“Weeks and weeks,” said Valis. “Great art requires preparation.”
“Did you take the commission for the mural because I was here, or did the commission come first?”
“Together,” Valis said. “It was quite serendipitous. Things often are.”
“Amazing. And here we are.”
“Yes, here we are.”
“ ‘Movement, velocity, impact,’” Billy said, quoting Valis’s summary for the style of this production. “In light of how the performance is turning out, I think I would edit that to ‘Movement, velocity, freedom.’”
“Like the fish.”
“Yes. Like the fish. Do you want freedom, Billy?”
“Yes.”
“I am entirely free.”
Billy said, “How long have you been… ?”
“Thirty-two years. Since I was sixteen. The first few were embarrassments. Crude hacking. No control. No technique. No style.”
“But now…”
“Now, I have become who I am. Do you know my name?” Billy met those gray and lustrous eyes.
“Yes,” Valis answered for him. “I see you do. You know my name.”
A thought occurred to Billy, and he leaned forward slightly in his chair, curious. “Are the others on your project crew…”
“Are they what?”
“Are they… previous successes of yours?”
Valis smiled. “Oh, no. None of them has ever seen my collection. Men like you and I… we’re rare, Billy.”
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“I suppose so.”
“You’re probably full of questions about all this.”
“Maybe when I’ve gotten some sleep.”
“I was out to Deputy Olsen’s house a little while age. You left it clean as a whistle.”
Billy grimaced. “You didn’t plant something else out there, did you?”
“No, no. I knew we were getting close to this moment, no need to torment you further. I just walked the house, admiring how your mind worked, how thorough you were.”
Billy yawned. “Circumstantial evidence. I have this fear of it.”
“You must be very tired.”
“I’m whacked.”
“I’ve only one bedroom, but you’re welcome to a sofa.”
Billy shook his head. “This amazes me.”
“That I’m hospitable?”
“No. That I’m Am;.”
“Art transforms, Billy.”
“Will I feel different when I wake up?”
“No,” Valis said. “You’ve made your choice.”
“They were something, those choices.”
“They gave you an opportunity to understand your potential.”
“Those sofas look so clean, and I’m a mess.”
“You’re fine,” Valis said. “They’re Scotchgarded.”
As they rose simultaneously from their chairs, Billy pulled the Mace from under his T-shirt.
Apparently surprised, Valis tried to turn his face away.
They were only ten feet apart, and Billy sprayed him in the eyes. Blinded, Valis pawed for the revolver on the table but knocked it to the floor.
Billy ducked past him, scooped up the gun, and Valis clawed at the air, trying to find him.
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Coming around behind the freak, Billy hammered the back of his skull with the butt of the revolver, then hit him again.
With none of his usual grace, Valis crashed to the floor on his face. Billy went to his knees to be sure the
