Episode 14: The dream world's reach

The late January snow blanketed Crestwood in a silence that felt alive, a shroud over the chapel where Gary Halsey's blood had cooled on the storage room floor. Anne sat in the vestry, Deon's jacket heavy on her shoulders, her torn veil crumpled in her lap, her gray eyes fixed on the cracked mirror across the room. The police had taken her statement—dry facts about finding Gary, the knife, her wish to kill him—and let her go, no evidence pinning her to the act, but the weight of it lingered, a shadow she couldn't shake. Deon stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder, his sky-blue gaze restless, scanning the room as if answers might emerge from the frost-rimed walls.The dream world's impact had begun to seep into their waking lives, subtle at first—a flicker in Anne's peripheral vision, a whisper in Deon's ear—but undeniable now, a force stirred by Gary's death. Madame Lazare had warned of its hunger, its law of exchange, and as the chapel emptied, the air thickened with something unseen, a hum that prickled their skin."I wanted him gone," Anne whispered, her voice raw, breaking the silence. "Thought it—every day since he blackmailed me. Did I… did I make this happen?"Deon knelt before her, his hands framing her face, his touch grounding her. "No," he said, firm despite the tremor in his own chest. "You didn't stab him—someone did. Your wish… it's just a wish. The dream world doesn't work like that—does it?"She met his eyes, searching for certainty, but found only their shared doubt. "I don't know," she admitted, her fingers clutching his jacket. "Madame Lazare said it feeds on us—what if it heard me?"He pulled her into a hug, his breath warm against her hair, but his mind churned—Gary's death, the knife from the bar, the dream world's pull he'd felt since returning from the tour. He'd crossed it once, born from its shadows by Anne's will and Lazare's dust, and now it felt closer, its edges brushing his thoughts, a murmur of you're mine he couldn't silence.Across town, in the dim sanctuary of her shop, Madame Lazare stood over a basin of water, its surface rippling as she traced a sigil with her finger—a spiral, silver and sharp, her childhood key to the dream world. Elias sat nearby, his gray coat draped over a chair, his dark eyes fixed on her as she peered into the reflection. The opal pendant at her throat pulsed, a heartbeat in the gloom, and her voice rasped with urgency."It's awake," she said, her gaze distant, seeing beyond the water. "Gary's death—blood spilled, intent sharp—fed it. The dream world's stirring, reaching."Elias leaned forward, his fingers drumming the counter. "How? He's dead—game's over.""No," she corrected, her eyes narrowing. "Death's not an end here—it's fuel. The dream world thrives on emotion—rage, grief, desire. Anne's wish, Deon's fury, Gary's greed—it's a banquet. Shadows are growing, pushing at the veil."She closed her eyes, slipping into the dream world's edge—a silver forest, its trees shimmering, the starry river churning with fresh currents. Shadows moved beneath it, larger now, their eyes glinting with hunger, their whispers a chorus: More, more, more. She saw Gary's echo—a faint, twisted form, his chest gaping, his voice a hiss of betrayal—and felt the realm shift, its balance tipping as his death rippled through it."His life was taken," she murmured, waking to Elias's frown. "A stab—clean, deliberate—fed the hunger directly. It's not just echoes now—something's waking, something old."Elias's smirk faded, his voice low. "Impacting them? Anne, Deon?""Yes," she said, her hands trembling as she gripped the basin. "Anne's guilt—it's a beacon, drawing shadows to her dreams. Deon's tie to her—he's its anchor, but it's tugging, testing. They'll feel it—visions, voices, maybe worse."He stood, pacing the cramped space. "And the killer? Dream world's doing?""No," she said, firm. "A human hand—real steel, real blood. But it's amplifying—stirring what sleeps. We've got to find who, why—before it breaches."That night, Anne and Deon returned to their apartment, the frost outside a mirror to the chill within. The wedding dress lay abandoned at the chapel, replaced by jeans and a sweater, but its ghost clung to her—Gary's blood, her wish, the knife's gleam. They sat on the couch, a blanket draped over them, the fairy lights a dim glow against the dark."I keep seeing it," Anne said, her voice small, her head resting on Deon's shoulder. "His eyes—open, empty. Like he knew."Deon tightened his arm around her, his jaw clenched. "It's over—he can't hurt you now. But… I hear things—whispers, like when I came back. 'You're ours,' they say. You?"She nodded, her fingers twisting the blanket. "Shadows—moving where they shouldn't. Last night, I dreamed of the bar—blood on the counter, Gary laughing. Woke up screaming."He kissed her forehead, his voice steady despite the fear coiling in him. "We're together—whatever this is, we face it. But it's not you—it's something else."The dream world's impact deepened as they slept—fitful, restless, their minds snared by its reach. Anne dreamed of the dandelion field, fireflies replaced by shadows with teeth, Gary's voice echoing: You wished this. Deon saw the silver forest, his childhood self staring back, eyes black and hollow, whispering: She'll break us. They woke gasping, clinging to each other, the boundary between dream and reality thinning, the hunger's touch a cold hand on their spines.Nina, too, felt the ripple, though she didn't know its name. At her apartment, nursing a whiskey after Gary's death hit the news, she tossed in her sleep—dreams of a rally gone wrong, his bruised face leering, shadows swallowing the crowd. She woke with a start, her heart pounding, his threat—I'll burn it all down—ringing in her ears. She'd fought with him, hated him, but killed him? No—yet the dream world fed on her guilt, her anger, twisting it into visions she couldn't shake.The next morning, Madame Lazare crossed deeper, Elias at her side in dream-form, the silver forest trembling as they moved. The river churned, its waters darker, and Gary's echo loomed larger—his chest wound gaping, his voice a snarl: They'll pay. Shadows swarmed him, feeding on his rage, growing bolder, their whispers a cacophony of need."It's amplifying," Lazare said, her pendant flaring. "His death's a crack—they're pushing through, drawn to the living—Anne, Deon, Nina. Grief, guilt—fuel."Elias gripped her arm, his voice urgent. "Physical impact?""Soon," she said, her gaze fixed on the shadows. "Visions first—then reality bends. Objects move, voices wake—eventually, they cross. We've days, maybe hours."They returned, her shop a refuge, and she turned to him, resolute. "Find Nina—she's tangled, knows something. I'll warn Anne and Deon—brace them."Elias nodded, pulling his coat tight. "And the killer?""Close," she said, her eyes dark. "The dream world's feeding—it knows. We trace it—fast."At the apartment, Anne and Deon faced the day, the dream world's impact a palpable weight—coffee cups trembling on the table, whispers threading the air. Anne found a flyer—Gary's, crumpled in a drawer—stained with a red smear that hadn't been there before, and dropped it, her hands shaking. Deon heard footsteps behind him, turning to find nothing, his pulse racing."We're not imagining it," he said, pulling her close, the bar's knife a memory between them. "It's real—coming for us."She nodded, fear tightening her grip. "Gary's gone—but he's not. What's happening?"Before he could answer, the door rattled, and Madame Lazare stepped in—her tunic stained, her pendant glowing, her voice a rasp of urgency. "The dream world's awake," she said, her eyes locking on theirs. "His death fed it—shadows are reaching. You're its targets—guilt, love, ties. Brace yourselves—it's not done."They stared, the weight of her words sinking in—the dream world's hunger, stirred by Gary's blood, now clawing at their lives, a mystery entwined with its wrath. The snow fell thicker outside, a veil over Crestwood, as the impact deepened, a storm they couldn't outrun.