“It’s gone up to almost thirty feet since then,” said Mike. “I’m improving. Evolving, as you are. See?”
Hood waved the pistol toward the big room and Mike set down his drink and picked up the cordless phone.
“Excuse me, then,” he said.
“Put it back.”
“You are trespassing against me, Charlie.” Finnegan looked at him while he pressed the buttons.
Hood took hold of the phone and Finnegan grabbed the gun and they clutched like wrestlers, crouched, pulling and pushing. Hood was surprised by the strength of the little man’s grip on the gun. They circled once, then twice, trading control of balance, locked to each other by the objects of their desires. Hood let go the phone, wrenched hard on the pistol with both hands and when Mike stumbled back against the counter the gun flew into the big room, landing with a crack then sliding along the tile.
Finnegan was breathing fast and his pupils were large. “I ask you again to leave my home. Collect your firearm and go.”
Hood’s anger suddenly blinded him. He had completed his quest and found his man. Now he had no more questions and he wanted no more answers-just swift and severe retribution. He blitzed hard, hitting Mike mid-body with his lowered head and shoulder. But instead of taking the man down Hood was solidly repelled, then locked in another wrestler’s grip, hand to hand, matched again by Finnegan’s lesser weight and greater strength. They circled, hands touching and feinting and pulling.
“I enjoy the ancient sport of wrestling, Charlie. You’re heavier but I’ve got experience on you.”
Hood had never wrestled but he’d been trained in hand combat by the Navy and his skills were good. He was rangy and well muscled and fast. He charged into Mike and felt his relative lightness. Then Mike crashed back into him and Hood felt his strength.
“Why did you kill Sean?”
“Sean killed himself. I only challenged his faith.”
“Why?”
“To offer him freedom and life. But he chose death.”
Hood lunged in, feinting with one elbow and slashing out with the other. He caught Mike flush on the temple and he felt its softness. Finnegan’s blue eyes gushed tears.
“Why did you infect Seliah, too?”
Mike charged and drove his head into Hood’s middle. The breath puffed out of Hood and he clutched Finnegan’s arms and pushed the little man away.
“Seliah was part of the whole project. And Sean and Seliah’s parents, yes? And their brothers and sisters, and perhaps even their children and their children not yet born. And you and Blowdown. This is chaos. Chaos is what I create. It spreads like the rings in a pool when a good solid rock like Sean goes in.”
They circled and clutched, Hood breathing hard. He couldn’t control the smaller man and he began to doubt himself. Finnegan had that light of mischief in his eyes again, and he fought with his head at a cocky angle, talking excitedly and rapidly as if there was no end to his breath.
“But chaos is a blessing, Charlie! In it people have a chance to see the beauty and the power and the glory of their own freedom. Freedom. It’s right there, so obvious in the aloneness that chaos offers. Freedom stares back at them from every mirror, calls out to them in every waking moment and every dream. But not all of you will see it. Some will see it and deny seeing it. Some will curse it. I told you three years ago that I represent a naturally occurring, ordering principle. There is no word for it in your or any other language. And I told you that my highest mission is to demonstrate to men and women that they are free. They are free to choose their acts and to decide what is right and meaningful and beautiful. And what is not. Nothing is chosen for them by powers high or low. Nothing is fated or ordained or written. Nothing happens for the better, or for a reason. Angels and devils may scurry about like lobbyists trying to persuade, but men and women are free.”
“Got it, Mike. I’m clear on everything now.” Hood let himself be drawn in, then he pivoted and drove the heel of his right hand toward the bridge of Mike’s nose. It was a devastating blow for a taller man to throw, always debilitating and occasionally fatal. But Finnegan slipped it and crabbed on to him, arms and legs clamping hard, and Hood toppled to the floor.
Finnegan’s hold was paralyzing and Hood couldn’t figure it. His neck and one shoulder quickly lost their flow of blood and he knew they were close to breaking. He was strong enough to protect them but not strong enough to work them free. Finnegan’s stout legs gripped his own just above the knees, which left only his calves and feet to swing free but uselessly. Ears roaring, Hood relaxed one shoulder against Mike’s grip, and when Finnegan tightened it, Hood slipped his head and other arm free and locked his elbow just below Mike’s jaw. Hood squeezed ferociously and he felt the man shudder with pain.
But he kept talking, his voice reduced to a choking soprano whisper: “Charlie, I wanted Sean to choose life. Seliah and the doctors could have…saved him. All he needed was to choose…with his own…free will. Freedom. He broke my heart. Because I loved him.…I love mankind…You are my…music…You are what we work for through the…ages. The ages, Charlie. You are a strong one. Just like Sean.”
Hood squeezed even harder and he felt the trembling in Mike’s arms. But he couldn’t maintain this power. The moment he let up, Finnegan pulled his sweat-slick head loose and turned it away, sucking air. Hood shot one arm under his armpit and around the back of the man’s head in a half-nelson. Mike grunted as Hood slowly turned him. When the time was right Hood brought his weight and strength to bear. He drove the little man to the floor, hard. Finnegan’s shoulder joint separated with a muted wet snap and from deep within Hood’s grip came a gasp of pain.
Hood uncoiled and stood. He was dizzy and panting and his eyes burned from sweat. He watched Finnegan climb to his knees and one hand, the dislocated shoulder drooping.
Mike turned and looked up at him. His expression was pained but not anguished. He was pale. He pivoted slowly on his good hand, his little legs churning and his shiny black shoes slipping on the tile. He spun a half-circle to face Hood and wobbled upright, then backpedaled until the kitchen counter stopped him.
“Nice moves, Charlie. Sheesh…I hate it when this happens.” With his good hand he took his dangling elbow and raised it up steady and studied it. He arranged it just so and smiled wanly at Hood, then buckled his knees and dropped. His elbow slammed loudly into the counter and broke his fall. He pulled himself back upright, shoulder in place again. He straightened and faced Hood, adjusting and smoothing his jacket with both hands, though the seams had burst at the armpits and a button was missing and the whole thing was smeared with sweat.
“Charlie, you have won. Now please go.”
“You cased the Valley Center property and passed along the information to Armenta. Why Bradley and Erin? For the same reasons as Sean and Seliah? To destroy what’s good? To create chaos and hurt everyone around them and make them all doubt their faiths?”
Finnegan shook his head while he rolled his shoulders one at a time, then together. The color was back in his face and his breathing was even and his eyes were blue and lively. “No, no, of course not. See, Charlie. Please see. Sean and Seliah were just busywork, to keep me in shape. Very rewarding, though, with strong resonance through strong people. The echo will sound through two generations. Not every job can be an epic. But Bradley is my life work-well, one of them. Bradley is very different than Sean. Sean never believed in himself and I couldn’t make him. When he lost his spiritual faith he lost everything. But Bradley believes almost totally in himself now, after his heroic rescue of Erin and defeat of a cartel kingpin. To solidify the remainder of his self-belief is my goal for next year. It will effectively replace the last of his conscience. And what a subject he is. Ambitious. Courageous. Insatiable. His potential is vast. He may even partner with me someday. I tremble with joy at that thought, but it could happen-he has the blood for it.”