The Surgeon

by David Beers

  And yet, the Internet didn't know much about him.

  His resume read like something an engineered human might possess. An MD and a PhD. He wasn't on Forbes list of billionaires, but the man had more money than Veronica would ever see.

  She might have let it all go away, but at five in the morning, she found an obituary.

  Trevor Rollins.

  He worked at Harvard when Titan had. Others died during Titan's time there, mostly students in drunk driving accidents. One suicide. Trevor Rollins was also a suicide. The only professor of his stature to kill himself in the past half decade, from what Veronica could tell.

  She dug in deep when she found the obit, trying to learn everything she could about the man.

  He was, by most accounts, next in line to be President of the esteemed university. He was dean of their astrophysics department, and if his resume didn't read like Titan's, it certainly read better than anyone else's Veronica knew.

  Yet, he put a shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger with his big toe, apparently.

  He also left the only red mark on Luke Titan's entire career—if one ignored John Presley's accusations.

  At nine in the morning, Veronica called the only source she new at Harvard and asked if he knew anything about Rollins death.

  "It was a horrible thing," Chris Reel said. "He was a good man."

  Chris and Veronica had attended undergrad together at Columbia, and now Chris taught geology at Harvard—had for the past seven years.

  "This is going to sound crazy, but was there any relationship between him and Luke Titan? Do you know who that is?"

  "Titan?" Chris almost laughed. "I'm not sure anyone here doesn’t know that name, even though he's been gone for a few years. Yeah, they had a run in. I think right before Rollins killed himself."

  "A run in?" Veronica asked.

  "Yeah. I don't know the details. It was all sealed, I'm sure, but all the faculty gossiped about it. Politics, from what I can tell. Titan was practicing medicine while also working under Rollins in the astrophysics department. Working on the Sphere, I think. From what I heard, Rollins wrote a letter to the university president and said that Titan had to cease his medical practice or cease his work on the Sphere. Splitting his time wasn't allowing himself to a do a good job for the students he counseled or the Sphere, I think. Too many masters and all that."

  Veronica thought about it for another hour before deciding to call Titan's other partner.

  Too many masters, and conveniently, one of the masters dies.

  It was all just too damned much, and now Veronica was calling another collaborator to ask what exactly? Certainly nothing about the Sphere, despite what she said on the phone.

  Her cellphone rang, causing her to jump. She looked down and saw the same number she'd just called.

  "Veronica Lopez," she answered.

  "Hi. It's Christian Windsor. When do you want to talk? Are you in the Atlanta area?"

  "I am. When's good for you?"

  "I haven't had lunch today. If you buy it, I'll talk to you."

  Her brow wrinkled and she didn't know whether to laugh, whether the man was joking. No laughter came over the phone though. "Sure," she said a second later.

  "Meet me at the Subway on Johnson and 285, okay? I'll be there in thirty."

  The line went dead and Veronica found herself staring at her computer again.

  Christian wanted lunch and with the way everyone ate out at the Atlanta office, he was quickly finding himself with a shortage of money. The reporter, whatever she wanted, would need to pay him with lunch if she wanted to talk.

  That wasn't the only reason he was going, though.

  She wanted to talk about Luke, and Christian found himself, more and more, wanting to do the same.

  He stood outside the Subway, waiting on Veronica Lopez to show up. He found her picture on the The Atlanta-Journal's website, so he knew who he was looking for.

  She arrived about ten minutes after him.

  "I'm sorry I'm late," she said. "There was an accident on 285."

  "It's okay."

  Christian turned and went inside, realizing as he did, that he should have opened the door for her. He turned around as she pulled it open again. "Sorry. I'm not great in social situations. I should have held the door."

  The woman's eyes narrowed, but she grinned a bit, too. "That's okay."

  Christian looked at her for another second and then nodded. He turned and ordered his usual two subs, waiting at the register before realizing Veronica stood next to him.

  "You're not eating?" he asked.

  "Not all these carbs."

  "They have salads, too."

  "I'm okay," she said, smiling.

  He nodded again and didn't look back at her until the cashier asked for payment. The woman handed him a twenty. Christian took the two subs and his cup, while she took the change. They headed to a table in the corner. Christian ate here often, and he usually took this table when he wasn't with Luke and Tommy. It was quiet and there was low foot traffic.

  He put his subs down and said nothing as he went to fill up his drink at the fountain. Finally, he sat down in front of her.

  "I really want to eat, but I don't think that's polite. Let's talk first."

  The small grin came over her face. "You're an odd one, aren't you?"

  "I'm working on it. I've been working on it for a while."

  "Making progress?"

  "Melissa, my shrink, says so, but I'm not sure. I think if I told her about this whole encounter, she'd be appalled."

  "Well, I wouldn't worry about it too much. Nothing appalling has happened."

  "So, you want to talk about Luke?"

  "Yes. Off the record, for now, if that's okay?"

  Christian had been studying her closely, even if he wasn't aware; his mind finally decided this was abnormal enough to alert him about. "Why off the record?"

  "I'd rather not say at the moment."

  Christian looked down at his subs. "Well, you paid for them. Go ahead, off the record is fine." He started opening the paper holding his first sandwich, unable to keep his promise of talking first.

  "What do you think of Dr. Titan?"

  Christian took a bite, but didn't bother chewing before talking. "Genius. Not sure his exact IQ, though I imagine it would rival a lot of smart people throughout time. I think history will judge him joining the FBI unkindly, given the work he did before this. I can't really comment on his detective work, as I just became one, and I haven't worked around him long enough."

  The woman in front of him didn't say anything for a few seconds, causing Christian to look up. "You are an odd one."

  "I know. Thanks for reminding me."

  The two stared at each other but the woman offered no apology. "I like that you didn't say sorry."

  "Why would I apologize for telling the truth?"

  "I don't know. I have to a lot."

  "What I want to know is your thoughts about him as a person," the woman said.

  "Didn't you want to talk about the Sphere?"

  "Maybe later. Right now I'd just like to talk about him, if that's okay."

  "When I was younger, the popular kids used to copy my homework all the time. I let them, because it kept me from getting beat up. I was rarely hurt as a kid because I was too smart and people always needed their homework completed by Monday morning. They used to act like we were friends, but I knew none of that was true. I did it to keep from getting beat up. There's no threat of getting hurt here, from what I can tell, so I don't really see any reason to give you my homework, Veronica."

  The woman leaned back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other. "Okay. Fair enough. What do you want to know?"

  "I don't need your credentials. You're the woman on the Journal's website, but I do want to know why you're asking."

  "You're pretty smart, right? Would you be able to tell if I'm lying?" she asked.

  "I don't know."

  "I am w
riting a book on Titan and his Sphere," Veronica said, "but there are some things I'm finding out that make me question his narrative."

  Christian placed his sandwich down. "What's his narrative?"

  "How well do you know him?"

  "I met him a few weeks ago."

  "Did you know John Presley accused Dr. Titan of sabotaging his career?"

  Christian said nothing, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the situation.

  "Someone else critical of him died, too. Years ago, when he was in academia."

  "I have to go," Christian said. He stood and walked out of the restaurant, leaving the two unfinished sandwiches on the table.

  Christian went back to the office and sat at his computer.

  He checked the voicemail on his office phone, but none waited. The woman hadn't called him again. Which was good, because he wanted nothing to do with her or anything she was selling.

  Why?

  You know why.

  He knew what his mind wanted to focus on, even if he didn't want to.

  John Presley's house and the thoughts which had tried surfacing inside it. The alarm bells he hadn't heeded and his mother told him to push aside. Because something had been wrong in that house, beyond the two dead bodies.

  Christian just didn't know what.

  Then think about it some, you dolt. If you think about it, you might be able to figure out exactly what bothered you. Clearly it had something to do with what this woman insinuated.

  That Luke murdered people who criticized him? That didn't make sense on any level.

  Then why did you get up and leave the restaurant?

  Because she was crazy and even hinting that Luke murdered people was more so.

  But he couldn't believe that, even if he wanted. Christian hid from the world but he never hid from the truth.

  Are you doing that now?

  As she watched the young man walk out of the restaurant, Veronica decided she was done chasing this silly hunch. There was nothing to it, and she'd only push people away if she continued. She might have needed Christian Windsor for her book, but now he was pretty much off limits.

  And if he went back to Titan? Told him the things she was bringing up? The book wouldn't necessarily be dead, but it’d certainly be hampered without access to the man.

  Veronica sat back down at her computer a few hours later, intent on finishing the chapter. She had other interviews scheduled for the remainder of the week, none of them having anything to do with Titan—these would focus on the Sphere itself.

  She stared at the last sentence, desperately wanting to put more words next to it, but unable.

  Because ...

  Christian Windsor had got up and walked away. He hadn't laughed or smiled or said, "What the fuck are you talking about?" No, he stood and then left. Her statements had bothered him. And not because of how close the two were, not after only a few weeks.

  Why would they bother him, though?

  Too many questions and no answers—so start writing, goddamnit. Let it fucking go.

  "UGHHH," Veronica nearly yelled. She stood up from the computer and went into the living room. If she didn't start putting words down soon, she'd miss her deadline, and yet ...

  This is what a hunch does. It won't let it up. You used to follow these things, years ago, back when this was fun and not a paycheck.

  "It doesn't matter," she said to the empty house as she picked up her remote and turned her television on.

  She watched mindlessly for two hours, flipping between the news and a daytime talk show, wondering if there was any difference between the two anymore.

  When she checked her cell phone, she saw that it had been on 'do not disturb'. Two missed calls stared back at her.

  Both from Christian Windsor's office line.

  His voicemail was simple.

  "Hi. I'd like to meet again. Call me when you can."

  Chapter 20

  Bradley read back over the messages.

  If you're going to do it again, you should do it soon, the man had said.

  Why?

  They will eventually catch you, but if you can get your fill for a while, and let the trail grow cold, you may last longer.

  They won't catch me.

  A thirty minute silence ensued after that text, and Bradley couldn't take it anymore.

  Why are you helping me?

  I feel sorry for what happened to you. It wasn't fair.

  Bradley stared down at his phone, unable to fully believe what he just read. How would Johnny Consultant know what had happened? How could he possibly understand the things Bradley had experienced?

  Are you trying to fuck with me?

  No. I recognize my own. The world may not recognize those that are abused, but it's hard for us to turn away.

  Rage grew in Bradley. This man was lying. He hadn't gone through what Bradley had, not even close. This was all bullshit, just a way to trick him the way people had his entire life. Fuck Johnny Consultant. Bradley would kill him and cut his goddamn eyes out and if they weren't blue he'd cook them in a fucking stew.

  I'm not lying to you. I know it's hard to believe, but why else would I be doing this? Putting myself at risk.

  Bradley looked at the phone through blurry eyes as he read the message. He sniffed, pulling snot back up into his sinuses. He hadn't realized he was nearly crying.

  Prove it, Bradley wrote. Prove you actually want to help me.

  Okay.

  Bradley looked at the woman. She wasn't tied to a bed like last time, and even though he brought his binoculars, he couldn't tell the color of her eyes—she was wearing sunglasses. Johnny Consultant told him where to find her; Bradley had left the phone back at his house, not wanting any interruptions while he studied this woman.

  He didn't know anything about her, but she clearly had money. She was well dressed, wearing a tight skirt and stepping into a BMW. It was just after seven in the morning and Bradley sat in his car, across the street from her house.

  Bradley wanted blue eyes, obviously, but he was beginning to wonder if he actually needed them each time? Originally, yes, he wanted to decorate his garage, turning it in to a throne room of sorts. He still wanted that, but the actual act of killing was becoming almost as important. Something he needed to do. Something that ...

  The car backed out of the driveway and started down the neighborhood road.

  He'd follow her and then decide if he wanted to kill her. He hadn't asked Johnny Consultant her eye color, but maybe he didn't care. Maybe the person on the other side of the texts was right. Maybe he needed to get some of this out of his system, and then he could focus again on his collection.

  "Tell me what happened with the other person that died."

  Veronica sat across from Christian Windsor, but in a park this time. She didn't ask why he wanted to meet here, but figured it created more privacy than a Subway.

  "It was ruled a suicide," she said. "He killed himself with a shotgun."

  "Then why do you think that has something to do with Luke?"

  "I don't know."

  "I read about John Presley," Christian said. "I might have broken some laws doing it, because the files are all sealed, but it's a pretty ridiculous accusation."

  "I spoke to him before he died. He still believed it, and the way he said it ... well, it didn't sound that ridiculous. He was convinced."

  "I'm wasting time right now," Christian said. "We have a legitimate killer who is most likely getting ready to kill again and I'm not working because I'm here with you. What you're telling me is that some old, disgruntled co-worker believed Luke poisoned him, and that someone who didn't like Luke years ago, killed himself."

  "You seem like a smart person, Agent Windsor," Veronica said. "You looked up a lot of this before you came here, so you knew what I was going to tell you. If you already thought this would be a waste of your time, why did you come?"

  She didn't like his tone or the anger riding through his voice. She hadn't c
alled him—in fact, she had made up her mind not to call again, to let the whole thing drop regardless how much it bothered her.

  Christian sighed and swung one leg over the picnic table's bench so that he no longer faced her, but looked out into the distance. "I don't know. I can't figure it out, but something is bothering me."

  "And it has something to do with Titan?"

  "I think so, yes."

  "Does he know we're talking?"

  "No," Christian said. "I didn't think it would be a good idea to tell him I'm talking to someone whose premise is that he kills those critical of him."

  "I didn't say that. All I did was ask what you thought of him." Veronica wasn't even sure she thought Titan had killed anyone, only that she wanted to know more.

  "I'm good at understanding people," Christian said as if he hadn't heard her. "I can almost see their past, but with Luke, for some reason, I can't. Admittedly, I didn't try when I first started working with him, but I have been lately, and hard. But I get nothing."

  Veronica's head moved back a bit as she heard the words. "You're not making sense."

  "I know. You're not the first person to say that. It's okay."

  "Are you saying you're some kind of psychic?"

  Christian turned to her, his eyes narrowed. "No. I'm not a psychic. You didn't do much research on me before we met, did you?"

  "No. Like you said, we both have other things we should be doing."

  He nodded and then looked back into the distance. "It doesn't matter. I can't figure him out and whatever was off in that house won't go away ... Do you have a plan or anything? Someone else to talk with?"

  "There's no plan for this. I contacted you because what happened was bothering me, too. That's it."

  "Then this is the plan: keep writing your book and every bit of information you find out on Luke, send to me."

  Bradley watched the woman sit at a picnic table across from someone he didn't know. The man wore a hat low on his head and she still wore sunglasses.

  The more Bradley stared at her, the more he decided that perhaps the blue eyes didn't matter this one time. He'd been so fucking busy lately, busy with the nigger bitch. Busy with his mother. Busy with work and Charlie, he hadn't been able to focus on actually cultivating the next person he needed to kill. Here, though, was someone he could hurt—and maybe if her eyes weren't blue, he could create a sort of second class caste system in his garage.