Sometimes an errant thought can carry inspiration. Perhaps that is the speaking of the Father through our own lips. I like to think so.
My own words to Taralom have given me an idea, and I think that it may work well, at least to buy me some time to find a better solution. I told him that action is better than inaction, and so rather than being caught up in what I cannot do, I will do what I can, and build on that.
Mr. Hill himself may not be susceptible to my influence, but after all he does not do his own work. And in watching the men—and yes, women too—who work for him, I have noticed that however much they may pretend to be uncaring and emotionless, in their hearts many of them know what they are doing is wrong. And whether or not their consciences are troubled, the knowledge itself is something I can use.
For example, on the same day that I met Taralom, one of Mr. Hill’s men parked his car across from Evan’s school, waiting for the bell so he could pick out the boy as he left the school. He did not, however, catch even a glimpse. As soon as I knew his intent, I appeared beside his car and spread all my wings to their full extent. “Leave,” I commanded him, my voice harsh with rage.
He started the car, threw it into gear, and went tearing down the street, his heart racing.
I was surprised by the success of the maneuver, but subsequent experimentation has told me that the same methods will not work with all of them. That particular man, whose name is Jackson, is a coward, and works for Mr. Hill more for his protection than his money. It was luck that allowed me to be able to frighten him away.
So I have spent my time in the past days seeking out the people employed by Mr. Hill, and learning what their weak points are. Foster is susceptible to guilt, as she has her own young teenager in school. Keller is distractible—yesterday I had a great deal of success with running the same annoying song through his head until he left his post outside the apartment to sit in his car and listen to the radio. I never thought such things would be my weapons, but I am not ashamed to use whatever works.
Taralom has been enormously helpful in this endeavor. He is tireless in his watching, and often he will consult the Repository to find more names to investigate and for ideas on how to deter these eyes and ears. He has reminded me, however, that this is only a temporary solution, and he is right. The human mind is miraculously elastic, and Mr. Hill’s people have come up with explanations for their failures that have satisfied their superior, for now. But he certainly does not strike me as a patient man.
Still, even a little bit of peace is worthwhile. I mean to give it to them.