs on the church. He didn’t know if it was Catholic or Protestant. He wondered if Luke felt any connection with this place—a building he didn’t know, had never known, though it stood over one that he had burnt to the ground.

  Hopefully you can die here. Maybe it’ll have meaning with your death, Christian thought.

  He walked forward, not noticing any of the cars passing on the street behind him. His mind was fully focused on the building. He reached the front door and squatted down, placing the bag in front of him. He unzipped it and took out the .40 caliber Glock. He pulled back the chamber, checking to make sure a round was chambered.

  Christian stood, leaving the bag behind him. Luke would be inside, waiting.

  Christian tried the door; it was unlocked, as he’d suspected. He entered, ready to die.

  Ryan watched Windsor walk inside the small church. It’d been almost impossible trying to keep up with the man. Thank God the FBI had a car waiting for him as soon as he got off the plane. Even so, keeping an eye on Windsor had been a bitch.

  And then, just when Ryan thought the guy was going to rest at the hotel, he came right back out and jumped in another cab.

  Then a two hour drive to a church.

  Ryan didn’t know what to make of any of it. Why was he down here in the first place?

  Observe and report. That’s your charge.

  Ryan’s car was an old Pontiac, something made in the nineties. He circled the block and parked it across the street, letting his seat back a bit, to help conceal him. He waited while
Windsor went inside the church.

  The door closed behind Christian, echoing in the building’s stillness. He raised the gun so that it pointed into the empty space before him.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  The church was dark, the lights hanging from above all off. The building appeared to have this main room of worship, and then it split off in two opposite hallways, though they couldn’t go far. If Luke was here, there weren’t a whole lot of places for him to hide.

  Christian moved through the church quickly, raising his gun to eye level. He went down the left hallway first, checking two different rooms—both were clear. He then went back to the main room and through the second hallway, moving slowly. If Luke was here, he was only a few feet away.

  Christian came to the first door on his left; he put his ear against it and listened for any movement. He heard nothing. He gently placed his hand on the doorknob, doing his best not to make a sound. With one quick movement, he shoved the door open and stepped low into the room, his gun ready to fire.

  Nothing.

  Empty.

  The whole church was completely empty.

  Luke wasn’t here.

  “But he’s watching. You better believe that, Christian. He’s definitely watching you somehow.”

  Christian spun around at the first sound of the voice, his gun raised.

  The large, black mouth smiled back at him, floating just in front of the door. “Only me. I haven’t checked in on you in a while.”

  Christian let his gun down and walked toward the door. He passed through the mouth, its dark clouds swirling around his vision for a second. He breathed it in, smelling its gun smoke like aroma.

  It doesn’t exist. It’s only in my head.

  He turned right and went back down the hall, returning to the main room.

  A little light shone in through the windows, but the space remained in shadows. Christian walked to the first pew and sat down. He looked at his feet, the gun hanging loosely from his right hand.

  He won’t show. That’s what Veronica had told him. And Christian was foolish not to listen. He’d ignored her because he didn’t want her in danger.