The Lover: The Luke Titan Chronicles #3

by David Beers

  So, he had done the only logical thing: he put cameras and microphones in Christian’s house. It had been easy enough, placing them in each room. He put the cameras where they gave him maximum visibility, but wouldn’t be found without a serious scan of the house. He placed more microphones, hiding them in vents and other out of the way places. He wanted to hear everything that was said in Christian’s home.

  For the past few years, nothing of importance happened. The brief dating between Veronica and Christian created conversation, but nothing substantial. Luke never spied on their intimate times, though; everyone needed some privacy. Of course, Luke heard Christian’s conversations with his mother—though their frequency had decreased greatly in the past few months.

  Last night, though, had been filled with a tremendous amount of information.

  All of it useful.

  Luke listened to Christian cry and watched as Veronica consoled him. He waited through that, and then listened more as they spoke.

  He had to be careful with Veronica. He hadn’t realized that before last night, because he underestimated the power she held over Christian. Luke knew how much she loved the boy, but Christian’s reciprocation of the feeling was perhaps magnified.

  Luke didn’t worry; he only needed to be careful. Veronica Lopez might have the power to bring Christian out of his winter, allowing rays of sunshine and warmth into the icy landscape he now lived in. Luke just had to make sure that didn’t happen.

  Today, Luke was out of the office and in the Georgia sunshine. He stood next to his car, parked on North Story Road. In a very rare move for him, he took off his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves, allowing the sun to hit his arms. Sitting inside his office all day, he enjoyed when he could finally absorb some Vitamin D.

  He looked down at his phone and hit call, putting the phone to his ear.

  “Terry College of Business. How may I direct your call?”

  “Ted Hinson, please.”

  “Certainly, one second,” the receptionist said.

  Luke listened to the hold music for a moment, then heard Dr. Hinson’s voice on the line.

  “Ted Hinson.”

  Luke ended the call and placed the phone back in his pocket.

  He looked across the street to Dr. Hinson’s house. The neighborhood was older, but very nice. Expensive, if not rising to Luke’s level.

  Luke crossed the street and up the walkway to the front door. He reached into his pocket as he reached it, pulling out the two thin utensils he needed to gain entrance. As he had done when he killed John Presley, invisible glue sat on Luke’s fingertips, masking his fingerprints. He brought nothing else, though, as he only planned on observing.

  He turned around and looked over the street for a second, his eyesight nearly that of a bird of prey. He saw every minute detail across the landscape, his mind looking for any movement at all—especially from inside other houses.

  The only thing he saw were insects living out their lives on perfectly kept lawns.

  Luke turned back and stuck the utensils in the door’s deadbolt. It only took seconds for them to click home. He placed the tools back in his pocket and turned the doorknob, then walked inside Ted Hinson’s home.

  The lights were off, but Luke saw everything perfectly. He took in the smell of the house. Somewhere in here was sweat and dirt. Blood, too. He could smell their traces, and the emotions each carried—primarily fear—moving across the air conditioned foyer.

  Luke went through the house like a ghoul, making no noise and leaving no trace. The smells led him to a locked door. Other rooms resided on the hallway, but what he wanted to see wasn’t inside them. No, the dirt, sweat, and fear all rested behind this door. A padlock was attached to a small clasp, confirming Luke’s thought that Mr. Hinson held something valuable inside.

  Luke pulled his utensils from his pocket again, working them into the padlock. Once it was open, he removed it, then opened the door. He immediately saw a staircase and took the first step down, closing the door behind him. He didn’t walk further, though, letting his senses take in the staircase and room beneath.

  He heard people breathing, and from the patterns, he thought there were six women below. Mr. Hinson hadn’t even paused; he simply went ahead and kidnapped another woman.

  Once Luke’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he walked down the stairs, stopping just before he reached the floor. Luke’s eyes saw more in darkness than other people’s, though not as much as nocturnal animals—much to his chagrin. His retinas could pick up very small amounts of light, allowing him to see great detail.

  He didn’t step onto the floor, because he didn’t want the women seeing too much of him.

  A white woman sat about ten feet from him, chained to the wall. Luke looked to his right, and saw another woman, black. As he looked further, he saw one more—a larger gap between her and the black woman than the first two. Even Luke couldn’t see into the rest of the room, though. The women on the other side were hidden from him, though he heard their breathing.

  Their breath’s pace had increased at least four-fold since he descended the stairs. He couldn’t hear their heartbeats, but knew they had probably doubled.

  He looked at the floor beneath the black woman and saw traces of blood. Stained, though Luke could smell the remnants of bleach which had been used to clean it up.

  The black woman’s face was bruised, her right eye nearly shut. Blood crusted her nose as well.

  The stain wasn’t from her. Mr. Hinson wasn’t concerned with his victim’s cleanliness, at least not from what Luke could see.

  “Ted?” the woman directly in front of Luke said. “Is that you?”

  It confirmed they couldn’t see him, which was good.

  Luke walked back up the stairs, opened the door, and went into the main house. He made his way through the hallway, checking the rooms like a person hoping to buy the place. He found the master bedroom, entering it and stopping as he looked it over. He could smell Hinson. The other women, too. Hinson had brought them here.

  And what? Do you fuck them, Mr. Hinson, or do you make love? What do you call it?

  Luke went to the bathroom and looked through the medicine cabinet. The usual staples of Tylenol and shaving necessities. He saw no trace of antidepressants or other medications.

  “Perhaps they might help,” Luke said with a smile.

  He went to the living room. The entire house was neatly kept. The furniture well picked, though not what Luke would have done. Taste could run a gamut, however.

  “This is good, Dr. Hinson. This will work just fine,” Luke said to the empty room.

  Two and a half weeks had passed since Christian last saw Melissa.

  She opened her office door and motioned for him to enter. “How are you?” she said as he passed.

  Christian said nothing in return, just went and sat on his corner of the couch.

  “That’s a nice entry,” Melissa said.

  “I’m about as well as I was last time, though probably worse if I really stop and think about it.”

  “Thinking is overrated,” she said, smiling. “Except for one thing, did you think about the question I asked you last time? What do you want to get out of this?”

  Christian had known she would begin with it, and he had thought about it. A lot. When he left here over two weeks ago, he believed Melissa would tell him soon that their sessions needed to stop. Perhaps she would recommend someone else, or maybe she would let him go into the world alone. She, of course, didn’t know about the FBI assigned psychologist yet. That might even make the whole thing a bit easier.

  “I don’t know what I want anymore, Melissa, and that’s the truth. I used to. I used to be almost singularly focused on what I wanted in life and what I wanted in here. I started coming so that you could help me relate to people better. I used to want to make people’s lives better. Now, though, I don’t know if either of those are true.”

  “Why are you confused?”

  “I’m
being pulled in two directions. I don’t know, I guess people always have a choice, don’t they? Whether you do what’s right or wrong. What you want or what is better for someone else. I don’t think I ever really saw life in those terms before, but now, I have two options: to do what is right or to do what I want.”

  “I’m not understanding, Christian. Are you talking about Veronica?” Melissa said.

  “Yes and no.” He looked down at his feet. “There’s someone kidnapping women. He’s taking them from multiple states, and I know who he is. I don’t have any evidence, though, and Waverly ordered me to drop it.”

  “I see.”

  “Luke, though—in a way only he could—suggested that I ignore Waverly. He thinks I should keep going after this man if I really believe he’s kidnapping women.”

  “Luke did?” Melissa’s eyebrows rose.

  Christian nodded.

  “He’s telling you to break the law?”

  “I wouldn’t necessarily be breaking any laws, only directives from my boss.”

  “What did you think when Luke first said that? Not right now, but your first reaction,” Melissa asked.

  “I thought he was right. I still think he’s right.” He looked at his psychiatrist. “If that man is killing people, and I can stop him, why shouldn’t I? Because someone who has an imaginary title told me differently? On a person by person level, the only control he has over me is what I grant him, and I only grant it because of that invented title: FBI Director.”

  “Our world is built on titles, Christian. From policeman to plumbers. All of our positions allow the world to keep running. If you just start ignoring them, and do what you want … Society will push back.”

  “You asked what I thought,” Christian said.

  “Fair enough. Maybe I should ask what you plan to do?”

  “Waverly assigned me to a psychologist,” Christian said, ignoring Melissa’s question.

  Her eyebrows rose again. “He did?”

  Christian nodded. “He’s concerned about my mental stability, apparently.”

  “So you’re cheating on me?” Melissa said, a slight smirk on her face.

  “No need to be jealous. I lie to him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I tell the truth, I’m not sure I’ll be working at the FBI much longer,” Christian said.

  “But you’re not telling the truth in here, either, are you? Not the whole of it.”

  “I’m not sure I know the truth any longer.”

  Christian left Melissa’s office, lighting a cigarette as soon as he hit the building’s front door. He was tired of talking to people. So many, all the time, each one wanting to know the same things—everyone except Luke. He was the only person that held a different opinion (prerogative, another part of Christian said, though it was whispered and barely, if at all, heard).

  Christian took a drag on the cigarette, not slowing down at the smoking area. He had grabbed one of the FBI vehicles this morning and was planning on finishing the cigarette inside, despite regulations.

  Christian rarely drove, but he was done talking with people. He wasn’t going back into his mansion. Luke was right, and Christian had said as much to Melissa, even if she didn’t think he would act on it. He was going to, though. Christian decided last night that Hinson must be stopped.

  Christian opened the car door and got inside, starting the vehicle and then rolling down the windows. He blew the cigarette smoke outside.

  He wasn’t going to think about Veronica today, or what happened between them last night. He couldn’t begin processing that right now. When he woke this morning and she was still next to him, he kissed her lips briefly before leaving for work. That’s all he could give her right now, until this was done.

  Christian had decided something else after they had made love.

  His career was over. That made the Hinson issue much easier, because Waverly firing him didn’t matter. Christian wouldn’t quit until Ted Hinson was apprehended. Or dead. Christian didn’t care which. Only, this route meant he was done at the FBI.

  Christian drove the cruiser from Atlanta to Athens, Georgia. It was a smallish college town; a lot of money lived around it, and the poverty was contained in a three neighborhood area locals called The Iron Triangle. Pizza shops wouldn’t even deliver inside it.

  Christian had done his research over the past few nights, learning everything he could about Ted Hinson and the college he worked at.

  Ted Hinson was divorced with a daughter; both his ex-wife, Christy, and daughter, Callie, lived in Athens, too. The mother had primary custody and from what Christian gathered, Ted didn’t try to fight it much. A much more detailed report on Hinson resided in Christian’s mind, but he wouldn’t go to it. He didn’t want to know this man, and he had no need for huge, logical leaps in the case—Christian knew Hinson’s address.

  He parked the vehicle across from Ted Hinson’s house, not knowing that Luke had done the same thing only hours before. He didn’t cross the street as Luke had, though. He didn’t even exit the car, instead just looked at the house; he’d seen it on Google Maps the previous night, but wanted to see it in person.

  Two stories, with a well attended lawn. A large porch with white rocking chairs adorned the open space. It looked like the perfect upper middle class, suburban home. Except for the five or more women imprisoned inside. Dead or chained up. Maybe a bit of both.

  The two windows on the second story stared out at him like eyes, as if they knew what he was doing in their neighborhood and didn’t like it.

  This is our place, and you’re not welcome. Go away, lawman. Go away, you pseudo-priest. You bring only false righteousness and this house will not tolerate it. We will not stop.

  Christian heard the house speaking, it’s voice filling up the car.

  Is this a delusion? Christian wondered. Is this what Dr. Hanson is afraid of?

  Because he wasn’t imagining the house speaking to him. He actually heard it.

  Then leave, lawman. Go home where you can’t hear us speak anymore. Leave us be.

  Christian thought he should feel fear, fear something, but he only stared at the talking house with an odd indifference. Perhaps he was hallucinating, or maybe this was another piece of his extrasensory perception. Neither mattered, though. He had something to do and when he finished, he didn’t think much would matter anymore.

  So let the house talk. Let everything talk.

  Christian was focused.

  He rolled the window up and drove down the road. He had another stop to make before finishing the day. Christian drove across town (the length of Athens a little more than ten miles) and parked his car in front of Christy Mackenrow’s house. Hinson’s ex.

  No vehicles sat in the driveway, just like Hinson’s home.

  Christian listened, but this house didn’t speak. It silently looked over its yard.

  Christian got out of the car and slowly walked across the street and up the driveway. He went to the front door, placing his hand on the knob, though he didn’t turn it.

  Christian closed his eyes.

  He focused on the cold metal beneath his hand. He stood like that for a few seconds, listening to the neighborhood’s silence, and the soft creaks from inside the house.

  Finally, he opened his eyes and returned to his car.

  One more place to go.

  Christian sat on a bench in what the University called North Campus. It was beautiful, even to Christian’s poor sense of design and taste. Buildings surrounded the inner quad, which held green grass, white concrete walkways, as well as fountains.

  Christian sat on a stone bench and looked at the building on the quad’s opposite side.

  Ted Hinson worked in it and would exit shortly, done for the day. Christian wore a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses. He didn’t want to be seen; Waverly couldn’t know about this, and if Hinson spotted him, lawyers would be on the phone within the hour.

  Christian wanted one last look at t
he man, though, before he started in earnest. Luke had been right, even if no one else thought so. Faith. What else did Christian have anymore, besides faith in his own mind? Nothing. He’d thrown the rest away. Now, his world was his mind, and to not trust it, to not put faith in it, was like having no world at all.

  Waverly would learn that Christian was right, and then he could be done with Christian—publicly if needed. Christian didn’t care.

  Hinson walked out of the building. A messenger bag hung over his shoulder and he took a right once he reached the bottom of the stairs. Christian stood from his bench and started following. The sun shone down across the quad, though it was fading as the day grew long. Hinson didn’t look back, but kept walking further north.

  Christian wondered whether he would walk home, drive, or take the bus. He couldn’t imagine someone like Hinson getting on a bus with the city’s riffraff. His house was only about a mile away, so with weather like this, the chances were high that he walked. Which Christian preferred. He would only have this chance to be near Hinson. The next time, the man would be detained or dead.

  Why do you want to be next to him? the other asked from inside his head, not making an appearance.

  Christian gave no answer. He didn’t need the other; his mind was made up and anyone else’s input might only confuse him.

  It’s Veronica, isn’t it? That’s the reason you decided to go forward. Because last night you realized a life with no one isn’t a life at all. That’s sweet, Christian. It really is and I’m sure she’d certainly appreciate the sentiment. The problem, as I see it, though, is that you’re not going to be able to come back. Not fully. Not to whom she first fell in love with. She fucked you last night, but how well does she know you now, Christian? How well does your mother? Luke’s winter is real and you’re deep inside it, with snow storming all around you. You can’t see a path out, even if you want to imagine you can. That’s the real delusion.

  Christian ignored the speech. He looked ahead at Hinson, memorizing his gait. The man didn’t look at the stunning buildings surrounding him; perhaps he’d seen them too many times to take notice. Or perhaps he had other thoughts on his mind. Thoughts about what was waiting at home.