The Titan's Empire (Heinous Crimes Unit Book 6), page 5
Luke stops speaking and Christian knows he has bastardized the liturgy. He should have said: it will be shed for you and for many, so that sins may be forgiven. Do this in remembrance of me.
Luke offers the chalice and Christian finds that he has control of his body. He looks up at Luke, whose brown eyes shine back.
“We are fully free. Take the covenant, Christian.”
Christian nods a slight acknowledgment. He gently grasps the chalice and brings the red liquid to his lips, pausing to breathe in its aroma. It does not smell of wine, but of blood, coppery and metallic.
“Drink my blood, Christian. The blood of the new and everlasting covenant.”
Christian lifts the chalice and drinks, ignoring the thick taste that fills his mouth. He keeps lifting it, pouring the blood down his throat. He pulls it away from his face, blood smeared across his lips, his tongue a deep, dark red.
He offers the chalice back to Luke.
His ex-partner takes it and smiles. “To your soul, Christian.”
Luke drinks deeply.
The television shut off and Christian was back on the high-backed chair on Luke’s floor.
His hands darted to his lips to wipe away the blood he could still feel coating them. There was nothing on his face, but he tasted the viscous liquid in his throat. He couldn’t get rid of it, even if it never actually happened.
Christian turned around expecting to see the Other.
No one was there. The broken floor was empty of everything but the wreckage of the place that used to teach him things, that used to hold the secrets to Luke. Now it held nothing but broken walls and a shredded painting.
It was odd, missing the Other. For years, he had turned around from this chair and heard the Other’s thoughts on what they had just watched.
“Where are you?” he called into the room.
No answer came back, just silence.
Christian sank into the chair. He swallowed, the taste of blood heavy in his mouth. He had come here to find ways to kill Luke, and yet he’d been given communion. He’d been asked to join an everlasting covenant and he had accepted it.
Don’t shirk from this, he thought. Not like before. What does it mean?
The answer was simple, needing no genius to understand it. The body of Christ, the blood of Christ. Yet it wasn’t Christ he’d eaten, nor drank. It was Luke. The covenant was with him.
By going to Mexico, by doing this, he would lose his soul.
Christian sighed.
“Stop being scared,” he told himself. “There is no soul to lose. Tell me what I need to know. Tell me what I came here for.”
The television flashed on again.
Christian is standing at the edge of a lake. The sun beats down like a detonated nuclear bomb roaring in the sky. Christian is sweating. A single boat sits in the lake. A small canoe.
Someone is in it, but Christian can’t make out the details from here. The boat is unmoving, not giving off a single ripple into the surrounding water.
Christian turns from the lake and looks at the surrounding fields. Thousands of people sit in front of him. He cannot see their end. The crowd seems to stretch forever. They are staring at him as if they are expecting something.
He looks at the faces in the front, thirty feet or so from him. He knows some of the people.
Bradley Brown is sitting on a blue blanket next to his mother. A bloody, ragged stump protrudes from her shoulders and her head is in her hands, its eyeless holes staring at him.
Christian glances beyond them and sees Lucy Speckle. Her throat is slit wide open, the skin sagging and blood still pumping out as if her heart has not received the message that she is dead. She is alone, just as she was in life.
He keeps going and spots Tommy beside his fiancée, Alice. There is a hole in her forehead, but she holds herself up fine. Tommy is lying on the grass, the gash across his throat done with more precision. He isn’t bleeding like Speckle. His skin is waxy and pale.
Christian shuts his eyes, blocking out the people. He doesn’t want to see any more of his past.
“They’ve come to be fed, Christian.”
His head whips to the side and he sees Luke standing next to him. He is in a tunic like Jesus might have worn. It’s pure white, hanging loosely off him.
“You must feed them. I cannot do it,” Luke says.
“I have nothing for them,” Christian says without turning away from Luke. He would do anything not to see the dead gathered before him.
“You have yourself. Why not let them eat you?”
“But…” Christian trails off, thrown by the suggestion.
“They’ve come to eat. We must feed them.”
“I don’t have enough for them all,” Christian says. “I’m not large enough.”
“Ye have little faith. Did Jesus himself not feed a multitude with only a few fish? A few loaves of bread?”
Christian nods, but he’s scared. There are tears in his eyes.
“Do you not want to die? Is that not why you are here? You want to make sure I die first, no?”
He nods again.
“I will not feed myself to them, Christian, but they must eat.”
Christian turns around. Veronica is in front of him, that placid glaze filling her eyes as strongly as ever.
“She will help you, Christian. That is her purpose, after all,” Luke says.
Veronica extends her hand and Christian takes it. He lets himself be led away from Luke, toward the crowd.
He sees the women Ted Hinson killed. They are all sitting together with their heads bashed in and blood leaking from their ears and eyes. Veronica leads him away from them.
She takes him to the far edge of the crowd, where Christian’s mother is sitting.
“We will give her the first bite,” Veronica says.
Christian nods. If he is to be eaten, his mother should go first. She should get whatever piece she wants. Veronica pulls him gently forward and passes his hand to his mother.
Patricia reaches for it, looking him in the eyes. There is no smile on her face.
“Eat,” Christian says. “That’s what you all came for. So eat.”
His mother’s mouth goes to Christian wrist, and he watches as she rips into his flesh.
The TV went black.
“Insanity,” Christian said, his eyes flashing to his wrist. It burned, but there were no marks. He looked back at the television that refused to show him anything usable.
“If you have nothing to give me, then what is the point of this place? Why is it still here?” he asked.
Silence answered, the cold voice of the dead.
“Goddamnit!” Christian shrieked, slamming his hand on the chair’s armrest. “Show me what I need to know! Show me how to kill him!”
His voice echoed off the walls, shouting back at him and dying quickly.
Christian stood and turned his back to the television.
The room was empty. No statues. No maze. No winding trail of his memories of Luke. There were only dead panels on the walls and open space.
“Fine then,” he said. “You forsake me, too.”
CHAPTER SIX
Christian opened his eyes.
“We’re about to land,” Veronica said.
He looked out of the window at the runway growing larger beneath the plane, thinking about what he’d just witnessed. Two scenes, neither showing what he needed to see. He was about to meet one of the deadliest criminals alive, one who had been preparing for a year for Christian’s arrival.
Christian was almost there.
Instead of showing him what Luke might do, his mind had shown him what he already knew. That he would give up his soul for Luke, as well as allow those already dead to eat him alive.
A little late for that, he thought. They’ve been feeding on me for years.
His mind was checking out. Done with him. Going ahead and finishing falling apart while he kept moving forward. Fine. He would go on alone if his mansion was gone.
The plane landed, the brief jolt of the wheels hitting the tarmac jostling Christian and Veronica. They taxied for a few minutes and then came to a stop.
“We’re here,” Veronica said as if it needed announcing.
Christian looked at her and froze.
Veronica was smiling.
Ryan stood with the rest of the crew while everyone exited the plane. He was waiting for Windsor to step off. The moment he did, Ryan would follow. He didn’t know how many of the crew knew his title, and any who did had been told there was no immediate danger.
Either way, he wouldn’t be bothered.
Windsor had dozed the entire ride, with Ryan watching him from a few feet away. He’d woken up shortly before landing. Even the announcements to buckle seatbelts and put seats in the upright positions hadn’t disturbed him. The woman hadn’t moved at all. She didn’t read a magazine, didn’t fool with the television. She’d remained perfectly still, blinking her only noticeable movement.
What did Titan do to you? Ryan wondered.
He pulled his cellphone out and shot a text to his boss to inform him they’d landed, then looked back at Windsor. He was turning the corner. The woman was already off the plane.
Ryan followed them, having absolutely no idea about the hell that he was walking into.
Christian found a taxi easily enough. He and Veronica hopped into the backseat and the cab driver put their bags in the trunk. The driver spoke enough English to communicate, which Christian was glad for.
But, he didn’t want the cab driver to hear his next discussion with Veronica.
“Where to, señor?” The driver’s eyes found his in the rearview mirror.
“Find a hotel for us. Something nice.”
“Si,” the driver said as he pulled away from the curb.
“Veronica?” Christian said.
She turned and looked at him for the first time since exiting the plane.
“I’m taking you to a hotel. I’ve written down some instructions for you. I want you to follow them when you wake up tomorrow morning, okay?”
She shook her head. “No. I should go with you. We’re going to see Luke today, right?”
Christian swallowed. “Why? Why should you go?”
“It’s supposed to happen like this. We’re supposed to go together.”
“Luke said that?”
“Yes,” she said. “I think so.”
Of course he had. Because who hadn’t Luke killed yet? Veronica and his mother. It couldn’t just be the two of them to finish this off. No, Veronica was needed because why leave Christian a shred of sanity?
You’re free.
Luke’s voice came to him, but he shoved it away.
“I need you to go to the hotel,” Christian said. “Go there and read the instructions in your bag, okay?”
Veronica turned to face the front of the car and said nothing else. They rode the rest of the way in silence.
The cab driver pulled up under the hotel awning. The name on the front read Hotel Indigo.
“Here,” he said.
Christian climbed out of the backseat and went to the trunk. The driver popped it and helped unload. Christian paid the fare and then he and Veronica walked into the hotel.
“What’s the nicest room you have available?” Christian asked.
“How many do you need?”
“Just one,” Christian said.
“Our Presidential Suite,” the female clerk said with a heavy accent.
“It’s available now?”
“Si, señor.”
“We’ll take it.”
“Señor, it costs—”
“That doesn’t matter,” Christian interrupted. “Here’s my card. Just give me the key.”
The clerk said nothing as she took his card and set the room up.
Christian signed the receipt and took the key. “Let’s go,” he told Veronica.
The room was on the top floor. They made their way to the correct floor in the elevator, then searched until they found the room. Christian swiped the key through the reader and they went inside.
Christian left his backpack at the door and placed Veronica’s suitcase next to the bed. He knelt and opened her suitcase, digging through the clothes until he found his pistol. They had checked her bag, getting the necessary paperwork filled out to carry the weapon across international lines.
He zipped up the suitcase, then looked at her.
“I’m going to leave, okay? Remember, tomorrow you’re going to read what I left in your bag.”
“He won’t show if I’m not there,” Veronica said. “You must know that.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re all in this together. I have my purpose. He has his. You have yours. But they’re all one.”
“He’ll show,” Christian said.
Veronica was quiet. He looked at her, sure it would be the last time he saw her. The woman he’d once known wasn’t here. The woman he’d fallen in love with, sitting at that restaurant and telling her he liked her. The woman who had stood up and kissed him. The woman who’d had the guts to accuse Luke of murder, to see past his façade when no one else did.
Luke had already killed that woman, or wounded her so deeply that nothing of her remained.
That’s not true, he thought. She’s still in there somewhere, or you wouldn’t be leaving her here like this.
“Goodbye, Veronica.” Christian leaned forward and kissed her cheek. She didn’t move at all.
It took two hours to get from Mexico City to Luke’s birthplace. Christian rode in silence, looking out at the surrounding landscape.
Luke would show. He had to. Christian didn’t understand how Luke would know when he arrived, but there was no doubt that he would. Luke was always a thousand steps ahead of everyone, and when Christian arrived, he would be ready.
Christian held his backpack in his lap, hoping that he had everything he needed in it.
Finally, the cab driver parked the old vehicle in front of a small church.
“This the place, señor?”
“Si.” Christian handed the cab driver two hundred American dollars, and the man thanked him effusively.
Christian ignored him. He stepped from the car without thanking him for the ride, his backpack in his hand, and waited for the cab to pull away.
The church looked very different from what his mind had shown him.
“Is this what they rebuilt?” he asked the empty parking lot.
Perhaps. Perhaps once the priest had died, the need for ostentatiousness had dissipated.
Either way, this was where God had told Christian to come.
The parking lot was empty and there were no signs on the church. He didn’t know if it was Catholic or Protestant. He wondered if Luke felt any connection with this building he didn’t know and had never known because it stood over the one that he had burned to the ground.
Hopefully, you can die here. Maybe it’ll have meaning with your death, Christian thought.
He walked to the church, not noticing any of the cars passing on the street behind him. His mind was fully focused on the building. He reached the front door and squatted at it, placing his backpack in front of him. He unzipped it and took out the .40 caliber Glock before checking to make sure a round was chambered.
Christian stood, leaving the backpack behind him. Luke would be inside, waiting. He tried the door. It was unlocked, as he’d suspected.
He pushed the door open and entered, ready to die.
Ryan watched Windsor walk into the church. It had been almost impossible to keep up with the man. Thankfully, the FBI had arranged for a car to be waiting for him as soon as he got off the plane. Even so, keeping an eye on Windsor had been a bitch.
Just when Ryan had thought his mark was going to rest at the hotel, he came back out and jumped into another cab for a two hour drive to a church.
Ryan didn’t know what to make of any of it. Why was he here in the first place?
Observe and report. That’s your assignment.
Ryan’s car was an old Pontiac, made in the nineties. He circled the block and parked it across the street from the church, then dropped his seat back to conceal himself while he waited for Windsor to come out of the church.
The door closed behind Christian, echoing in the building’s stillness. He raised his weapon so that it covered the empty space before him.
“Where are you?” he asked.
The church was dark, and the overhead lights were all switched off. The building appeared to have this main room of worship, and then it split into two opposite hallways. They couldn’t go far in such a small place. If Luke was here, there weren’t a whole lot of places for him to hide.
Christian moved through the church quickly, holding his weapon at eye level. He went down the left hallway first and checked the two rooms leading off it. Both were clear. He went back to the main room and cleared the second hallway, moving slowly.
If Luke was here, he was only a few feet away.
Christian came to the first door on his left. He put his ear against it and listened for any movement. He heard nothing. He gently placed his hand on the doorknob, doing his best not to make a sound. With one quick movement, he shoved the door open and stepped low into the room, his gun ready to fire.
Nothing.
Empty.
The whole church was empty. Luke wasn’t here.
But he’s watching. You better believe that, Christian. He’s definitely watching you somehow.
Christian spun at the sound of the voice, his weapon raised.
The mouth floating in front of the door grinned at him. Only me. I haven’t checked in on you in a while.
Christian lowered his weapon and walked through the mouth. Its dark clouds swirled around his vision for a second. He breathed it in, smelling gun smoke.
It doesn’t exist. It’s only in my head.
He turned right and went back down the hall, returning to the main room.
