Finch

by Jeff VanderMeer

“Do you know who I am, back in Stockton? Do you know what happens to you if you hurt me?” Stark’s lower lip was quivering. “No, I don’t know. Because you won’t tell me who you are. Open your mouth.” Stark’s stare in that moment contained a kind of limitless, unhinged hatred. A kind of poison that willed itself to close the distance. To enter Finch. He grabbed the bulb from Finch. Crunched down on it with a kind of arrogant defiance. Finch realized Stark thought he could survive it. That he was bigger than whatever might happen to him. A minute for the bulb to take effect. Finch placed the gun’s muzzle against Stark’s face. “Any last words before you don’t remember who you are?” Stark gave out a little crumpled laugh. A kind of regal contempt. “Not a one for you, Finchy. Except you’ll pay for this, one way or the other. I’m the crown prince incognito. I’m an enchanted frog. Somebody will come after you.” The man’s hostility began to fade as the memory bulb took effect. Finch looked into his eyes. Found nothing there. Nothing worth saving. Just an outsider who’d decided he wanted to profit off of the city’s misery. A thug who thought he was tougher. Playing a game where his only strategy was to keep turning the screws. Finch didn’t care who he was anymore. Just wanted him gone. Wondered without interest what Bosun would do now. Stark’s pupils had begun to dilate. Eyelids flickering like hummingbird wings. Said, as if from a faraway place, “No, I won’t. I don’t want to.” Fell...