The agent stiffened, stepped back, and disappeared. They heard the door to Dobbs' room open and close and the sound of voices. There was an exclamation, then Dobb's voice shouting: "What are you doing? Are you crazy? I warn you, _I'll take every one of you with me_!" Then a sudden explosion, muffled, but still shockingly loud, and the thump of a heavy object falling. Flinn could not bring himself to move a muscle. * * * * * The silence seemed absolute. It was as if even the house itself were listening, straining, preparing itself for the inevitable. One second passed. Two. Five. Ten. _Nothing happened._ Abruptly, Wilmer shouted: "It's all over!" Flinn heard footfalls upon the stairs and the sound of excited voices. Hayes burst into the room and turned on the light, the .357 magnum still in his hand. His face was pale; his mouth worked, but no sound emerged. Flinn found that his muscles would obey him now, and he stood up and headed for the door. He felt numb, drained. He stepped out into the hall. Every special agent and security man on the premises was crowded there. Flinn turned back to Hayes. "I never thought to ask before," Flinn said. "Dobbs--did he have any close living relatives? A wife? Children?" Hayes shook his head. "Thank God for that!" Flinn said. He started down the hall toward the stairs. The men there grew silent as he approached and moved soundlessly out of his way. He went down the stairs, through the room off the kitchen, and outside to the driveway. He looked up at the dark sky. _It's over_, he told himself. _And now I'm a murderer. All of us are. A guilt shared by the few to save the many. But the few are the product of the many, just as each individual is, so where are we to place the blame?_ Twenty years of research, and where had it led? Somewhere he had failed as society had failed, and, even in success, Flinn could feel no flush of victory. The Earth was safe, but every human upon it had died a little without even knowing it. _Yes, it's over_, Flinn thought finally. _For now. Until the next time._ He could see no stars. In a while it would be dawn. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Death's Wisher, by Jim Wannamaker