The Lover: The Luke Titan Chronicles #3

by David Beers

  The sun was ascending above the neighborhood’s houses. Luke sat in the backseat of a car, the other two agents in the front of the vehicle.

  Luke didn’t need to be at Ms. Mackenrow’s house, and actually thought showing his face there wasn’t a great idea. Seeing Hinson again might create a bit too much stress on the actor and actresses in this play.

  Yet, it wasn’t Luke’s idea to end up in the back of this car, watching a house that held nothing of interest—at least not for Luke. The FBI agents might find the house’s basement a bit interesting, but in reality, those women were barely bit players.

  Luke knew he needed time alone with Christian, but he also knew he wouldn’t get it. All his brain’s power, and he couldn’t figure out where Christian’s strange fear originated from. Every path his mind followed led to only one answer—though it was impossible: Christian Windsor knew Luke was behind all this. He knew Luke had been behind everything.

  That couldn’t be. Nothing had changed. Perhaps the boy did have a nightmare, and maybe that’s all this was.

  But you’re the one sitting in a car doing grunt work, Luke thought. That’s not part of your plan. This is Christian’s plan.

  Or was it God’s? Was this another movement of his hand, trying to rearrange the game’s pieces, giving him yet another unfair advantage?

  Luke was powerful enough to withstand it. His plan would win out, and then … Well, then, Luke would be one step closer to achieving his purpose.

  He pulled out a small notepad from his pocket and began writing another letter.

  For Christian Windsor

  Dear Christian,

  At the beginning of these letters, I said that you would die soon after reading them. A trait that has allowed me to move around this world with such ease, is that I readily adapt to changing circumstances. That is what separates species which die off from those that thrive: the ability to adapt. When you break evolution down, adaptation is its primary essence.

  I don’t want you to die, as your remaining life will be a testament for God. As he looks down from his throne, he’ll see you and know he lost another round between the two of us.

  You’re going to survive this, and so that means I must find a different way to give you these letters. It certainly wouldn’t behoove me to give you them in their current form, as that would ruin all of my detailed planning. Do not fret, though; I will figure it out.

  I told you that my next letter would describe my hate for God, but I’ve also changed my mind on that point. You’re going to live, and I think it appropriate to give you goals while you sit knowing I did what is coming.

  I won’t hide my purpose from you. That will come before this chapter in your life closes. However, the goal I set out for you is to understand why I have this purpose.

  Find out why I hate God, Christian.

  The search may not fill a life, but it’ll help pass the time, I’m sure.

  Yours,

  Luke Titan, MD, PhD, Special Agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigations

  Chapter 24

  Tommy knocked hard on the door.

  “Why don’t we ever ring the doorbell?” Christian said.

  Tommy looked over at his partner. He shook his head and turned back to the door. “I’ll never understand you.”

  Christian said nothing else as the two waited.

  A minute passed with nothing and Tommy knocked again, longer and harder.

  Finally, they heard a lock turn and the door opened. A woman stood before them in a long robe, looking as though she had been up long enough to run a brush through her hair. Her skin was pale, though, and large, dark bags sat beneath her eyes.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Hi, ma’am. We’re with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m Special Agent Thomas Phillips, and this is my partner, Special Agent Christian Windsor. We’d like to speak to you about your ex-husband.”

  “I have to get ready for work right now. I don’t have time.”

  Tommy opened his mouth, ready to say ‘thank you’, fully expecting to be let inside, but instead he stood there staring, unable to find any words.

  “Ms. Mackenrow,” Christian said, taking up the slack, “this is extremely important. Your work will understand your tardiness once you explain to them why you’re late. We think you, and your daughter, are in danger.”

  The woman’s lower lip started shaking. She broke eye contact and looked down at her feet. Tommy saw her swallow, but when she looked back up, the trembling was gone.

  “Ted isn’t a danger to me or my daughter. He loves us both. Now, I really don’t have time to talk as I’m already running late. If there’s something you need from me, you can contact my lawyer.”

  Tommy didn’t need a bright neon sign hanging from the house, flashing TROUBLE, to know things were very, very wrong here.

  “Ms. Mackenrow, you’re acting peculiar,” Tommy said, determined to use as much force as needed to have a conversation with this woman. “We just told you that you and your daughter are in danger, and you’re telling me you’re late for work.” Tommy paused and the next words came out in a low whisper. “Nod if something is wrong here.”

  A blankness spread across the woman’s face, as if someone simply wiped the hard drive of her mind. She didn’t nod and didn’t glance away, either. Tommy saw no tremble, though her pale complexion remained.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’d like you to leave. You can contact my lawyer if you have a problem. His name is Pete Tranch.”

  “Ma’am …,” Tommy began, but watched as the door closed in his face.

  He looked to Christian, who continued staring at the shut door. Neither moved from the stoop.

  “What the fuck?” Tommy whispered.

  “Let’s go,” Christian said. “Now.”

  Christy Mackenrow stood staring at the door she had just closed. The blank stare that had taken over her face disappeared the same moment as the FBI agents. Tears streamed from her eyes now, though she didn’t dare make a sound. She didn’t move for few seconds, only stood there crying.

  Finally, she knew she had to go back to the bedroom. Ted was waiting, and so was Callie.

  She trudged across the house, her feet barely lifting an inch off the ground. She had no idea what was going on, only that she and her daughter were more than ‘in danger’ as the FBI agent put it. They were positively moments from death, and all that mattered was ensuring her daughter remained alive.

  Christy reached the bedroom door and saw Ted on the bed. He held a gun to their daughter’s head. Christy could barely look at Callie, knowing that if she stared too long, she’d completely lose control. Callie’s mouth was taped shut, though Ted hadn’t done that. The other man had. The one from last night who knocked her out before bringing her inside.

  Christy hadn’t heard what the man and Ted spoke about, but when she woke, life was even more precarious than when Ted first arrived.

  Ted had originally told her they were getting back together and then shoved her in that fucking trunk. He’d spent the nights with Callie, apparently treating her well.

  Now, Ted held a gun to Callie’s head.

  “Are they gone?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Go sit in the living room.”

  Christy stared for another second at her daughter. “It’s going to be okay, honey.”

  Callie broke out in a fresh set of tears and Christy hated herself for causing them. She left the room, knowing that if she stayed, Ted would kill his own daughter.

  Ted put the gun on the bed. He stared at it as if it were some malformed animal with two heads and dying in front of him, unable to support the monstrosity of its life.

  It wasn’t his gun.

  It’s not mine, he thought. None of this. This isn’t my fault. It’s not. It’s not. It’s not.

  Callie tried to run, but Ted grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back to the bed.

  “No, honey,” he s
aid, though he didn’t look over at her. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t look at any of this, because … it shouldn’t be happening.

  He wasn’t supposed to be sitting on a bed holding a pistol to his daughter’s head. To Callie’s head.

  Ted knew he could stop it. He could call the police and put an end to everything, but the man from last night made it very clear what would happen if he did. Luke Titan made everything very, very clear to him.

  “I’ve been to your house, Dr. Hinson. I’ve seen what’s inside, though I imagine things might have changed some since then, given that you’re here now. The moment you start thinking I’m not dangerous, and you try to start cleaning up your mess, you’ll be caught. Right now FBI agents are watching your house, and tomorrow, they’ll come to this one.”

  Ted had stared at him, his lower lip quivering as the reality of the situation spilled from the man’s mouth.

  “You had some fun with those women, didn’t you? Sexual fun. Do you know what they do to rapists in jail? I’m sure you do, so I won’t delve in to the dirty details. If you do try cleaning this up, though, you will spend the rest of your days in prison, with men twice your size who hate rapists. But, Dr. Hinson, if you listen to me, you’ll make it out of this without any problems. Your ex-wife … or should I say wife? Either way, she’ll need to die, obviously. Your daughter may live, if you can make sure she stays quiet. If not, she’ll have to go, as well. However, the bright spot in all this is you will make it out alive, and as a free man.”

  Ted focused on that last sentence as he stared at the gun. You will make it out alive, and as a free man.

  He hated himself for it, but that’s all he cared about. He couldn’t go to jail, and he knew Titan was telling the truth. Titan was the FBI.

  “It’ll be okay, honey,” Ted said absently. “It’ll all be okay.”

  Make it out alive, and as a free man.

  He just had to follow Titan’s instructions for a few more hours.

  Chapter 25

  “He’s gotten to her, too,” Tommy said.

  Christian sat in the passenger seat, hearing his partner but not paying attention.

  “We need to get inside.”

  Christian said nothing.

  “Are you listening to me, man? He’s in there with Alice, and that woman and her daughter are being held hostage. There’s no doubt about it.”

  “Tommy,” Christian said, and then paused. He knew his next few words would be hard for Tommy, and for once in Christian’s life, he was measuring his communication before speaking. “I need you to trust me, okay?”

  “Whatever you want to say, get it out now. We don’t have time for pussy-footing around.”

  “I need you to take me home. I need about three hours to myself.”

  “What are you talking about?” Tommy said. “There’s no time for you to go off and start searching your mansion. That man is in there with my fiancée. We’re going in now and we’re going to put a fucking bullet in his head. We’ll figure out our story afterwards, but we’re not waiting around for anything else. Do you understand?”

  Christian looked over at his partner. “In three hours, if I don’t have what I’m looking for, we’ll go in. I promise. You know I don’t care about that. I’m done with the FBI after this. I need three hours, though.”

  “Don’t do this, Christian.” Tommy’s eyes filled with tears. “Not right now. I can’t fucking handle it and we don’t have time.”

  “I’m sorry, but I have to. Do you think I’d ask you this otherwise? If you want Alice back, I need this time. He won’t kill her in three hours. Just pull away from the house and take me home.”

  “YOU DON’T KNOW HE WON’T! HE KNOWS WE’RE AFTER HIM!”

  Christian didn’t look away. “Nothing that is happening makes sense, Tommy. I’ve been so focused on finding Alice that I didn’t think about it before. Hinson took your fiancée? Why? If anything, he would have gone after Luke or me. Not you. It was a stupid theory from the beginning. Something is happening here, but it’s not what we think, and I need time to figure it out.”

  Tommy looked back to the house. He reached up and wiped the tears from his eyes. “If she dies in the next three hours, Christian ….”

  “I know. Trust me, please.”

  Tommy swallowed. “You better be right. You better be goddamn right.”

  “I think I am. One other thing, Tommy?”

  “What?” His partner didn’t look over to him.

  “Don’t answer Luke’s calls, and don’t go near him.”

  Christian waited until Tommy pulled away. He watched the car roll down the road and exit his neighborhood. Christian didn’t have five minutes to spare waiting on an Uber, and he still hadn’t turned in the FBI cruiser he checked out two days ago. He pulled the keys from his pocket and got in the car. Christian only asked Tommy to drop him off here so that he could drive alone.

  It didn’t take long to reach Luke’s house. Christian punched in the gate code and drove the car onto the massive driveway. Luke’s car wasn’t there, so he parked where the Tesla usually resided.

  He stepped from the vehicle and looked at the house. The shades were drawn across the living room; Christian had never seen that before. Luke always kept them open.

  “Why, Luke? Why close them today?” Christian asked the still air. No answer came, just as none had for quite some time.

  How long? he wondered. How long has it been since a real answer came to you?

  But he didn’t need to search for that answer. Since Lucy Speckle. That was the last time he’d been free in his own mind.

  Christian walked to the front door, keys in hand. Luke had trusted him with a key, just as Christian had trusted Luke, and now … what? What was he doing here? He didn’t know precisely, but this didn’t spring from trust—Christian was certain of that.

  He put the key in the lock and turned. The door opened. Luke had no alarm system; nothing could ever touch him—that’s how he looked at life, so why waste money frivolously?

  Christian remained in the foyer. He looked into the kitchen from where he stood, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He turned to the living room and walked to it, as he had so many times before, though, this the first time without Luke.

  He stopped before fully entering, looking at the new addition. A large rug covered nearly the entire floor. Christian stared at it, knowing that Luke would never sully his space with something like this. He prided himself on his design capabilities, even if he didn’t speak of them. Each piece of this house had been carefully selected, especially the hardwood floors.

  Christian walked to the rug’s edge and squatted down. He touched the fabric, immediately knowing that while it had no place here, Luke hadn’t scrimped on cost. It was thick, and soft to the touch—something he’d like to walk across barefoot.

  “Why is this here?” he wondered.

  “Why are you here?” his mother said. She stood on the rug, a few feet in front of him. Christian looked up at her, but she said nothing else.

  That was the question: why had he come here?

  Because of his dream. The top floor that his mind would no longer hold back, forcing it on Christian through his dreams. He still hadn’t gone to it, though he’d have to very soon. He had asked for three hours and that’s all Tommy would give him.

  Who was behind Alice’s investigation? From the beginning, it had been Luke. He took control, as Tommy was too emotional—even if he didn’t show it.

  And what had Luke told him about Ted Hinson? He gave Christian permission to kill the man, to do whatever his heart desired. He cloaked it in faith, but the reality was Luke had said to kill if Christian wanted. And he nearly had.

  What about Hinson’s ex-wife? Who said they would handle her first? Luke. Only no one had been home. Except what happened when they finally arrived at the door? Mackenrow was there, answering the door. She’d oscillated between being a nervous wreck and a zombie freshly risen from death. They w
ent to her house after Luke suggested it, and that’s what they found. What if Christian had thought about her first, though? Would the same thing have played out?

  Where was Luke when Alice went missing?

  Where was Tommy? Chasing Christian down in front of Ted Hinson’s lawn.

  He pulled his cell phone out and called Tommy.

  “Are you ready?” his partner answered.

  “Not yet. Soon. I need you to tell me the truth now, Tommy. Alice’s life may depend on it. Did Luke tell you I was going to Hinson’s house the other night? Or did you figure it out on your own?”

  “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

  “Just answer me,” Christian said. His voice was calm, his free hand still rubbing the soft rug.

  “He told me. We’d been watching you for a few days. He said you would do it soon. What does that matter? What’s it have to do with Alice?”

  “Two more hours, Tommy. Just two.”

  Christian hung the phone up and then turned it off. He didn’t want any interruptions.

  Luke had lied to him.

  Not quite, he thought, his mind replaying what Luke had said: he wouldn’t tell anyone, not until the time is right.

  Always so careful with your words. Whose time is the question? Yours or mine?

  Christian stood and walked across the rug to the couch. He sat down, finally ready to see what resided at the top of his mansion.

  Christian first headed to Luke’s room. His mind had built it near the first two psychopaths’, as that’s when he first met Luke. A sign hung from the doorknob, a metal string hooking through two holes on either side. It read, “Relocated to top floor. Sorry for any inconvenience.” Christian would have laughed if he wasn’t so frightened.

  He made his way to the staircase and started climbing. The stairs went much higher than the last time he was actually here (but you’ve been up them before, even if not consciously, he thought). Finally he reached the top; there were no more steps to take and he could ascend no higher. Christian’s dream had been accurate—the painting of Luke hung from the ceiling above, massive and stretching over the entire floor. Christian focused on the eyes, and sure enough, they looked back at him.