by David Beers
“Are you going to try killing him before he gets in here?” Tommy asked.
“No,” Luke answered. “I won’t risk Christian’s life.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit silly, given what you did to him two years ago? The knife through the face might make someone question how much you value his life.”
Luke stared motionless out the kitchen window. “You’ve known me long enough to know that the things I do are purposeful. That was purposeful, as is this.”
“You want my opinion, Luke? Purpose has meaning, and nothing you’ve ever done had meaning behind it. Every single bit was psychotic babble that a freshman college psych professor would love to talk about in one of his intro textbooks. What I really think, though, is that you may have finally met your match in this contract killer. He might not have your mind, but his purpose has meaning. Real meaning, that actually fucking exists. His purpose is to kill for cash. And I think he’s going to do it. Kill you, I mean. Me too, but most importantly, you.”
Luke did not smile, did not even turn to look at his former partner. “We will see whose purpose is greater, mine or his. You’re finally understanding the truth, though, Tommy. Purpose is all that matters. Maybe you’re right, maybe I’m crazy. We’ll see very soon. Here is our man now.”
And sure enough, the man who Luke had said was coming, came.
A truck rolled up the driveway, it’s large engine able to be heard despite the distance.
It took a few minutes, but the vehicle finally reached the house. The killer parked and stepped from the front seat. He put on a backpack, then opened the back door; he lifted a body, limp and loose, but he did it with ease.
“He may even be stronger than you, Luke,” Tommy said, intent on needling him as much as possible.
“I never claimed the title of World’s Strongest Man, just Best Looking,” Luke said, a slight grin crossing his face.
The killer carried Tommy’s partner up the steps as though he weighed no more than a sack of pillow cases.
“How does he know you won’t kill him from here? Why is he trusting you?”
“He’s not, Tommy. Use your eyes.”
Tommy peered out the window and he finally saw it. A thin wire was wrapped around Christian’s neck, the other part attached to a thicker plastic band attached to the killer’s wrist. The length between neck and wrist was short, no more than twelve inches.
If Luke did anything from here, and caused the two to separate, the wire would slice through Christian’s throat.
“Oh, yeah,” Tommy said. “This guy’s got your number. No doubt about it.”
If possible, Tommy would have smiled.
The animal opened the front door. He stepped in, turned around and closed it, then walked into the kitchen. He had seen the target from the truck, knowing the wire wrapped around Windsor’s neck would be visible. If anything happened to the animal, it would cut the agent’s head off.
He entered the kitchen.
“Where is the woman?”
“She’s in her room,” the target said. The ease with which he spoke kept the animal’s attention. Even though death was nearly upon this man, his surety in himself—and his entire existence—was commendable.
“Are you ready to begin?”
“Soon. How long will the sleeping agent last?”
“Three more hours.”
The target stood up. “I would like a day with him. Tomorrow evening I will finish and then you can complete your assignment. Is that agreeable?”
The animal knew it was an absolutely ridiculous question. Never in his life had he granted so much authority to anyone, let alone a target. Yet, he wanted to see the end of this, perhaps the first thing he’d ever wanted to see the end—besides the lives of those he was paid to kill.
His face remained as still as his target’s.
He gave a short nod, then set the agent down on the kitchen island. He pulled his pistol from its holster, then removed the slip wire from the man’s neck. “Take them both out of here. I want to be alone.”
“As you wish,” the target said.
Luke laid Christian in the same room he had awoke in. He then went back to the top of the stairs where Tommy sat in his wheelchair. “Ready to go?”
“Why don’t you just give me a push instead? Let me out of this. I know how it ends already,” Tommy answered.
“Nonsense,” Luke said as he reached underneath Tommy’s arms. His muscles lifted his ex-partner easy, though his ribs gave a sharp cry of pain. He ignored them, turning sideways and carrying Tommy down the stairs like a husband does his bride. He spoke slowly as his ribs ground together. “There is still much to see and much to learn, especially about our young friend. His change is near and I would think you of all people would want to watch.”
Luke descended the twirling stairs, knowing that Tommy hated being dependent upon him. Despite the pain, Luke smiled as he walked, holding close the man he’d paralyzed.
“If you hadn’t met him, Luke, what would you have done? Would my fiancée still be alive? Would I be able to walk?”
“Did Christian tell you about my past?”
“Yes.”
Luke made sure to keep Tommy’s limp neck and head in the crux of his arm, not allowing him to flop around—caring for him like a newborn.
“It would be just as easy to ask what might have happened if that priest never decided to rape and kill my mother. I don’t know the answers to these things, Tommy. I do intend to ask God, though, when this is finished. At the very least, he owes me an answer to that.”
“All you’ve done. All the people you’ve killed. If there is a God, Luke, you have to know it’s insignificant. You have to see that in the grand scheme of this universe, you’re not even a speck of sand.”
Luke kept moving, carrying his charge.
“Is that how you look at things? That we are nothing in the universe’s scope?”
“It’s how scientists look at them, Luke. What you used to claim to be.”
Luke nodded. “I never viewed the universe, or us, like that. The fundamentalists—perhaps all Christians—believe we are special to God. They believe that above all else in this ever expanding darkness, we are the apple of his eye, as the saying goes. I do not believe that, but something similar.”
“And what do you believe, Luke?” Tommy asked.
“He fears us. He fears that we will one day become him. By the end of my run, I intend on making him understand that his time is nearly over, and that we will overtake him. Not I, perhaps, but someone.”
“If there is a God, he’s all loving, Luke. You’re nothing like that. You took my feelings for you and you shit all over them. You took a relationship as close as any I’ve ever had, and destroyed it for your own fucking whims. You’re not becoming God. You’re becoming the Devil.”
Luke reached the bottom of the stairs, hearing tears in his partner’s voice. He set him down, leaning him gently against the wall. “Let me get your chair.”
He walked back up and grabbed the wheelchair. It was an old, heavy thing, but he lifted it as if it were made of aluminum. Compared to Tommy, his ribs were relieved with the chair. Luke carried it down to the basement, sat it on the floor, then looked at Tommy.
“You think I never cared about you, don’t you?”
“I don’t think you’re capable of caring about anyone.”
“My brother? My mother? I didn’t care about them?” Luke said. Had he ever spoken of these things to people before? Perhaps in his letters to Christian, but not in the open like this.
“I don’t know what you felt about them, but I doubt it was love, Luke. You were born this way, and I suppose I can’t place all the blame on you.”
Luke stepped closer to his former partner. “I loved them. I was born like you, needing the same things. God showed me those things could be taken away at his whim.”
“Boo-fucking-hoo,” Tommy whispered. “Everyone loses people. How do you think children are f
aring now in South America? You think it’s better than when you grew up? Fuck you, pussy.”
The tears in Tommy’s eyes had dried.
“If God didn’t lie to us about heaven, you’ll be with Alice soon.”
“And you’ll be burning in hell with that goddamn priest,” Tommy said.
Chapter 28
The room around Christian was painted white, and he had been staring at it for quite some time. He thought for an hour or more, but he couldn’t be completely sure. He hadn’t moved, but lay on the floor with his eyes open, looking straight up at the ceiling.
He wasn’t moving because he didn’t want to alert anyone that he was awake. Not the people in this house nor the creatures in his head. For some crazy reason, he thought if he could just keep lying still, no one would come for him.
It was a strange thought, but yet, it seemed to be working. No one had arrived yet. No humans. No apparitions.
You had a reason in coming here, a part of him said. One beyond death or psychosis, or whatever the hell this is. You were going to save your partner and ex-lover. Do you remember that?
Christian didn’t answer the questions, because to do so might give the world a hint he was awake.
He lay there, eyes open (if he closed them, he would live in darkness, and he didn’t want that either), staring at the ceiling.
Luke stood just outside of Christian’s room. A small window was in the closed door, allowing the house’s owner to observe the people he brought here. Luke stared at Christian through the window, watching him do nothing more than lie in silence.
His eyes were open.
He was breathing.
Yet, he had not moved since Luke came down here an hour ago.
“What are you looking at, Christian?” he whispered.
The talk with Tommy hadn’t disturbed Luke, per se, but he couldn’t deny it had affected him a bit. He was not sorry for what he’d done; that wasn’t possible any longer—not for decades. Yet, he felt … something. It was tough to identify, and Luke really didn’t have time for it. He did not want nor need Tommy’s love or admiration—it wasn’t Tommy’s hate creating these feelings in him.
Staring at Christian, his mind dissected the accusations and descriptions Tommy had spewed. He needed to understand what the issue was before he went in to see Christian. He didn’t want anything in his way during these next few conversations. They were imperative both for Christian’s and his survival, as well as what happened after that.
It’s not Tommy I’m concerned with, Luke thought. His role is necessary. It’s not his dead fiancée, nor the betrayal of his trust.
It’s that he accused me of behaving like God.
Luke’s face remained still as the truth came to him. That’s what this was about, why he felt a bit off. Tommy had accused him of acting like God, hurting people at his own whim without care or even consideration of their wants.
And Tommy was right in that accusation. Luke was behaving like God … and that was perfectly fine. One does not fight guerrilla warfare with the English war methods of the 1600’s. One would surely lose. To get God’s attention, to let him know that his reign would fall, Luke had to make a little bit of noise.
Good observation, though, Tommy, Luke thought. Very astute. Empathetic, even. Almost like Christian.
Luke opened the door to Christian’s room and stepped inside. This had been a strange week, and Luke felt certain he hadn’t yet encountered the strangest part.
Christian heard the door open, shattering the delusion he’d been believing in.
“Hello, Christian.”
He closed his eyes tightly, hoping that perhaps the voice he heard was another apparition—one he could silence by refusing to acknowledge it.
“We find ourselves in a very interesting predicament,” Luke said as he walked to where Christian lay. He stood above him, and when Christian opened his eyes, he saw the damage which had been inflicted.
Luke’s forehead was scraped badly, scabbed over cuts crisscrossing his flesh. His eyes were blackened, and he held his right arm across his stomach, as if trying to protect his ribs from unnecessary movement. Christian had never seen him in such a state, not even after Lucy Speckle got hold of him.
“Do you care?” the other asked. “Is that what you’re feeling? Sympathy for Luke?”
Christian shook his head, though he said nothing.
“Is someone else talking to you, Christian? Is it your negative, the other, as you call him?” Luke asked.
Christian looked up at those black eyes but kept his mouth shut.
“Come, there are more comfortable places to speak.” Luke extended his hand. “We don’t have a lot of time. I’ve been granted a day with you, and after that, our lives are over. Our host’s grace only extends so far.”
“Grab his hand, Christian,” the other said.
The mouth appeared behind Luke, dark clouds flowing from corners that had been clear moments before. It was twice the size of Luke, hanging above him like some twisted and malformed halo.
“No one is in control here. Not you. Not him.”
“Is more than one entity talking to you?” Luke asked.
Christian raised his hand up and his old partner took hold of it, lifting him off the floor.
“Let’s go upstairs. You’ll find the accommodations much nicer.”
Christian followed Luke up the winding staircase.
“You could kill him now,” the other said. “Grab him and throw him backwards. That’s at least 60 steps beneath you. He probably won’t survive.” Christian heard the other’s footsteps falling on the metal steps beneath.
He shook his head again. The other might be right, if Christian could get the jump on Luke. He was weakened, no doubt about it, but it’s not like Christian was in tip top shape, either.
“Is that it?” the mouth asked, floating up through the middle of the circular staircase. It looked at Christian with those huge teeth, ready to bite anything that might challenge it. “Because if you wanted to kill Luke, you had your chance before, no? You’re not in control, Christian. Not of yourself, most of all.”
Christian kept his eyes forward, refusing to grant too much attention to either of the things haunting him.
“Are they talking now, Christian? I’m growing concerned about your wellbeing,” Luke said as he reached the top.
Christian said nothing, taking the last step and joining Luke in a vast living room.
“Will this work? I thought we could sit and talk here for a while.”
“Where’s Veronica and Tommy?” Christian asked, finally forcing the delusions away long enough to remember those he’d lost.
“They’re here. I promise. Veronica was injured a bit in our kidnapping, though ironically, Tommy seems immune to additional injury now. Please, sit down.”
Christian looked at the large, brown leather couch.
I need to focus. I have to force this other nonsense away. It’s the only chance I have of making sure Veronica and Tommy survive.
He thought the words yet his body slowly moved across the living room before sitting down on the couch. The other sat to his right, bleeding and staring straight forward as if waiting on a timeshare pitch. The mouth came too, hovering just over the couch’s left arm.
Luke followed, sitting down in a chair to the right. Windows lined the walls, creating breathtaking views of the world around them. A fireplace resided on the other side of the room, the entire home looking like a rustic hunting cabin.
That’s what this is, Christian thought. A hunting cabin. The animal hunts.
“We’re being watched. I’m not sure if you’ve thought of it yet. You seem to be a bit slower than normal, but I don’t think it’s the doping agent our host used. Christian, why don’t we talk about you for a second, before we talk about what’s to come? What are you seeing?”
Christian’s eyes came to rest on Luke.
“I see you.”
“I don’t think that’s a
ll you see, though.”
“Maybe not. What does that matter to you? You’re the one who put them here.”
“That’s unfair, Christian. You’re just as responsible as I am.”
Christian barked out a high pitched laugh, and jumped slightly at the surprise. He looked at the other, who only kept staring at Luke.
“Don’t lose control,” the other said.
Christian ignored him. “How am I responsible?”
“Christian, you’ve placed the weight of the world on your shoulders since you joined the FBI. You’ve carried around these burdens for years, even when I told you to shrug them off. You could have walked away after Bradley Brown. But you didn’t. You stayed. You may not carry the whole of this responsibility, but you own some of it.”
Christian said nothing, tears flooding his eyes without any input from him.
“Let us not argue about the past, though. Let’s discuss the future.”
“There is no future,” the mouth said.
“It’s right. There is no future,” Christian repeated.
“What is it?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Luke sighed, leaning back in the chair. “Have I gone too far?”
Christian said nothing, not knowing what Luke was talking about. There was too much happening, too many things all vying for his attention.
“No,” Luke said, as if confirming something to himself. “No, you’re bigger than this. We’ll pull it together.” He leaned forward. “I need you to banish whatever is in this room, Christian. Can you do that?”
Christian looked to his left and right, both apparitions still there. The other bled from his eyes, endless tears of red, his face solemn. The mouth stared with those large teeth, an invitation to madness.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Try. It’s important for what’s to come.”
A tear fell from Christian’s eye, rolling fat down his cheek. He looked over Luke’s shoulder and saw his mother. “Remember the dream, Christian. This is what we were trying to tell you. This right here. It’s your only chance.”