by David Beers
The man didn’t move. His eyes were watering and his lower lip quivering. Christian had to ask now, before Ranger broke completely.
“That night, in Brown’s house, did Luke Titan have anything to do with it? Did he help Brown at all?”
A tear fell from the man’s eye and onto his wrinkled, pale face. His lip kept quivering, but he didn’t move. Seconds passed, perhaps a full minute, but Christian didn’t budge. He held the man’s stare in a way that he’d never done before in his life.
The man nodded. Christian stared for a few more seconds, but Ranger didn’t stop. His head kept going up and down, at first hardly moving, then more vigorously.
“I’ll be back.” Christian stood and flew from the room. He did glance behind once, though, before exiting. The old man was still nodding.
Tommy saw the unmarked FBI car parked further down the neighborhood road. Luke had parked at least a hundred yards away. Tommy did no such thing; he parked next to the curb, already pulling his phone out.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m inside. I … You need to see this,” Luke said.
“Is she in there?” Tommy’s hands shook, but he didn’t exit the car. He could barely hold the phone to his ear, but he had to hear the answer before he went inside. He needed to know what he would see.
“No. Get in here, Tommy. Now.”
He hung the phone up, dropping it in the seat. Tommy got out of the car, unholstered his weapon, and ran across the yard. He paused for a second as he reached the stoop, positioning the pistol so that he was ready to fire.
He opened the door and saw the same small foyer from earlier this morning.
“Luke!”
“I’m in the bedroom.”
Tommy walked into the living room, his gun still raised.
Ted Hinson sat on the couch. He was shaking worse than Tommy had been in the car. Tears streamed down his face, his eyes red and swollen. Tommy stepped further into the room, forgetting about Luke.
“Where is she?” Tommy said. “Where’s Alice?”
The man’s whole body started shuddering, as if he sat in the middle of a blizzard. Tommy took another step forward, both anger and fear rising in him—twirling around and up, like thick threads braiding with one another and moving from his gut to his head.
“WHERE’S MY GODDAMN FIANCÉE?” he screamed, spit flying from his mouth.
Tommy heard nothing, not until the last footfall moved behind him.
He felt something in the center of his neck, a single brilliant flash of pain, gone as quickly as it had occurred. He wanted to look down, but found he couldn’t.
Then, Tommy collapsed to the floor, his body completely losing all ability to function. He tried to get up, to roll over, to do anything, but his body wouldn’t respond. He lay there on his side, unmoving, with only his eyes listening to his commands.
Luke walked into his field of vision. Tommy saw the ice pick, a long metal thing hanging from his hand.
“Hey, partner,” Luke said.
Tommy tried to speak, but only managed to leak spit from his lips. It slid down the side of his face.
“I want to show you something,” Luke said.
He reached down and grabbed Tommy’s arms. He pulled him deeper into the living room, Tommy’s body flopping over onto its back like a rag doll. He felt nothing, not Luke’s grip nor the floor beneath him.
I’m paralyzed, he thought almost calmly. Luke stabbed me and now I’m paralyzed.
Luke dropped Tommy’s arms and they remained lying above his head, as straight as pencils.
He reached down and turned Tommy’s face so that he stared at Ted Hinson.
“Now, beyond Mr. Hinson there’s a dining room. Can you see it?”
Tommy focused and saw what Luke was talking about. A small girl lay with her head on the table, and Christy Mackenrow was slumped halfway down a chair, blood covering her face.
“To the left,” Luke said.
Tommy’s eyes moved slightly to the left.
He stared at Alice, the back of her head a mess of destruction.
“I think you see it, Tommy. Good. Now we wait for Christian.”
Christian dialed Tommy’s number twenty times before giving up and throwing his phone across the car. It crashed into the window, bouncing off and hitting the seat next to him.
His car was reaching its limits in terms of speed. The speedometer read 130, and though he pressed the pedal to the floor, the needle wasn’t moving.
Christian’s mind flashed through possibilities, but he shoved them away. He only had one thing to consider now: should he call for backup? Either Tommy had gone into Mackenrow’s home and done something he needed to clean up, or Luke had gotten hold of him. Yet, if Tommy had killed Hinson, then he’d answer the phone.
Which he wasn’t doing, and that left only one other option: Luke had him.
The phone rang from the other seat. Christian reached for it, the car swerving dangerously as he did. He put the phone to his ear without looking at the caller ID.
“Tommy?”
“No,” Luke said. “Tommy’s here, but he’s unable to use the phone right now.”
“Why?” Christian said, tears pricking his eyes like hot needles.
“We’ll discuss all of that very soon. Come over to Ms. Mackenrow’s. Call the other FBI agents and tell them to keep away from it. I’m sure you can think of a reason.”
Christian said nothing, only burned with rage so hot he thought his skin might melt the phone.
“Christian, don’t bring anyone else. Enough people have died. Let’s not make an undertaker rich today.”
The phone line went dead. Christian let it drop and it tumbled to his lap. He brought both hands up to the steering wheel, gripping it until his hands were white.
He should call for backup. He had to, regardless of what Luke said. He knew that was the smart move.
He glanced in the rearview mirror. His mother sat in the backseat, as did Melissa. When Christian looked to his right, he saw the other—blood streaming down his face. His mother and Melissa looked at him through the rearview mirror, but the other only stared forward.
“He’ll kill you, honey, if you don’t call someone,” his mom said.
“You need to think with your head here, not your emotions,” Melissa said.
“Luke tried to kill everyone you love. He’s played you and Tommy for fools, and wrecked your life. You may not be able to kill Hinson, but you can kill Luke,” the other said. “If you go alone. If not, someone else will get him … or, they’ll arrest him.”
Christian didn’t reach for the phone, but rather gripped the steering wheel harder, and continued racing down the highway.
Chapter 28
This was a mess, no doubt about it. God had really played his hand well, but Luke still had better cards. You can play a hand great, but if the other player knew what he was doing, you couldn’t beat a great hand.
Tommy lay on the couch. Luke had stymied the blood flow, though it wasn’t too terribly bad. He had placed the ice pick perfectly, severing Tommy’s spinal cord from his brain, but not doing any real internal damage. Luke’s medical doctorate was paying dividends in ways his professors probably never imagined.
Luke had moved the three dead bodies into a semicircle around the couch, each occupying the dining room chairs. Alice had the middle seat, of course, right where Tommy could see her.
Luke stood at the living room window. The blinds were half open, though his body shielded what lay inside. After rearranging everyone in the living room, he had gone outside and moved his vehicle, ensuring that someone would have to walk up the driveway to see the bodies.
It was all a mess, indeed.
Everything would be finished soon, though Luke was beginning to think God might have a slight win here. Not 100%, but a moral victory none-the-less.
There were too many bodies, and calls would be made soon. Perhaps not by anyone in this room, or even Christian
, but Waverly? Yes, the Director would be checking in, and when he couldn’t get ahold of anyone? That would be a problem.
Still, maybe it was salvageable. Everyone in here would need to die, though Luke had no qualms about that. The qualms lay with Christian’s death. Luke didn’t want him to die anymore, but it might be unavoidable.
He had set upon this endeavor with a specific goal in mind, and if Christian died today, Luke may continue his FBI rise—but the main goal wouldn’t be accomplished. Plus, there was Veronica Lopez to consider; if Luke killed everyone off, she would be left. Veronica would suffer greatly from Christian’s loss, but that wasn’t her punishment. Hers would be death.
Luke’s jaw muscles flexed as he bit down; this battle was not with God, but himself. Trying to decide what he really wanted.
In the long term.
Christian parked the car right next to the curb. Too many vehicles were in the driveway—the third an undercover car from the FBI.
Christian stepped outside and walked across the street to Tommy’s car. He looked in the windows but saw nothing. He took his weapon out and held it next to his leg, then looked over the car’s hood at the house. Luke stood at the window, the blinds partly open. His face was … different. No smile, and not even his usual calm.
He’s concentrating.
Christian didn’t raise his weapon at Luke; he wasn’t a good enough shot to hit him from this distance—and if he missed, Luke would move quickly to kill whoever might still be alive. Christian walked up the driveway, and as he passed the FBI cruiser, he saw two bodies lying across the backseat. Agents that had been sent to save Alice. Their throats were cut and blood covered nearly the entire interior.
Christian found he wasn’t surprised that Luke had driven it here in that condition. In Luke’s mind, nothing could touch him.
“Maybe nothing can, honey. Maybe you should get back in your car and call for backup.” His mother spoke from behind him, sounding calm as she always did.
He said nothing to the false image, but continued walking up the driveway.
The door was open and he stepped inside, closing it behind him.
I’m going to die today, he thought. By a hand that I once loved. No panic or fear. No hope either. Perhaps that’s what serenity was made of.
“In here, Christian,” Luke said.
He walked across the foyer and stopped in the living room. He saw Tommy lying across the couch, on his stomach, though much of him was blocked by the three bodies sitting around him.
Bodies. That’s what they are, because people are alive, and they’re not.
His eyes looked over the room and he saw Ted Hinson sitting at the fireplace. He wasn’t bound, not even his mouth taped. His arms were wrapped around his knees, which were folded to his chest, and he rocked back and forth. He didn’t look up at Christian or Luke, but only stared down at the carpet. Tears had been running down his face—his red eyes and salt stained cheeks spoke that loudly enough—but the tears had stopped.
A shell, Christian thought. And that’s all he ever was. That’s what you were willing to go to prison for, a shell of a human being—little more than the bodies to your left.
No, another piece of him responded. You were going to kill him to keep anyone else from dying.
Maybe. Christian didn’t know anymore.
His eyes finally found Luke.
“I imagine this is a bit shocking for you,” his partner said. “I’d like to have a palaver before we close this chapter on our lives, if that’s okay with you?”
Christian’s hands shook, and the gun at his side shook with it. He could level the thing and fire, but what were the chances he’d hit anything besides a wall, even this close? It would be like someone with Parkinson’s trying to shoot.
“I’d ask Tommy to join us, but he’s not able to move.” Luke didn’t look over to Tommy, though Christian did. Tommy’s stared back at him, rage living in his eyes like a bright, red fire.
“Yes, he’s very upset,” Luke said, “but there’s not much he can do about it. I know you’re upset, too, but you can still act on those emotions. It’s a gift, isn’t it?”
He met Luke’s eyes.
“The kitchen?” Luke asked. He walked toward Christian, and Christian instinctively backed up. Luke didn’t pause but went into the foyer, Christian watching him move to the kitchen. Luke paused at the entrance, then turned around. “Sorry, I forgot something.”
He went back to the living room, passing by Christian again, and to the fireplace. He unholstered his weapon leisurely. Ted Hinson never looked up. Luke squeezed the trigger and Hinson’s head painted the fireplace red and gray. “There.” Luke set the gun down neatly on the brick next to Hinson’s fallen body. “I’ve unarmed myself. I don’t expect you to do the same.”
He passed by Christian once again and entered the kitchen.
Christian looked at Tommy. He nodded, hoping the message was clear: I’ll kill him. For everything he did, I’ll kill him today.
He looked down at his hands and watched them continue shaking. He closed his eyes and swallowed. Christian had to get control of himself if he was going to make good on that message. He had to be able to aim and fire the damned weapon.
He opened his eyes and followed Luke into the kitchen. Luke was leaning against the sink, as he’d done so many times in his own house.
“I could make coffee, but this may not be the best time. I don’t want my back to you.” Luke smiled. It looked sad, as if he was sorry for everything that had happened.
No. He’s sorry that it all has to end.
“You can kill me now, or we can talk. You can trust I will be truthful, though I’ve always been so with you. I know you think I’ve lied, and probably would point to the living room as evidence. I didn’t lie, Christian. You just refused to see. However, I’ll speak plainly, starting with this: your best chance of leaving here alive is to kill me now. If you wait, your chances decrease.”
Christian didn’t believe that whatsoever. His hands hadn’t settled yet, but they would and his aim turn truer. His shaking hands weren’t all that kept him from raising his pistol, though.
He wanted to hear what Luke had to say.
And haven’t you always? Haven’t his words held you in their trance since the moment you met him? His intelligence rivals your own, and in that, you thought you found kin.
“Why?” Christian asked, his lips barely moving.
Luke gave a single, silent laugh—his chest hitching only once. He looked down to his feet, as if totally in control of the situation. He didn’t care at all that Christian held a pistol and he had nothing but a bloody, three-piece suit.
“I told you I believe in God … I understand his purpose, Christian,” Luke said, not looking up from his leather shoes. “It is order. Everything in the universe is constantly trying to create disorder—stars exploding, asteroids colliding with planets. The very fact of the universe’s continual expansion shows its defiance of his will. Death and disorder is the way of the universe. God prefers life and order.” Luke did look up then, and his brown eyes were as hard as sun baked brick. “Life for some. Death for others. But death is on his terms, not our own.”
Luke walked over to the kitchen window, and pulled the blinds up, letting in sunlight. It cast his shadow dark behind him.
“The people I’ve been accused of killing, primarily by Veronica, all died at my hands. They served a greater purpose, though. My purpose. And that is simple, to create more disorder in this world than any human ever has.” He turned around, the sunlight casting his face in semi-darkness. Christian didn’t know that purpose could be personified, but he saw it in the man before him. “You are a tool in that disorder. The creation of it. I’m not sure I could have met a more perfectly shaped tool than you, Christian. Things have changed, though, and I must recognize that. You won’t be let loose in the same way that I had hoped, but all is not lost. Indeed, the room behind you is full of disorder, and God certainly finds
it an affront.”
“You’re insane,” Christian said.
Luke actually laughed, a deep one that came from his stomach and filled the room. It would have been pleasant if not for the blood soaking his clothes—instead, it was horrific.
Luke spoke when his laugh died, though the smile remained across his face. “Insanity is praying to such a being, wishing that he would look after you when it’s clear he doesn’t care in the slightest. The order he wants is only his order, while the universe wishes for something completely different. He rules this world like a tyrant and people beg at his table for crumbs.” Luke’s voice changed into a mocking child. “Please, sir, help me pay this bill. Please, Lord, let me make it to work on time. God, will you please help me find my car keys?”
Luke laughed again, and Christian knew it to be real—not a facade. Luke found the prayers of desperate people humorous.
“It really is a joke. The greatest thing humanity could do would be to reject God, and do everything in its power to create the disorder he holds such disdain for.”
“Tommy ….” Christian shook his head, looked at the floor, and paused for a few seconds. His next words were a whisper. “Tommy is paralyzed, and you’re saying it’s to get back at God? Do you understand that’s crazier than anything we’ve come across? You’re mad, Luke. Helplessly insane.”
“This is the first step on your path to enlightenment. You first must hear the word before you can understand it.”
Christian looked up. “And what did you expect from me? To turn into a serial killer?”
“At first, no. At first, I thought you would die after having done some horrible actions. I changed my mind the more I got to know you, though, Christian. A serial killer? Perhaps, but that would have been a side effect. No, you were to be a growing cancer inside the FBI. Tommy and I would have helped, of course. Covering up your misdeeds. Eventually someone would catch on, or Tommy wouldn’t be able to take it anymore, and then your mind would have had to create more disorder.”