Episode 15: The Web tightens

The mid-February frost gripped Crestwood, the air sharp with the scent of snow and exhaust as police tape fluttered around The Dandelion Pour. The bar, once Anne's sanctuary, now stood as a nexus of suspicion, its windows dark, its door sealed by order of the Crestwood PD. Inside a nearby precinct room, Anne sat at a chipped table, her hands clasped tight, her gray eyes darting to the clock—2:47 p.m.—as Detective Hargreaves, a wiry man with a perpetual scowl, flipped through a notepad."Walk me through it again, Ms. Baker," he said, his voice clipped, pen poised. "You found him—Gary Halsey—stabbed, wedding day, back room of the chapel. Knife from your bar. Start to finish."Anne swallowed, the memory flashing—Gary's blood, her torn veil, the wish she'd harbored. "I was in the vestry," she said, steady despite the tremor in her chest. "Heard a scream, ran to the hall—storage room door was open. He was there, on the floor, knife in his chest. I didn't touch him—just… screamed, ran back."Hargreaves scribbled, his eyes narrowing. "Your knife—recognized it?""Yes," she admitted, her voice low. "From the bar—kitchen stock. Don't know how it got there—I was locked in all morning.""Convenient," he said, leaning back. "You two had history—blackmail, breakup, threats. Witnesses saw your boyfriend—Travers—beat him bloody days before. Motive's thick here."She bristled, fists clenching. "Deon didn't do it—he was with Kim Blair. I didn't either—I wanted him gone, yeah, but not like this."Hargreaves grunted, unconvinced, and the door opened—another officer ushering Deon in, his green jacket rumpled, his knuckles still scabbed. He sat beside her, his hand finding hers under the table, a silent anchor as Hargreaves turned to him."Travers," the detective said, tapping his pen. "You've got a temper—public fight with Halsey, motive screaming. Where were you?""With Kim," Deon said, his voice rough but firm. "Her place, then the bar—heard it from her after. Didn't touch him that day—wanted to, but didn't.""Alibi's thin," Hargreaves said, eyeing them both. "Knife's yours—prints pending. You're not off the hook."Across the hall, Nina faced her own grilling—her arms crossed, her braids catching the fluorescent glare as a younger officer, Officer Reyes, pressed her. "You and Halsey—hooked up, fought, threatened him," Reyes said, flipping a file. "Saw him night before—where were you wedding day?""With Matt and Jacks," Nina snapped, her tone sharp. "Chapel, back pew—ask them. Yeah, I hated him—creep tried to control me—but I didn't stab him."Reyes leaned in, voice low. "Ex-boyfriend—Tom Carver—where's he at? Word is he's got a temper, didn't like you moving on."Nina's eyes widened, suspicion flaring—Tom, quiet but volatile, ghosting her then vanishing after their breakup. "Haven't seen him," she said, slower now. "But… he knew Gary—saw us once, got pissed. You think…?""We're checking," Reyes said, jotting a note. "Stay reachable."Matt and Jacks, questioned separately, corroborated Nina's alibi—chapel, together—but added nothing new, their nerves fraying under the scrutiny. The group emerged an hour later, released but shadowed by suspicion, the police circling like hounds on a scent.Outside the precinct, the snow fell thick, a curtain over Crestwood's gray streets. Anne stepped into the cold, her breath misting, and turned as Deon caught up, his arms opening wide. She fell into him, a warm embrace that melted the frost between them, his jacket rough against her cheek, his heartbeat a steady pulse against hers."Thought I'd lost you again," he murmured, his voice thick, holding her tight. "Cops, Gary—all of it.""Never," she said, pulling back to meet his sky-blue eyes, tears brimming. "We're in this—together. They don't know us."He kissed her forehead, his hands framing her face, the precinct's glare fading in their warmth. "They'll keep digging—knife's ours, my fight. But I didn't—and you didn't.""I know," she whispered, clinging to him, the dream world's whispers a faint echo in her mind—You wished it. "We'll figure it out—prove it."They stood there, snow dusting their shoulders, a bulwark against the storm—police, shadows, the mystery of Gary's blood. Their bond, healing but scarred, held firm, a light in the dark.Nina lingered nearby, her hands shoved into her coat, her mind racing—Tom, her ex, a quiet man with a jealous streak, missing since their split. She'd seen his temper—smashed bottles, shouted threats—but murder? Gary's death fit—personal, brutal, a bar knife—and Tom knew her haunts, her ties to Anne. She pulled out her phone, texting Matt: Tom—think he could've done it? The reply came fast: Maybe—guy was unhinged. Tell the cops. She nodded to herself, suspicion hardening—Tom, a ghost with a grudge, now her prime suspect.In the old quarter, Madame Lazare's shop glowed faintly, the air thick with sage as she and Elias stood over a map of Crestwood, pins marking the chapel, the bar, Nina's place—nodes of the dream world's reach. Her opal pendant pulsed, its light flickering as she traced the dream's impact, her voice a rasp of urgency."It's bleeding through," she said, her eyes fixed on the map. "Anne's guilt, Deon's tie—drawing shadows. Nina's anger, too—feeding it. Gary's death cracked the veil—something's crossing."Elias nodded, his gray coat slung over a chair, his fingers tracing a pin. "Police are on them—knife's a lead. Killer's human, but the dream world's amplifying—visions, whispers. How far?""Far," she said, her pendant flaring. "Physical now—objects shift, echoes wake. Soon, they'll breach—take form. We've got to find the killer—stop the feed."They crossed together, the silver forest unfolding—trees trembling, the starry river churning, shadows swarming Gary's echo, his wound gaping wider, his voice a snarl: They'll pay—all of them. Lazare felt it—a pull, a hunger older than her childhood crossings, waking to claim more."Time's short," she said, waking to Elias's frown. "We split—me to Anne, you to Nina. Answers lie with them."He grabbed his coat, his voice grim. "Agreed. Killer's close—dream world's pointing."They parted—Lazare toward the apartment, Elias into the snow, his steps crunching toward Nina's street. The night deepened, the frost a shroud, and he didn't see the figure shadowing him—a silhouette in the flurry, silent, deliberate.Elias reached a parking lot near Nina's, the sodium lamps casting a sickly glow, when the figure struck—swift, brutal, a knife flashing in the dark. He stumbled, a blade piercing his chest, blood blooming through his coat as he fell, his breath a gasp in the snow. The killer—a hooded shape, face obscured—knelt, pinning a note to his chest with the knife's hilt: You're next. Then they vanished, the snow swallowing their tracks, leaving Elias's body cooling under the lamp's flicker.Hours later, a patrol car found him—knife deep, note stark, blood frozen in the drift. The call crackled through the precinct, reaching Hargreaves as he pored over Gary's file—another stabbing, same MO, a new thread in the web. He dispatched officers, the case spiraling wider, darker.Lazare arrived at Anne and Deon's, her pendant glowing, her voice urgent as she stepped inside. "It's worse," she said, snow melting from her boots. "The dream world's breaching—Gary's death fed it, now it's hunting. Elias is tracking Nina—we need the killer, or it takes us all."Anne and Deon exchanged a look, the weight of her words sinking in—the dream world's impact, a tide they couldn't stem, now tied to a murderer's hand. "Police think it's us," Deon said, his voice tight. "Knife's ours—prints are back tomorrow.""Then we move fast," Lazare said, her eyes sharp. "Your bond—hold it. It's your shield. I'll cross again—find the thread."Before she could leave, her pendant flared—a scream in the dark, Elias's echo—and she froze, her face paling. "He's gone," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Stabbed—dead. It's spreading."Anne gasped, Deon pulling her close, the room tilting as the dream world's reach tightened—Gary dead, Elias gone, a note promising more. Nina's suspicion of Tom, the police's net, Lazare's warning—all converged, a mystery spiraling into chaos as the shadows closed in, their hunger a pulse in the frost.