Page 276 - TheRedSon_PrintInterior_430pp_5.5x8.5_9-22-2019_v1
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The  upshot  of  such  terrible  news  is  that  I’m  secreted
            away on this roof while Mr. Grey meets with some of his
            would-be  victims—and  quite  possibly,  the  killer  that  will
            finally  clip  him.  Provided  the  monster  doesn’t  rip  him  to
            pieces first, of course.
               I’m not sure how I’d feel about that, Mr. Grey getting
            himself murdered. He’s a decent  enough guy. He lets me
            stay up late, eat all the junk food I want, he even buys me
            gifts. Why, just last week he bought me an antique writing
            set—it even came with a fancy-ass quill pen. But, like most
            things my captor does, there was purpose behind his actions.
               “Your penmanship often appears like squirming insects
            curling and sprawling about the fine pages I’ve provided you
            to write upon. This just won’t do, I’m afraid. You see, writing
            is the art of trapping thoughts on paper—laying them to rest,
            if you will. The shape of a letter can reveal much about the
            writer, even beyond the content of his words. You have the
            fine job of preserving my thoughts, and I should not want to
            give the impression that I would take on the services of an
            indelicate penman. So, I’ve gifted you with this calligraphy
            set in the hopes of improving your ability to properly lay my
            thoughts within their delicate white graves.”
               I was never one for cursive writing, let alone calligraphy,
            but what the hell, right? I gave it a shot, and it turns out
            I’m not too bad at it. I like it, in fact. Mr. Grey was right,
            the shape and style of the handwritten word lends a distinct
            sophistication to the content being written, even transposing
            that  elegance  to  the  writer’s thoughts  themselves.  Pretty
            cool, don’t you think?
               I can see Mr. Grey down there in the courtyard, his cane-
            sword gripped casually in his left hand. He lit a small fire
            just outside the broken entrance to the church, to signal his
            location. Not a great move if you ask me, but he seems to
            know what he’s doing. This gathering was arranged entirely
            within  the  collective  dream  the  killers  all  share,  so  I’m
            curious if anyone shows. If someone does pop up, it’ll be
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