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“You may be precisely whatever you choose, Family
Man,” the Skinner replied. “I’ve little use for mock battle, as
I can’t skin a dream, now can I?”
He made a good point. Regardless, if he chose not to seek
my measure in dreamed combat, he would be ill prepared to
fight me to the best of his ability within the waking world,
and I would be given an unfair advantage. I did not enjoy
victories that were only half-gained, and unfortunately, my
art would reflect as much. I decided to press him. “I certainly
understand your reticence. You may need some time to
determine how you might wear my skin, given that I might
hang a bit too large on you.” A base taunt, to be sure, but the
killer’s physique was chiseled and polished—well beyond
his needs, whereas my own was simply the byproduct of my
craft. There was vanity in the man, and I would seek it out.
“You disgrace my body when you compare it to your
own, little man,” the killer retorted. “But I shan’t fall for
your jeers, as anyone with eyes can see you’re the smaller
of us. Besides, your pelt is so riddled with scars, I wouldn’t
wear it were I freezing to death. No, I see your skin better
worn by a stray dog. A feral, three-legged mutt.”
I smiled. “You’re right, there’s no sense in banter or
battle, so I will have whatever you will surrender to me. I
will take your one remaining secret and leave you to your
much-needed sleep. Also, I shall not make any assumptions
as to the strength of your mind, given that it can carry only
two little secrets.” From over the Skinner’s shoulder, I saw
my father bathed in battle, aglow with the heat of killing. He
smiled his approval at my tactics.
“I’m losing my patience for you, Family Man,” the giant
growled.
“Is it because your patience grows too heavy for you to
heft?” I asked, still grinning.
The beast dressed in human leathers was finally beginning
to show its teeth. The Skinner fell silent, and I could see his
movements take on precision, a well-oiled grace that could
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