The Titan: The Luke Titan Chronicles 6/6

by David Beers

  He was currently frustrated with not knowing Christian Windsor’s location. Robert had personally called the freak’s lawyers this morning, but they hadn’t heard from him. He asked how long it had been since they last spoke with him, and they asked if he needed something. The call didn’t proceed much further.

  Robert’s sixth sense was kicking into gear and he thought there might be some serious political capital to be gained here.

  Titan escaped.

  Windsor went missing.

  But for how long, and to where?

  A trail of dead was left throughout that hospital, and though Robert couldn’t place Windsor at the hospital yet, something nagged at him. The security films had been destroyed, and then turned off. They were still working on getting fingerprints and DNA samples, but that would take time. The Senator didn’t give a damn about what happened to Titan, only in so much that it helped Robert. However, if the nagging feeling he couldn’t shake turned out to be right, and he was the first one to voice it … well, there were already talks of a possible VP run for him in the next election cycle.

  Did Windsor have something to do with the escape? That was the question Robert needed to answer. No one had so much as whispered at the possibility; Robert didn’t know if anyone was even thinking about it.

  He needed to find Windsor.

  Maybe not, he thought. Maybe that’s exactly what you don’t need.

  He had to be careful. Mentioning this too quickly—especially if it was false—wouldn’t help his cause at all. Though, there wasn’t a lot of time to waste, either.

  “Abe, come here for a second,” he called into the other room.

  The aide showed up at the door. “Yes, sir?”

  “I want you to do two things for me. First, I need to know where Christian Windsor is. I don’t care how you find out, but I need to know by lunch. Second, I want to be on Fox News tonight. Seven in the evening. Tell the host I’ve got something special.”

  Chapter 21

  Luke was taking his time making his way to Arizona. It was important to use every back road possible; avoiding law enforcement was paramount. Luke had a few things going for him, perhaps the greatest being that those now hunting him had no idea where he was heading.

  He couldn’t risk staying in hotels, and for that he was somewhat downtrodden. Luke hadn’t spared much time for sleep since he began the road trip, 20 minutes here and there. He usually tried to doze whenever Canonine fell asleep. He’d pull over in a strip mall and close his eyes for a bit. He held no fear of Canonine escaping.

  The doctor was napping now, but Luke didn’t want to pull over. The trip was already taking longer than he wanted; he knew Christian’s mental state certainly wasn’t improving. Luke was also struggling with how to proceed. This last bit of pressure he planned on yoking to Christian’s neck would quite possibly break him for good … or create what Luke wanted.

  Luke turned on the radio, keeping the volume low so that Canonine wouldn’t wake up. The moon had risen and Luke enjoyed driving alone at night (or as close to it as he could get right now).

  He searched through the radio stations, searching for the news. He’d stayed away from it until now, not wanting to incite more panic in his fellow passenger. He didn’t mind breaking the man’s psyche, but he didn’t need someone ranting. Now, though, Luke wanted to know if his escape was sweeping the nation. He hoped not. Before, when he’d been making headlines, it was all done in order to move Christian further along. It wasn’t necessary now. What took place between the two of them could be kept private if the media let him be.

  Luke finally found a talk radio station.

  “So, this Luke Titan saga took a surprising turn this evening,” the host said.

  So much for privacy.

  “Senator Robert Franklin of New York City made some pretty shocking accusations today. Well, to be fair, he couched them in terms that weren’t exactly accusations.”

  Luke turned the radio up.

  “Either way, though, he said that he thinks the disgraced ex-FBI agent, Christian Windsor, might have had something to do with Titan’s escape. Now, no one knows if this is true; it’s speculation at this point, but I just want to think for a minute about what that might mean. This man who lied to congress, who I think lied about Luke Titan as well during his trial, now might have helped him escape? The truth is, I’m not even that surprised. Something is wrong with this Windsor guy. He spent one too many days chasing criminals if you ask me. My opinion is that Titan holds something over him.”

  Luke didn’t know the man’s name that was talking, and he didn’t care to hear his thoughts on what might lie between himself and Christian. What he cared about was what Franklin had said.

  He pressed the button until he found another station.

  “Now, we’re going to play a few excerpts from the Senator’s appearance this evening. Paul, go ahead and play the first clip.”

  Apparently, this was the only news worth reporting. A second passed and then Robert Franklin’s voice filled the car.

  “What we do know is that we cannot locate Christian Windsor or Luke Titan. We also know that both of these men are trained killers, and both criminals—”

  “Well, Senator,” the host said, “technically neither are criminals. One was found not guilty by reason of insanity, and the other allegedly committed perjury.”

  “Joe, you can mince words all you want, but I don’t have that luxury. There are two very dangerous men missing and the current administration doesn’t seem to want to do anything about it.”

  “So you’re concerned?” the host asked.

  “Yes, I’m very concerned. If anyone knows the whereabouts of either of these men, please come forward.”

  Luke pressed a button on the radio, turning it off. He’d heard enough.

  Luke hadn’t been sure what to do about the Senator. The man had done serious damage to Christian’s reputation, but there were more important things to deal with than petty revenge. At least, that’s what Luke had thought. Now, though, with this new bit of information, perhaps some time could be spared for pettiness.

  Luke looked over at the man sleeping in the passenger’s seat. He was deadweight, but Luke wouldn’t let him escape his fate. Luke would shoulder that commitment for a bit longer.

  Everyone would meet their fate.

  And Luke was finally seeing how.

  Dr. Edward Canonine.

  Senator Robert Franklin.

  Alan Waverly.

  Veronica Lopez.

  And, of course, Christian Windsor.

  Luke parked the car then looked over to his passenger.

  “We’re here, Dr. Canonine.”

  He watched as the man slowly woke up, straightening and then orienting himself to the world. He looked at Luke for a second, blinking as if he didn’t fully understand how he’d ended up here. Finally, something registered, and the doctor turned to the building in front of them.

  “The FBI can’t confiscate that which they don’t know about,” Luke said.

  A desert wind blew sand against the car, the tiny rocks scraping along the side.

  “Come, let’s see what it’s like inside.”

  He stepped from the car and closed the door behind him. He stared into the car, waiting for Canonine to exit. Finally, the doctor opened his own door and got out, another gust of sand causing both men to shield their eyes.

  “Sorry for that, Doctor. The wind does as it wills.”

  Luke walked across the small parking lot to the one story building in front of him, calling back over his shoulder, “Please keep up. I don’t want to have to constantly watch to see if you’re trying to escape.”

  He heard Canonine’s steps behind him, though they didn’t pick up speed. The man might not make it as long as Luke had hoped. Luke would keep him while he was mentally capable of appreciating what was happening around him, but when that ended, Luke would dispatch him.

  The building before him was little more tha
n a shack. It was made of brick, and the roof was flat. Luke had purchased many places like this over the years, though always using shell companies and routing the financials through multiple countries. Luke supposed it was possible that someone could figure out their true owner if they poured over the financials, but there wasn’t any reason for it. No bank was attached to the small building in front of him; it was privately owned and though he hadn’t paid property taxes in a few years, he doubted anyone was coming to the desert to investigate.

  “Dr. Canonine, how are you doing?” Luke said as he reached the front door.

  No response came.

  The door remained locked and the windows intact, which most likely meant no vandals had been out to the place. Luke went to one of the dusty windows on the right. He clearly didn’t have any keys, so he’d have to break into his own property. The injustice of it all.

  Luke looked to the ground and found a nice sized rock. This wasn’t the first time he’d launched an object through a window, though there would be no priest waiting for him on the other side. No, the priest he sought now would come after him.

  He tossed the rock through the window, shattering glass echoing off the walls inside.

  More sand rose with the wind. Luke didn’t bother shielding his face. He was focused on the building’s interior. He walked closer and peered in, the surrounding structure keeping sunlight out and casting shadows inside.

  This is where it would happen.

  Luke lost track of the man behind him, of the world around him. He looked in at the shabby little building he’d purchased years ago with no real clue how it might be used. There were six more of these edifices around the country; some in the mountains, others closer to the ocean, but all simple structures. They were ‘just in cases’.

  “This will work,” Luke said. “It will work fine.” He turned around and looked at Canonine. “I’m climbing through the window and then I’m going to come back out and bring you in. If you try to run, I’ll catch you and I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

  The doctor stared at him dazedly.

  He wouldn’t run. He couldn’t even if he wanted to.

  Luke went to the window and used his elbow to remove the remaining shards of glass. When he’d been going after the priest, he’d kicked the glass away.

  He had killed the priest all those years ago.

  Now, he was going to raise a priest up to God.

  Luke entered what might be the last shelter he ever inhabited.

  Christian stared at the telephone.

  A bloody handprint covered the receiver. Christian didn’t know if it was real or not. He couldn’t remember anything about the previous night, though he’d just woken from it. He felt like there was someone rushing through his past and erasing everything that happened, scrubbing it from his memory with an eraser.

  Christian didn’t want to stare at the bloody handprint, but he couldn’t look away. Because then he’d have to look around the room, and now that the sun was up—despite the curtains still drawn—he’d see the dead.

  “You’re going to have to find Luke,” Tommy said. Everyone else in the room was quiet, perhaps because they didn’t know him as well.

  Christian didn’t speak back to Tommy, but he was past the point of saying that Tommy wasn’t real. He was as real—perhaps more so—than anything else in this room. Because Christian could remember him.

  “You’ve got to find him, and you’ve got to stop him,” Tommy said. “That was the plan all along and you’ve wrecked it.”

  Christian stared at the phone trying to figure out who he could call. He had no idea what was happening in the outside world, and he knew that if he walked into it, a horde of dead people would follow his wake.

  “Who can I call?” he whispered.

  “Call meh-meh-me,” Lucy said. The wound in her throat and Tommy’s were similar, though Tommy’s might have been a bit deeper. “Cuh-cuh-call me, Cuh-Cuh-Christian. We cuh-cuh-can get together.”

  Christian gritted his teeth. He knew where she was. On the bed behind him. She was kneeling and facing him, and if he turned around he would probably see a shred of horniness in her eyes. Hoping that her savior, her Lord’s Sword, would make love to her.

  Who can I call?

  He knew two people in this world. That was it. The third, Veronica, had disowned him—and she was hospitalized anyway. He knew his mother and Waverly.

  He had to call one of them, if he could even remember their numbers.

  “Not her,” he whispered. “Don’t bring her any further into this.”

  Something rustled behind him and his first instinct was to turn and see. He nearly looked over his shoulder, but managed to keep his eyes on the blood in front of him. Whatever dead person was moving, he didn’t want to see them.

  Waverly. That’s who he had to call. If he had any chance of help, it would come from the Director.

  Christian reached forward, picking up the receiver, noticing his hand fit perfectly over the bloody print. He put it to his ear.

  “Christian, it’s me,” a voice spoke immediately. “What did you call me inside your head? The Lover? That’s right. Hinson, motherfucker. My name was Hinson, and you took everything from me. You took my wives, my daughter, EVERYTHING—”

  Christian pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it. He could still hear the dead man on the other side, screaming now. A profanity laced tirade spewed into the room.

  For a second, Christian felt embarrassed, wanting to turn and tell all his deceased friends he was sorry.

  Don’t look!

  He focused on the phone.

  Ted Hinson was telling him the things he’d done to those women.

  Waverly. His number. Remember it, Christian thought.

  He looked to the number pad, then extended his other hand to it. He closed his eyes.

  Please, he prayed to a God he didn’t believe in, or maybe to himself. Maybe he was only praying to his own mind, asking for something that it might or might not be able to give.

  His fingers moved, floating across the numbers like bees testing flowers for honey.

  Hinson spoke no more. There was a brief pause, and then the phone started ringing.

  Waverly’s phone was buzzing. He turned to it lazily.

  He’d been in a daze for hours, though he didn’t know exactly how long. He blinked and looked around his room, the vibrating phone sitting a few feet away from him on the end table.

  He’d been waiting on this call, the one which would demand his help on something that he couldn’t handle. Or maybe, it was a call asking what he knew about Windsor’s whereabouts. Either way, it would come from the bureau and he didn’t want to answer it.

  Waverly closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He let the buzzing continue.

  Christian looked at the phone, almost unable to believe it. The voicemail message was still playing, but he’d thought … what? That Waverly would answer, and then be able to fix things? Had he actually believed anything about this would ever be right again? Because if so, he’d been foolish. Goddamn silly.

  He glanced to his left and immediately regretted it. A little girl stood just in front of the window. Shadows casted around her but Christian saw with perfect clarity the dark veins moving out from her chest and up her neck. Black worms that protruded slightly from her skin, rotting from inside. What should have been perfect white flesh was diseased, and the lines were making their way up to her blue eyes.

  He looked back to the phone, sweat starting to drip down his head now. He quickly moved the phone to his ear.

  “Waverly, it’s me,” he said, not knowing if the voicemail was still recording. “It’s Christian. I, uhhh,” he started laughing, a low, raspy chuckle. “I need to talk to you. If you could give me a call. FUCK!” he paused and looked around the room, not noticing the outburst, concentrating only on the fact that he didn’t know the room’s number. He realized it might be on the actual phone and looked down. A small ha
nd sat across it, right where the number should have been. The skin was cracked and raw. The hand was pale and bleeding through the cracks, tiny trails making their way to the phone. “Uhh, Waverly. I’m gonna call you back. Answer the phone when I do, please. I … uhhh … I need it. I need to talk to you.”

  He hung up the phone and fell back on the bed, closing his eyes as he did. He felt his left cheek brush against someone’s hand, but he didn’t open his eyes to see who it had been. Probably Lucy, waiting with her slashed throat for him to lead her to the promised land.

  He lay like that for a few minutes, though each one felt like a lifetime. Limitless years in which he waited around those that had already died. Finally, not knowing exactly how much time had passed, only that he needed to try again, he sat up.

  As he tried focusing on the phone, he saw flashes of people to his sides. They were all staring at him, waiting on him to do something. To acknowledge them. To talk to them. He didn’t know; he only wished they would all leave.

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Tommy said from somewhere within their midst. “You shouldn’t have done what you did.”

  Christian picked up the phone, his eyes blurry from tears. Exhaustion or fear, he had no idea. Perhaps even guilt.

  He dialed Waverly’s number and hoped for some kind of miracle.

  The phone buzzed again and Waverly opened his eyes. Had he been dozing? He didn’t know. Waverly felt old. Like time had sped up, racing by him and leaving him here to not understand the world.

  Sooner or later, he had to answer the phone. He couldn’t simply keep ignoring it. Not forever. Because as much as he might want, he could never completely drop off the grid. If they wanted him, they would show up, knocking on his doorstep with warrant in hand.

  Waverly leaned forward and picked up the cell phone. He didn’t recognize the number.

  “Waverly,” he said.

  “Waverly. Oh thank God. It’s me. It’s Christian.”

  Waverly sat up straighter, his eyes widening. “Christian?”