by David Beers
He took antibacterial salve and gauze from his backpack, then dressed the agent’s small wound. He dressed him next, replaced the hood, and then picked the woman up off the ground.
The animal looked at the three of them, knowing that he should shoot the other two and leave them here. He had acquired the target and should commence with making the man scream, as he told the person who hired him. Yet, staring at the three of them, he didn’t want to. It was a strange feeling, one he didn’t fully understand, nor wanted to think too deeply about.
Yet, he had to make a decision.
The way the man had moved at the National Mall. The brazen way he went after what he wanted. The animal had hunted many people in his life, all of them he left dead. None, though, had he seen hunt with such exquisiteness. More, the animal didn’t fully understand what the target wanted—which normally wouldn’t have mattered, but did this time. Because the target had found his target, and yet he’d taken these two.
The animal knew what he should do, but he also knew what he could do. That was why he’d parked here in the first place, to make certain they weren’t being tracked—not to kill the agent or the woman.
He should do that, but he could take them all to the house he’d readied … and let the target finish what he started. The animal could watch him, and perhaps learn a bit more … then, when the target finished, the animal could kill him.
He took the hood from Titan’s head and looked at the man’s bloodied face. Glass stuck in his forehead and cheeks. Blood had dried and cracked on his nose and lips. He was breathing, though. He had even tried to fight after the accident.
The animal made his decision, returned the hood to the target, then closed the back door with all three inside.
Christian opened his eyes. The sun was bright and pain sang inside his head like an alarm. He shut his eyes and lay in the darkness for a few seconds.
Everything felt slow, as if the world had stopped moving. Perhaps even stopped rotating on its axis.
Christian groaned and tried to turn over, but his muscles didn’t want to listen to him. He’d never been drunk before, but imagined this must be what the worst hangover imaginable felt like. Finally, lying on his back, he brought his hand up to shield his eyes and opened them again.
Where am I? he wondered.
Squinting, he tried to look around and orient himself.
He blinked, and in that blink, Christian remembered Luke’s disguise. He remembered the needle’s sharp pain as it pierced his neck, while he turned around to see a face shrouded in false beard and skin.
“No,” he whispered, his body automatically trying to sit up on the bench. His head swam, as if water filled his skull, but he didn’t stop trying to raise himself. Finally, he was upright, his head and body aching. “No,” he whispered again. His mouth and throat were dry—he couldn’t seem to come up with anything else to say.
Veronica.
Luke.
“No.”
Where’s Tommy?
The sun’s heat was so intense, it felt like it was mugging him. He peered across the lawn, the mall’s pool behind him. The people around him wavered like mirages, and Christian didn’t know if it was the heat or his head that was causing it—either way, he saw no sign of Tommy.
“Luke,” he croaked out, trying desperately to regain control of himself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Slowly, as if time itself was shutting down, he found the number he wanted.
“Christian?” Waverly answered.
“Luke took him.”
“Who?”
“Tommy. He’s got Tommy and Veronica.”
“Where are you? What happened?” Waverly asked.
“I’m at the National Mall, on a bench. I don’t know what happened. He hit me with some kind of stunning agent. Send someone to get me. We don’t have much time.”
“They’re already on their way. Keep your phone on you.”
Christian stepped from the black SUV to see Waverly exiting the FBI headquarters and entering the parking deck.
“Get back in the car,” he said.
“What?”
“Get back in. More information came in on your ride over here.”
Christian did as he was told, moving carefully. Whatever Luke had hit him with was strong—nearly an hour after waking, he was still barely moving (and he had no idea how long he’d been under for).
“What is it?” Christian asked as Waverly sat down in the SUV.
“National Mall parking deck,” Waverly said to the driver. “East side.” He looked over to Christian. “There was a car accident. Someone was pulling out of a parking deck in a van, and a large F-350 slammed into it. Tommy’s wheelchair was found inside the van. Nothing else, and there’s no trace of the F-350.”
Christian was silent, only looked outside the tinted window. To say anything right now would put Waverly’s job at risk, as the agent in front could hear everything.
A car accident with Tommy’s wheelchair still inside. No Luke, no Tommy, no Veronica.
Just a wheelchair.
They rode the 30 minutes to the mall in silence, both staring out windows and watching traffic pass them by.
The road was blocked off in front of the parking deck. The SUV stopped at the yellow caution tape and the two got out. Christian went to Waverly’s side of the car.
“Veronica?”
“No. Nothing from what I’ve been told.”
Waverly started walking to the wrecked van and Christian followed. Glass littered the street, and the vehicle’s body was mangled. Christian listened to his feet as they crunched down on glass, smashing the bits even further into oblivion. Cops were working around the van, though Christian wasn’t sure what they were doing. He didn’t care.
His mind had finally turned on.
This was his first look at the madman Waverly had hired. The destroyed van and the blood littering both the concrete and interior.
“Are you okay?” Waverly asked, but Christian didn’t answer.
He was focused, passing Waverly as they grew closer to the scene. The people working around him looked over at the scarred FBI agent—the circular knife wound on his face alerting them to who he was. This was Luke Titan’s victim. This was the man Luke Titan desired above all others, for some purpose that no one truly understood. The cops working this beat had heard of the agent in front of them, and as they got their first glimpse, they realized there was nothing special about him.
Nothing besides his focus.
Christian walked to the driver’s side of the van, where the impact occurred. Someone was kneeling in front of the crumpled door, a female cop, but Christian paid her no mind. He stepped up next to her and stared into the empty vehicle.
Tommy’s wheelchair was there, turned over and banged up, but still in one piece. That wheelchair had seen a lot—not as much as the person now studying it, but enough for multiple lifetimes.
“Are you okay?” Waverly asked as he approached from behind.
“Fine.”
Waverly stepped back, though Christian barely noticed. He moved forward, the cop in front of him nearly knocked over as he scrambled to get out of the way. Again, Christian paid no attention. He squatted down and rubbed his hand over the crumbled glass in the backseat.
“There’s no note, is there?” he said, though no one knew who he spoke to.
“No,” someone said from behind. Their voice was faint, almost nonexistent.
“He’s going to kill them. All of them. And he’s going to make them hurt.”
Chapter 20
Luke opened his eyes and blinked once. He focused immediately after.
The room before him was made of brick walls and a concrete floor. The walls were painted a perfect white, though the floor had been left unadorned. Luke was sitting against the back wall. He wasn’t bound and could see the room’s door in front of him. He moved his head slightly to the right, and the pain he’d been testing immediately made its pre
sence known.
His neck almost screamed at him to stop his nonsensical movement. There was no need to move at all. No need to do anything but simply sit here and stare forward.
Luke ignored the pain and reached up to his forehead. He gently touched the wounds, though felt no glass, meaning the assailant had removed it.
There was no one else in the room, though he saw a camera in the far left corner pointing at him. He was being watched.
Slowly, Luke stood up, bracing himself on the wall with his left hand. His ribs were broken, no doubt about it. He breathed in calmly, doing his best to keep his ribcage from having to expand rapidly.
Luke closed his eyes and leaned his back against the wall; he felt like he might pass out at any moment. Even Lucy Speckle had not hurt him to this extent.
This isn’t good, he thought and smiled, though even that quickly turned into a grimace. There are two others here with me, though. At least I hope so.
Broken and kidnapped, Luke’s purpose rose to the top of his mind like steam from a boiling pot. As long as the pot was heated, that steam would rise. There was no other option; it was physics.
Luke opened his eyes and started walking across the room. There were very few choices to be made: he either waited here for someone to come, or he went looking for the two people he’d lost. Luke chose the latter.
It took him a solid minute to walk the 30 feet to the door. He turned the knob and wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked. Whoever took them wanted him to leave this room, though most likely not the building itself.
Luke would appease.
He pulled the door open, his ribs complaining loudly as he did.
The lights were on in the hallway, though it looked very different from the room he had just exited. The hallway was expensive, the walls made of wood with large paintings every few feet. The floor was hardwood as well. A pair of slippers waited neatly just outside the door.
Luke stepped into them.
He looked down the hall and saw more camera’s lining the ceiling. One every 50 feet or so, tiny orbs sticking out from above as if this were a casino.
He walked down the hallway, feeling that the room he had come from was a newer addition to this place. This felt older, as though someone with great taste and pride had created it.
There were other doors surrounding him, and Luke tried the knobs on each one, but none would turn. It was slow moving, and twice Luke had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing, but eventually he made his way to the end. There was one more door to his right and then stairs directly in front of him. Luke would try the stairs, though he wasn’t sure he could make it up.
He looked at the door and reached for the handle. It turned; Luke pushed on it and watched as it opened beneath his weight.
Veronica and Tommy sat inside, the room looking exactly like the one he had vacated. They were restrained with cord, and had black hoods over their heads. Neither moved at the sound of the door, most likely under some tranquilizing agent. Perhaps something harsher than what Luke was given. He stumbled across the concrete floor, the air cooler in here than in the hallway. He went to Tommy and removed the hood.
His ex-partner’s head lay against his chest. He was bruised, his right eye nearly swollen shut. His mouth hung slightly open and Luke saw that he was missing teeth as well. Using his thumb, Luke opened his left eye. Tommy’s pupil was dilated and he gave no sign of awareness.
Luke looked over to the other hooded person but didn’t go to her. Veronica would be similar, and he didn’t want to waste energy verifying what he already knew. He turned to the door, it looking much further away than it had when he first arrived.
Giving no sign as to what he thought, Luke trudged across the open space, back to the door, then to the stairwell.
The animal watched the target move and felt a bit uneasy. He had never done anything like this before, and it was out of his nature to do so. He had a mission to complete, and he knew that, but something about this target made him want to wait.
(Does he see the pink light ever?)
(Hush. There is no pink light.)
Which was antithetical to everything the animal believed in.
The animal didn’t live in this house, though he owned it. The deed said nothing of his real name, and to trace it back to him would take time and dedication—which no one would bother with. There was no reason to. It was far enough away from major cities to not catch anyone’s eye. The property taxes were paid on time, and as far as anyone knew, nothing ever happened in it.
The animal never left bodies. He never left any trace of his victims, and this house was what made it possible.
He hadn’t forgotten what he told the man who hired him. The target would scream, and the animal intended to make that happen.
What are you doing, then?
A rare question that fluttered through his mind. He was usually resolute and sure in his actions, but the unease grew as the animal watched the target make his way back across the second room.
Why didn’t you dose him as you did the other two? Why are you letting him move about?
No answer came back. It had been a long time since the animal had done something like this, though even then, it was different. Ten years ago someone had wandered around this house, but that was part of the contract. Such things had been specified. Not so in this case.
The animal took a sip of his water and continued watching as the man reached the stairwell.
It was the similarity. The animal saw his reflection in someone … for the first time.
(And the light, what about the pink light?)
The target would come upstairs. The animal felt sure of it. He would go as far as his legs could carry him, and then crawl if necessary. He would climb those stairs by hands and knees, until even those gave out.
The target had a determination in him that the animal wanted to see up close.
It took an hour, but Luke found his way to the top of the stairwell. A metal, winding structure, similar to those found in a lighthouse. His mind knew that the stairwell was only a tenth of a mile high, but it felt like he had been climbing for years.
He collapsed in the room at the top of the staircase. Sweat soaked his whole body, dripping down his forehead and into his eyes.
Luke reached up and wiped them away, intent on seeing what came next.
A man stood in front of him, though Luke couldn’t tell if it was the assailant that had hit the van.
Luke put his hands beneath his chest and pushed up, enormous pain erupting across his body. He reached one knee then paused, looking up and smiling.
“Your hospitality is unrivaled, sir.”
Luke tried to grab the fist that swung at him, but he barely moved at all.
Blackness took him before he even hit the floor.
Chapter 21
Christian stood inside his mansion, in the mercenary’s room; the same preternatural calm that possessed him at the wrecked van, possessed him here.
The room’s name had been changed. It no longer read The Mercenary, but now was The Animal.
The room was empty, but Christian understood there was a reason for that. He didn’t fully understand it yet, but thought it was done purposefully.
“He’s going to kill them,” the other said from behind him. His last friend in all this, the rest either being pushed away, or taken from him. Christian only had this sick remnant of Luke, like the slime a slug leaves as it crawls along the pavement. “How long do you think you have?”
Christian didn’t know much yet, certainly not the answer to that question. The answers would come, though—all of them, no matter how badly he didn’t want to know.
“Why ignore me?” the other asked.
Christian said nothing. He turned around and looked at his negative for a moment. He watched the blood leaking from the corners of his eyes. Christian stepped forward, and for the first time, touched the other. His left thumb rubbed the blood moving down his cheek, smearing it
. Christian took his thumb back and stuck it in his mouth, slightly surprised to find it tasted salty—that it tasted just like blood from the real world.
He licked it from his finger and then turned from the other.
There were a lot of surprises left, of that Christian had no doubt. Yet, perhaps the largest had been what Luke pulled off at the National Mall. Christian hadn’t seen it coming, that Luke would go for Tommy and leave him. Once again, he thought he could outsmart Luke, could see around corners—and someone else would die because of such a foolish belief.
He couldn’t focus on that now.
Christian was inside his mansion for a reason; he would understand this contract killer, and then he would find and kill him. He would find and kill Luke, if Luke wasn’t already dead.
Tommy and Veronica … it was too late for them. Probably too late for Luke, as well. The contract killer would have to suffice for everyone, then.
Christian came back to the room before him, pushing away his thoughts of the other and those already lost.
He walked to one of the stone walls and placed his palm on it. He leaned his head forward, allowing his forehead to touch the cold rock as well.
“This is your mind,” he said, referencing the killer. He was beginning to understand why the room was empty. It hadn’t been much, his ‘interaction’ with the killer, but it had been enough. The scene at the van, the broken glass and bloodied street. The discarded wheelchair and the three bodies no longer there. “Your mind is barren. Focused only on what is at hand, not filling it with unnecessary emotions or thoughts.”
Christian swallowed, his eyes closed.
“There’s more, though. One’s mind cannot be fully barren, not to do the things that you do.”
Christian had faced many people in his career—psychopaths that could fill up textbooks. Perhaps, though, he hadn’t seen anyone like this before. Except perhaps Luke, but only in Luke’s ability to discard the non important. Christian didn’t know if anyone else’s mind was so empty.