Page 87 - TheRedSon_PrintInterior_430pp_5.5x8.5_9-22-2019_v1

remaining pieces were only fledglings. The animal materials
satisfied an embryonic art that would soon call for more
blood and skin, of a species requiring a gallery less easily
stumbled upon by persons wandering the woods.
After returning to the station, I found that the small crowd
had grown by one member. The new addition seemed out of
place, trying too hard to blend into the gathering. Entering
the passenger car, I took a seat behind the man who wished
to move unnoticed. I watched him for some time before
realizing he was looking back at me through the reflective
chrome that wrapped around a handrail.
“I have no head for this sort of game,” the man said, our
eyes locking upon the reflection of the other. “I’m far too
impatient. It’s the chaos I’m chasing. The faster and faster
I go . . . I just love it. You?” I said nothing. My sister was
already near to hand, and I couldn’t deny how badly I wanted
to express the artistic inspiration gained via my sleeping
glimpse into The Great Darkness.
The man—as if knowing that any untoward movements
would lead to his death—slowly lifted a piece of water-
stained paper from his front pocket. He unfolded it, briefly
holding it within view. It was a kill list, replete with crossed-
off names and numbered entries.
“See?” the man said. “I don’t think you’re on here. Or
at least, you’re not next on my list. I’m embarrassed to say
that it took me some time to finally know the true face of my
next playmate, and you certainly don’t look anything like
the Breath Taker. And from the fact that I’m still talking,
I’m going to assume I’m not on your list, either. Are we
permitted to kill out of order? If so, I suppose we may have
a problem.”
“You would have the problem, I’m afraid,” I said,
effortlessly sliding my sister through the fabrics and plastics
of the seat between us, gently resting her deadly smile
against his back. “But I’ve had no inclination to pursue the
names out of order, thus far. However, there does seem to be
90 | Mark Anzalone