Velocity. Part 43

"Not clearly."

"Do you care, Billy?"

"Not as much as I thought I would."

Valis squeezed off a shot. The bullet punched into the broad back of the armchair, two inches from Billy's shoulder.

Unconsciously, he must have known the shot was coming. He saw in his mind's eye the raven on the window, the still and silent and watchful raven. Then the bang came, and he did not fly or even flinch, but sat in a Zen indifference.

Valis lowered the gun. He settled into an armchair that faced Billy's.

Billy closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

"I could have killed you two ways without leaving the bedroom," Valis said.

This was surely true. Billy didn't ask how.

"You must be very tired," Valis said.

"V."

"How's your hand?"

"Okay. Vicodin."

"And your forehead?"

"n.o.ble."

Billy wondered if his eyes were moving under his lids, the way Barbara's sometimes did in her dreams. They felt still.

"I had a third wound planned for you," Valis said.

"Can it wait until next week?"

"You're a funny guy, Billy."

"I don't feel that funny."

"Do you feel relieved?"

"Mmmmmm."

"Are you surprised by that?"

"Yeah." Billy opened his eyes. "Are you surprised?"

"No," the artist said. "I saw the potential in you."

"When?"

"In your short stories. Before I ever met you." Valis put the revolver on a table beside his chair. "Your potential so explicit on the page. As I researched your life, the potential became clearer."

"Shooting my parents."

"Not that so much. The loss of trust."

"I see."

"Without trust, there can be no tranquil resting of the mind."

"No rest," Billy said. "No real peace."

"Without trust, there can be no belief. No belief in kindness. Or integrity. In anything."

"You have more insight into me than I do."

"Well, I'm older," Valis said. "And more experienced."

"Way more experienced," Billy said. "How long have you planned this performance? Not just since Monday in the bar."

"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 embarra.s.sments. 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 l.u.s.trous 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."

"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. "Circ.u.mstantial 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-s.h.i.+rt.

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.

Coming around behind the freak, Billy hammered the back of his skull with the b.u.t.t 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 freak was out. He was.

Valis wore his s.h.i.+rt tucked in his pants. Billy tugged it loose and pulled it over the man's head, forming a tight hood by tying the tails together.

His purpose was not to blindfold Valis but to form a bandage in case his scalp began bleeding where the gun clipped it. Billy wanted to avoid getting bloodstains on the carpet.

Chapter 72.

Billy stretched his hands into the latex gloves. He got to work.

The bedroom was even more sumptuous than the rest of the motor home. The bathroom glowed and l.u.s.tered, a jewel box of marble, gla.s.s, beveled mirrors, and gold-plated fixtures.

Embedded at a slant in the top of a ribbon-maple bedroom desk, a touch-sensitive screen provided control of the electronic systems from music to security.

Apparently, these controls had to be accessed by entering a code. Fortunately, Valis had left the system open after using it to put up the tambour panels and put down the steel blinds at the windows.

All controls featured idiot-proof labels. Billy unlocked the front door.

In the living room, Valis was still limp and unconscious, his head hooded by his s.h.i.+rt.

Billy dragged Valis out of the living room, through the dining area and kitchen, into the c.o.c.kpit. He tumbled him down the steps and out of the motor home.

No more than an hour of darkness remained. The slim sickle moon now harvested stars beyond the western horizon.

He had parked the Explorer between the tent and the motor home, out of sight from the highway. No traffic pa.s.sed.

He dragged Valis to the SUV.

No one lived nearby. The tavern across the highway would be deserted for hours yet.