for the love of sin body—each one a reminder that I was nowhere near the person I wanted to be. Even more distressing was knowing that I’d carry them to my grave—and what about beyond? Jesus Christ may have been able to cast out sins from the living, but I saw no evidence that anyone else had ever done so. I watched as a new sin appeared in the center of my chest, right above my heart, gleaming with the spectral glory of fresh manifestation: family hatred, genus self-loathing. I didn’t recognize the species and subspecies. I’d have to consult my HCG directory to nail them down.
“Gerd, I’m sorry for the intrusion,” I said. “I think I’m in big trouble. I’ve got to speak with you, and it can’t wait.” The old man ushered me into his foyer. “Forgive me, Peter,” he said. “I have some guests in the library. Business matters. Please, would you mind waiting for me in the parlor? It should not take 43 - Crimson Fog
more than a few minutes for me to finish up. Pour yourself a drink in the meantime. I will be with you as soon as I can.” Gerd went back into the library. I heard a loud voice from within the room, muffled by the thick door: “But it’s the Sin of All Sins! And he has it! We know he does.”
Above: flickr.com/dctim1
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