by David Beers
Luke recognized that truth as he watched the clock, though he was thinking selfishly as well. What he did here had been good, but not great—not nearly what he wanted to accomplish, and each passing minute chipped away at his ability to perform that great act. The greatness he wanted relied on Christian Windsor; the boy had been a blessing, his intelligence combined with his handicaps ... Luke couldn't have asked for a better addition to his plans.
And yet, he'd given Windsor up early. His eyes would be removed and even if Mr. Brown left him alive, he wouldn't be involved with Luke any longer. No more FBI for Mr. Windsor, not once Mr. Brown finished with him.
Luke looked out the car's front window. Did he want to let the two live? Would that be more fun in the long term? Or was Windsor already too close to the truth? If Luke let him die now, he could restart his plans ... Would a longer timeline for Luke be more fun?
So many questions, and not much time to decide the answers.
Christian looked at the metal contraptions, many of them the same ones he saw in his dream. He wasn't surprised by it—his mind didn't lead him astray, even down to the details.
"Stop fucking talking," Tommy said from Christian's feet.
Christian ignored him. All he could do was talk, his only weapon against Bradley Brown. He was hitting nerves, clearly, but not the right ones. He needed to say something to break the man down, to bring him back to the childlike state the monster had ruled over—only that would slow this massacre down.
But for what end? Melissa asked. You can slow him down, but you're still tied up without anywhere to go. Eventually, he'll get started again.
Christian saw her standing behind Brown, but he didn't look at her, because her words didn't matter, not right now. Slow Brown down first, then worry about what to do next.
"You don't have to do this," Christian whispered as the man knelt in front of him. "You didn't deserve for those things to happen to you. It wasn't your fault and you don't have to keep doing this. You can stop it, right now."
He watched without moving as Brown attached the same apparatus that he used on the old man. Christian's eyes were held open and he stared at Brown as he put the rest of the tools on the floor, exactly as a surgeon might do.
"STOP!" Veronica shrieked hoarsely from the couch. Christian heard her moving, trying to free herself. He pushed her from his mind, focusing only on the man above him.
"You don't need my eyes to be loved, Bradley."
The man held a scalpel in his hand, but he stopped moving. "You don't know anything. So shut up. Just shut the fuck up."
Christian said nothing for a second and Brown started moving again. He brought the scalpel down to Christian's eye. He could see the blade, large like a huge, metal god ready to deliver its unbending judgment.
He felt the blade cut into his eye, a small incision, but blood spurted onto Christian's cheek. He gasped. "Bradley, don't. Don't keep this going. Let your father die by not killing us."
Brown paused, tears filling his eyes.
"He can die," Christian said. "You can kill him forever by stopping now."
Brown shook his head but said nothing. Tears dripped to his face.
Christian saw movement behind Brown, and he couldn't stop from following it. Brown saw him looking and turned his head to the side, trying to see over his shoulder.
Luke pointed a gun at the man's skull, a distance of two feet.
He pulled the trigger and Bradley Brown's head exploded in a mess of blood, bone, and brain.
Chapter 32
Luke followed the nurse into the common area. He had told her that he was here to follow-up on Charles Ranger, to make sure he was doing okay, and see if there was anything the FBI could do to help his recovery.
"That's very, very kind of you, Mr. Titan," the nurse said after checking his credentials.
She walked him down the hallway, telling him that it had been a very frightening experience for Mr. Ranger, and that the old man was having trouble sleeping. They, of course, had therapy on site for him, and with a little bit of time, they thought he would be okay. Therapy was tough for him, though, given his inability to speak.
"It takes longer," she said.
Luke thought that Mr. Ranger wouldn't need any more therapy once he finished here.
The old man sat in his wheelchair, the television on in front of him and four other 'guests'.
"Betty, would you mind giving Charles some space? This gentleman here would like to speak with him," the nurse said.
The woman looked at Luke. He smiled back at her.
"Oh, yes, sure. Charles, we'll talk later, okay?" The old woman bustled off through the room.
"Thank you, ma'am," Luke said to the nurse. "I'll check in with you before I leave, okay?"
"Sure thing, Agent Titan. Charles, this man is here from the FBI to check up on you. He's the one that saved your life, right?"
Charles Ranger didn't nod or shake his head. He stared with wide eyes and not a drop of color in his face.
"Probably surprised to see you." The nurse smiled once more at Luke and walked off down the hall.
Luke pulled up a chair directly in front of Mr. Ranger. A week had passed since Luke decided he wanted Christian Windsor to live a bit longer. He wanted to see how much he could do with Mr. Windsor before the boy needed pass from this planet.
"Hi, Mr. Ranger. How are you?"
The old man only stared, his mouth slightly open as if he might start drooling at any second.
"I wanted to come by and talk to you for a minute. I know that you're in therapy, but I'm guessing you haven't mentioned what happened in Mr. Brown's house. Is that right?"
No sign from Mr. Ranger.
"I'm going to need a nod before I continue. Nod if you haven't said anything."
The old man nodded.
"Good. You're a smart man. You must be smart to end up in a place as nice as this one. You were a doctor, right?"
Another nod.
"Yes, you're definitely smart. So I know that you'll keep quiet about what went on the other night. If you don't ... well, I'd hate to have to come visit you again, because it won't be as pleasant. Do you understand? Nod again if you do."
Mr. Ranger did as requested.
"That's good," Luke said, reaching forward and patting the old man's knee. "I'm going to get out of here then. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page moving forward. As long as you keep your word, you'll never see me again. And in the end, I did you a favor, didn't I? I got rid of Mr. Brown."
Luke smiled.
Veronica walked into Luke Titan's office. She watched the FBI agent stand up from behind his desk and smile. Veronica's hands were shaking.
"Hi, Ms. Lopez. How are you doing?"
Veronica looked at her feet and felt hot tears fill her eyes. "I'm okay."
"Come, have a seat," Titan said. He moved out from behind his desk and pulled the chair out, motioning to her.
Veronica listened to him without saying anything, trying to hold herself together. She didn't want to cry in here, but that was a foolish thing to think, really. She had come to apologize and thank him, this man who she'd been out to prove as some kind of criminal, but had ended up saving her life.
"I, uhh," she said as Titan took his seat. "I want to say I'm sorry. I wanted to say it in person." She looked up from her shoes and to Titan. "I was wrong, completely, and I felt you needed to hear it from me."
"It's no problem, Ms. Lopez. No apology needed. Apparently Bradley Brown was obsessed with me, and the things he did would have made anyone think I might have been involved. Especially after John Presley. I'm just glad I made it there in time."
Veronica nodded, unsure what to say next.
"Are you going to continue the book regarding the Sphere?"
"I am, but I'm taking a break for a little while. Maybe in six months."
"That makes sense," Titan said. "You went through a harrowing experience. Time off is exactly what I'd recommend if I were your doctor."
>
"Do you ...," Veronica didn't know why she was about to ask the question, but it flew out of her mouth before she could stop herself. "Do you still practice?"
"Therapy?"
"Yes."
"I haven't in a while. Why?"
"I don't know. I just. I haven't found a doctor I like yet."
"It's only been three weeks," Titan said.
"I know, but ... You were there. I trust you." Veronica laughed and wiped tears from her eyes. "I know, it's crazy. Forget I asked."
Titan was quiet for a moment while Veronica looked at her feet, feeling stupid for everything she'd done. Trying to investigate him, somehow getting herself caught by a serial killer, and now here asking him if he'd take her on as a patient. She felt lost and even more so in this room, groveling to the man she once thought should be jailed.
"I think I have time to take on a patient. My license is still active. When are you free?"
Homage was being paid from the entire FBI. Senior officials came to Luke's office, sent emails, and he was scheduled to receive an award for outstanding work later this week. Luke played the role expected of him—humble and thankful he could be of service.
None of the praise, nor awards, mattered to him. He put up with them because they were necessary if he were to keep going forward, which after the decision he made weeks ago, was imperative.
It was Friday night around seven, and Luke saw Tommy walking across the mostly empty floor. He stuck his head in Luke's office.
"Want to grab a drink?"
"I think I'm going to head home tonight. Pretty tired."
Tommy smiled. "All those big wigs wearing you out, huh?"
"It's a lot," Luke said, smiling back.
"You deserve it. And even if you don't, I still want them to give you the keys to the city. Saved my life, man. Thanks again."
Luke had called Tommy's phone twice before he reentered Bradley Brown's house. He called Christian's once as well. Obviously receiving no answers from either, and the official story said he'd shown up to relieve them from their shift a bit early, because they'd both pretty much worked a double with Christian's training. He arrived, saw their empty car, and then saved the day.
"If you keep thanking me, next time I won't save you," Luke said, still with a smile on his face.
"Alright. Windsor comes back Monday. He's tougher than I thought. You should have seen him in there. He somehow talked enough to keep Brown from killing the old man and himself. I don't know how long he could have kept it up, but he was hitting some tough body shots on that motherfucker."
"Yeah, I wasn't sure in the beginning, but I'm glad he's here," Luke said.
"Okay. See ya Monday."
Tommy left the office and Luke was alone again. He watched his partner walk across the floor and wondered when he'd have his next opportunity to kill the man.
Chapter 33
Christian took some time off after the final altercation with Brown. About a month. Waverly said he could have more time if he wanted, but he found himself desiring to get back to work.
"Thought you never wanted to be in the field?" Waverly asked when Christian told him.
"I know. It's the people I work with, I think."
"You're with the best," Waverly had said.
Christian's eye was mostly healed, though it had itched like crazy when the doctor first stitched him up.
He saw Melissa a lot during his time off. Multiple times per week.
"So, what do you think of him now?" she asked him.
"Of Luke?"
"Yes, is he a savior or a villain in your mind?"
Christian spent much of the past month thinking about that. His mind had told him to find the connection between Brown and Luke—to find it that very night, but the connection ended up being a bullet from Luke's gun to Brown's brain.
He had never denied his mind what it wished to tell him, but now, reality said that he was wrong for the first time.
"He's a savior," Christian told Melissa. "A lot of the connections I made were because Brown was trailing Luke. Presley's death. Veronica going missing. It makes sense now, though it didn't before. I tried to understand the connections, but they never fully fit."
"That's good, Christian," Melissa said. "There are a lot of things wrong in the world, but this Luke Titan guy seems to be good for it. For you too."
Now, Christian knocked on Luke's door, his first time at the office since Luke had shot off Bradley Brown's face.
"Come in," he heard from inside.
Christian opened the door.
"Hello," Luke said with a broad smile. "Heard you were coming back today. How are you feeling?"
"I'm a lot better. The eye still itches some, but nothing too bad."
"Good, because we have a lot of work for you to get started on."
Christian smiled back. That's what he wanted, work—something to take his mind off the past month's thoughts.
"I appreciate you both coming to the hospital. I'm sorry I haven't called since I got out," Christian said. "I just really wanted some separation from this place. Thank you, though, Luke, for what you did. You saved my life."
"Too many thanks have been given over this already. I have that silly ceremony today where they'll drape a metal over my chest, and I'm not looking forward to it. Can I say, 'you're welcome' once and we let this go? Move on to the next case?"
Christian smiled and said, "If that's what you want."
"It is. You're welcome."
"The ceremony is at noon?" Christian asked.
"That's what they tell me. Are you coming?"
"Of course. Wouldn't look too good if the people you saved didn't show up."
"I am all about appearances," Luke said. "Have a seat?"
Christian did and both were silent for a few seconds.
"Was that the first person you killed?" Christian asked, quickly realizing how it might sound. "I mean, as an FBI agent."
Luke smiled. "Yes, first one."
"Do you think about it still?"
"About killing Bradley Brown?"
Christian nodded.
"No. At least not in the way you probably mean. I don't dwell on the physics of his death."
"I think about it," Christian said. "I think about the way his head exploded and the colors everything inside it made."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I've never seen anyone die."
Luke nodded. "It reminds us of our own mortality. That we're all really just meat and blood, with a false layer of consciousness overlaid."
"False?"
"The Buddhists would tell you, if it exists, then point to it. You can't."
Christian looked down at his lap. "I'll probably have to kill someone. I don't want to."
"Not if they kill you first," Luke said and then laughed. "Come on. Let's get lunch before the ceremony."
Christian stood and walked out of the office with Luke Titan, looking like the best of friends.
For Christian Windsor
Christian,
I am not sure when you'll receive this letter, but I am certain that it will reach you one day. I think you're going to allow me to really push myself over the coming years, and so I decided to keep you alive.
I think I'll give you this letter when it's too late for you, when you finally realize that you're going to die and nothing can be done. That would make me happy.
How close were you this time, to understanding my true nature? I feel that if you'd had just a bit more time, things may have turned out very differently for everyone involved. Though, perhaps not Bradley Brown—his loss, though, is our gain. You and I have a long way to go, but in the end, I think you'll see my purpose fully. I think you'll see it and I think it will terrify you.
The day you receive this letter is the day that it's finally been revealed to you.
I can't wait.
All the best,
Luke Titan, MD, PhD, Special Agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigations
&
nbsp; You’ve started the journey. Get a step closer to finishing it in: The Priest!
The Priest
Chapter One
Lucy Speckle stared at the television. Her attention focused entirely on it, not noticing the small tics that broke out across her face from time to time. The people around her didn’t notice either, but it wasn’t because they were focused on the TV like Lucy. They had … other issues.
“We are here today to commemorate an FBI agent whose name many of you probably already know. His accomplishments are nearly legend, and we are all lucky to have him helping keep our citizens safe. We’d like to present Luke Titan with our highest award…”
Lucy didn’t know the man speaking and she didn’t care about him either. He was nonessential. Lucy believed heavily in the essential and the nonessential. Anything that didn’t fit into the first bucket could be discarded without further thought, and in Lucy’s mind, there was only a single essential guiding force: the one true God, of Abraham and Isaac.
Yet, despite the non-essentialness of the man speaking, she couldn’t pull herself away from the screen. She wasn’t looking at him, though, or the person he appeared to be speaking about.
Lucy watched someone on the back left. His hands were folded in front of him, and he looked uncomfortable in his suit and tie. To Lucy Speckle, it was clear he didn’t want to be on stage.
“Who is that?” Lucy asked, her voice snapping out across the room’s silence—her normal stutter missing.
“Lucy, please stay calm,” someone nonessential said from her side. For the most part, all the people working here were nonessential. They didn’t serve God, but the government, an evil thing that Lucy had no time for. She knew God would get her out of this wretched place sooner or later; He had put her here for a reason, and if she didn’t understand it yet, she trusted Him implicitly.
But now, staring at the television screen, perhaps she’d found the reason. The man standing on stage, to the left. How long had the preacher spoken about this moment? For how many years had her and Daddy (and Momma, though to a far lesser degree) prayed for worthiness, to be shown exactly what Lucy now saw?