by David Beers
Christian’s hands were swollen as he stood at the prison’s checkout. His knuckles hurt and he had a splint on his right pinky. He’d fractured his knuckles in what they termed a ‘boxer’s fracture’—he’d never heard of it. The prison doctor had told him.
“The Glock you had is being kept for evidence. Here’s your wallet and book bag. The clothes are in it as they were when you were arrested,” the bailiff said.
Christian took his wallet and gently slid it into his back pocket, then reached for his bag. The bailiff held it for a second, not letting it go even as Christian pulled. Christian looked up, catching the man’s eye. The bailiff recognized him, but then again, so had everyone in this damned place. Christian was famous, all because of Luke and the epic chase he’d created. While in jail, they had to keep Christian in solitary confinement so that nothing would happen to him.
The bailiff looked for another second and then simply nodded. “I would have done the same.”
He released the bag and went back to the work in front of him.
Christian stood there for a second longer and then picked the bag up, slung it over his back, then left the prison.
Waverly was waiting for him just outside the gate. “I was thinking about a limo and then I realized neither of us have jobs.”
Christian looked at him for a second. He hadn’t really been sure how he was going to get back to Atlanta. The FBI had jailed him in D.C..
“You going to get in?”
Christian nodded and walked toward the Lexus. Waverly went around the other side and got in. Christian opened the door and sat down inside.
“I called to post bail when I heard, but they said it had already been done.”
“Yeah. Luke apparently called and posted a cash bond,” Christian said.
“Luke?”
“Yeah. The FBI hasn’t been able to freeze all his accounts yet, if they ever will.” Christian looked over at Waverly. “Where’s Veronica?”
“She’s at Greenbriar.”
Psych ward.
“Jesus,” Christian said.
Waverly started the car and the two pulled off.
Christian lit a cigarette on Waverly’s front porch. He took a deep drag, standing on the edge and looking out at his green lawn. He lived in a large neighborhood, one with heavy security and a lot of money occupying every single house.
“What are they charging you with?” Waverly said.
“Assault and battery.”
Waverly laughed. “You’re kidding.”
Christian shook his head. “No. That’s all they have on me. Nothing else I did was illegal. Just me attacking him as I’m no longer a duly appointed officer of the law.”
“Hoah-lee-shit,” Waverly said. He took a sip of his whiskey.
The sun was setting behind the neighborhood trees and Christian watched as it cast beautiful oranges and yellows out into the world.
“You going to plead guilty?” Waverly said, his voice letting Christian know it was a joke. Nothing would come of the charge. The reason Christian had spent so long in jail was because of the time it took to get him and Luke back. The whole thing had been a mess. The Mexican government wanted credit; the Mexican press swarmed once they understood what was happening; and then the American press got word and the whole thing blew up across all the networks.
Former FBI agent goes rogue. Tries to kill Most Wanted List’s Luke Titan.
“What’s going to happen to him?”
“I imagine a lot of us are going to be involved in his trial. My lawyer says he could plead insanity and quite possibly get locked up at Greenbriar for the rest of his life … You think he’ll try that?”
“I don’t know,” Christian said and took another drag from his cigarette.
The two were silent for a long time. An hour, maybe more. Christian continued smoking his cigarettes and Waverly drinking his whiskey.
Finally, Waverly stood up and walked to the front door. “You did it, Christian. You got him.”
Christian listened as Waverly went inside and closed the door behind him. He stood in the darkness, looking at the street lights a hundred yards from him.
You got him. That’s what Waverly had said, and that’s what the papers were printing now, a week after the whole thing went down.
Former FBI agent gets revenge on ex-partner!
None of the titles mattered. None of the articles did either.
The black cloud of a smile floated on the lawn, looking at Christian. The other lay underneath it, staring up as if this was some beautiful spring day instead of the growing night.
It didn’t matter what Waverly said, either, because as Christian looked at the dark smile, he felt his own lips trying to curve into one.
But there was nothing happy about it. Nothing happy about anything. Because Luke was still alive and Christian’s mind still breaking. The truth, if anyone cared to listen—which they didn’t—was that Christian hadn’t done a damned thing. He went down there for murder, and all he’d done was punch someone in the face a bunch of times.
No, he hadn’t gotten anyone, and looking at the black grin, he knew that as well as he knew anything.
Chapter 9
Luke stared at the attorney through the glass window. The man was speaking with one of the police officers; he was dressed impeccably which Luke appreciated and envied a bit, given the uniform he now wore.
Luke’s face was battered worse than it had ever been before. The car wreck with the contract killer—indeed, his face hitting a windshield—hadn’t done as much damage as Christian. Luke had lost four teeth and chipped three. His nose was broken, his cheekbone fractured, and both eyes as purple as beets.
He was proud of Christian.
Luke held no disappointment in how things had turned out. Even now, sitting in the interview room waiting for his lawyer, he thought Christian had performed admirably. It was a gamble, to be sure, and Luke hadn’t gotten exactly what he wanted: Veronica’s blood spilling down her breasts while Christian pulled a trigger.
That would have been perfect. Absolutely so.
Still, things had gone swimmingly, and Luke was confident that they would continue as such. If his lawyer performed well. That was the crux. Luke was certainly paying him well enough, so his performance should be in line.
His attorney opened the interview room door and walked in.
“Hi, Dr. Titan. How are you doing?”
“I’m well,” Luke said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
The lawyer took his seat and put a leather notebook on the desk.
“I met with the district attorney this morning. I’ll be frank here. They’re looking to crucify you. Multiple counts of murder, conspiracy, terrorism. They’re seeking the death penalty.”
Luke smiled. “I was hoping for nothing less. How do you think we should proceed?”
“You could plead out with guilty, serve life without the chance of parole.”
“We won’t be doing that,” Luke said.
“The other option is an insanity plea. I have to tell you, though, insanity pleas aren’t like the movies. They rarely, rarely work. Less than 1% of all cases. It’s not something you should consider doing lightly.”
“Let’s talk for a bit, Mr. Owen. I think you’ll be more inclined to plead insanity once you get to know me better.”
Christian looked around the Attorney General’s office. There were a lot of pictures on the wall, mostly of the woman’s family, but some of her shaking hands with famous people. Even he knew the people he saw, so they were of the highest echelon of society.
Wendy Welcs’s secretary had brought him in a few minutes earlier, saying that the AG would be in shortly. She’d requested him to come speak with her, and let him know that he should bring his lawyer as well. Christian didn’t have a lawyer and wasn’t planning on getting one. He knew why he was being summoned, though. They planned to pressure him on his testimony against Luke, hanging the aggravated assa
ult case over his head.
Christian didn’t care.
They could say what they wanted, even threaten to give him jail time. He just couldn’t be brought to care about it. A depression had settled during the past few weeks, that and a certain knowledge that he had no more than a year left on this Earth.
He’d called his mom for the first time in months yesterday.
“Hey,” he’d said.
“Hey, honey!” And she sounded genuinely happy to hear from him, not the way she normally answered—a sort of fake happiness, but with sadness underlying each word. “How are you?”
The two had pretty much stopped talking over the past year, which for anyone who knew an earlier version of Christian, would have thought impossible. He didn’t call her, and believed she didn’t call him because the heartache was too great. Knowing that she’d basically lost her son, if not physically, than emotionally.
“I’m okay,” he told her. “How are you?”
“I’ve been reading all about Titan. Seeing it on the television, too. You must be ecstatic, finally bringing the FBI right to him. They’re making you out to be a hero!”
The news cycle was as fickle as a high school relationship. He didn’t care what they said or thought; he’d been invited on innumerable talk shows, asked for exclusive interviews by every major paper in the country. Christian didn’t even bother declining. He simply turned his phone off and deleted any messages before listening to them.
“Mom, I’d like to see you soon,” he said. “Maybe once the trial is over?”
“Oh, honey, you know I’d love that. If you want to see each other sooner, I can come up there. I know you’re really busy right now and all, but I can make the trip.”
“No,” Christian had said. “I want to wait until after the trial, if that’s okay?”
“Yes, honey. Of course.”
Christian didn’t know if he’d make it to the end of the trial, but he thought the probability strong. If things grew worse, he would arrange to see her sooner. His mind truly was deteriorating; a cancer was growing inside him, but instead of destroying his body, it was consuming his psychological makeup, eating everything away.
He would see his mother after the trial, and then he would go somewhere to lose his mind in peace.
Christian smiled at the thought, a small giggle escaping his lips.
“Dr. Windsor, how are you doing?” Wendy Welcs said as she stepped into the office.
Christian turned around in his chair and saw Senator Robert Franklin following her in. He stood up as she offered her hand and shook it. The Senator didn’t so much as look at him, just went to the other chair in front of the AG’s desk.
Franklin stood behind it, watching Welcs move to her side of the desk, and then sat as she did.
Christian followed suit.
“Thanks for coming in. Is your lawyer not with you?” the AG asked.
“I don’t have a lawyer. Why is he here?”
“Senator Franklin, as you know, is running the congressional investigation into Alan Waverly’s alleged acts. He asked to sit in on this meeting because it may directly pertain to his own investigation. Does it bother you?”
Christian felt a headache coming on. He’d had them at sporadic intervals since being released from prison; he didn’t need a doctor to tell him what caused them.
The cancer. The one that no doctor would be able to see, but that existed all the same.
“No. It’s fine,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I feel a migraine coming on. Can we get to the point?”
“Certainly. Senator Franklin, would you like to begin?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Christian turned his head at the sound of the man moving his chair so that they faced each other. “Mr. Windsor, I’ll be very frank. I think you lied to me and my committee. In fact, I’m sure of it, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it until now. Luke Titan changes things on that accord, though. We now have a witness, who I think will cooperate if given the right incentives, in telling us the truth. That the Director did hire someone to have him killed.”
Christian hadn’t seen this coming. He thought they would try to squeeze him with his arrest, but this was perjury—a different beast. Christian resisted the urge to shut his eyes and try forcing away the headache. He held his gaze on the Senator, not caring one way or another about perjury charges.
“What we would rather have,” Welcs took over, “is cooperation from you.”
Christian turned to look at her.
“You see, Titan is planning an insanity defense. Given his actions, it could be a strong case. Of course, the defense will get their psychiatrists and we’ll get our own, but your testimony could go a long way in swaying the jury one way or the other.”
“And,” the Senator said, “my committee would see no need to ask Dr. Titan about the contract killer if you were to help us.”
“What’s in it for you?” Christian said, looking at Franklin. “You’ll still look like a fool, having sat up there and thought you would get me to say Waverly did it. What do you get out of this, if I testify that Luke’s insane?”
Franklin smiled. “You’re not the only deal I’m making today, Windsor. But Titan going to the electric chair is a good thing for me, and you contributing to that endeavor will help us make it a reality.”
“So, Christian,” Welcs said. “Can you testify that Luke understands the difference between right and wrong?”
Christian laughed, a brief shrill thing. The two other people’s eyes widened some, but he didn’t notice.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll send Luke to the electric chair.”
Franklin watched as the freak left the room. He hated being around him. Hated his scars, all of them, but especially the one on his face. It seemed to stare out like a third eye.
“That was easy,” Welcs said. “What about Waverly now?”
“He’s got to admit on the stand that he hired the killer,” Franklin said, turning back around to Welcs’s desk. “You’ll give him full immunity in exchange for his testimony that Titan was sane. Then, we both get what we want. I’ll have vindication, and you’ll have Titan frying. Does that work?”
“It should. What about Windsor’s perjury before your committee? You going to give him immunity for that?”
Franklin turned and looked out the office windows, thinking for a second. “Nah. We don’t need to. He’ll have already testified to Titan’s sanity by then, won’t be anything he can do about it.”
Chapter 10
Three months passed as both teams geared up for trial. Waverly was given his deal and he accepted it, knowing that Titan would easily tell the entire world that he’d hired a contract killer. Getting immunity in exchange to help Titan go to the electric chair wasn’t much of a decision. He was happy to do it.
Luke’s team prepared his defense. Luke spent countless hours with psychiatrists, all of them of course paid by his lawyers. He also spent the same amount of hours with the prosecution’s psychiatrists, each team coming up with a completely different diagnosis. The United States justice system. Luke thought it positively hilarious how little any of these psychiatrists cared for justice. They cared about ensuring their viewpoints fit in with the viewpoints of those paying their bills.
Luke’s lawyers tried to prepare him for what would be said on the stand. They wanted him to understand that every crime would be paraded in front of the entire court, but they were wasting their breath. It didn’t take them long to understand that Luke wasn’t concerned with anything said about him in court. For their part, they thought the man was insane. There were discussions behind closed doors about how the prosecution could truly even muster a case that he wasn’t, given everything they’d seen and would show the court.
“It’s a strong case,” his lawyers told him.
Luke, of course, knew it would be. It’s what he needed to happen.
“What about Christian?” he asked.
“What about him?”
�
��He will be testifying, I’m sure. He will be asked about my mental state. What’s he going to say?”
“He’s the prosecution’s witness, so he’ll most likely testify to you being able to distinguish the difference between right and wrong.”
“I want to talk to him,” Luke said. “Reach out to him and have him come here.”
The lawyers had balked at that. Tampering with witnesses. Witness intimidation. The list went on.
Luke was persistent. “If I’m accused of witness intimidation, he will assure them I didn’t. Plus, how much tampering can I do while I’m cuffed to this table?” Bail, of course, had not been granted for Luke. “I just want to see him. Tell him to come here. He’ll listen.”
The lawyers continued trying to dissuade him, but they knew it was a futile cause. So, they first tried to reach out to Christian Windsor’s lawyers, until they realized he didn’t have any, then they simply called him and relayed Luke’s wishes.
Christian came the next week.
Luke watched everyone through the same view. He sat at a table. His hands were cuffed, and when they sat him down at the table, they looped the cuffs under a small, curved bar attached to it. Usually he sat at this table and watched his lawyers come and go, then the guards as they entered to remove him from the room.
Luke was excited about who he would watch now, though. He wanted to see Christian walk along the other side of the windows, view the look on his face when he finally laid eyes on Luke.
This was an important moment, for both of them, even if Christian didn’t know it—though Luke thought he might.
Luke hoped Christian was seeing much further now, beginning to understand the whole picture. He was too smart for anything less.
Luke sat at the table and first saw the guard, Christian following a few steps behind. He looked the same, of course—why wouldn’t he—yet Luke saw more than his physical appearance. He saw Christian’s underlying nature.
It was still changing.
It had had been in almost continual flux since Luke entered his life, and despite their last rendezvous, he saw Christian’s change wasn’t finished.