Page 293 - TheRedSon_PrintInterior_430pp_5.5x8.5_9-22-2019_v1

gestured to her melting tank, as if offering me a place within
it. Her dream quickly disappeared behind a rush of dark new
visions, and I loosened my grip on my sleeping sisters.
I came upon the blacked-out dreams of the recently
murdered Wolves still caught in a web of nightmares,
mindlessly replaying forgotten shadows. I could detect
a tilted silence emanating from the dead places, where a
strange nullity upended simple emptiness. These dreams
were not merely dead, but were something else entirely—
something more than dead, perhaps.
With some searching, I found the den of the Skin
Switcher. I felt him waiting somewhere among the neat lines
of hanging hides, each skin a symbol for a sin that had once
been hidden, but now stood revealed and properly affixed
to the appropriate sinner. I entered the chamber slowly, the
uninvited guest of an exclusive gallery. More so than could
be appreciated outside of a dream, Hide’s creations nearly
shined with moral relevance—it was as if each creature had
been merged together with its exact form of original sin,
exemplifying and overcoming the distance between Eden
and present day. Sin and skin married with such delicacy
and precision as to have been combined by a song. These
were not merely revelatory symbols, but whole and entire
archetypes.
I knew Hide was aware of my swelling admiration for his
work, smiling quietly from somewhere within a sea of stolen
skins. “I came to offer my apologies for the delay,” I said. “I
hate to keep my appointments waiting. I hope you can see
past my indiscretion, but rest assured, Mister Hide—I am
coming for you soon.” There was only silence in response, as
I knew there would be. Yet my rudeness needed accounting
for. My detour from purpose could not be interpreted as a
sign of frightful hesitation. My father would not allow it.
The night was soft and kind, and I was thankful for the
gentle delivery from sleep. My awareness soon seeped into
my recollection. The abandoned cabin where I rested was
296 | Mark Anzalone