Episode 16: The truth closes in

The mid-February dusk painted Crestwood in shades of ash and ice, the snow falling in relentless sheets as Deon trudged through the old quarter, his green jacket dusted white, his breath a ragged mist. Elias's murder—stabbed in a parking lot, a note pinned to his chest—had jolted him from the numbness of Gary's death, igniting a fire that burned through his frustration and sadness. Two killings, linked by knives and motive, pointed to someone close—someone tied to Anne, to him, to the bar—and the dream world's whispers, now a constant hum in his ears, urged him toward the truth.He'd left Anne at the apartment, her eyes hollow from police questions and nightmares, promising to dig deeper while she rested. The precinct had their prints—his on the bar knife from weeks ago, hers smudged but inconclusive—and Hargreaves's suspicion clung like damp snow, but Deon knew neither of them had struck. The killer was out there, a shadow moving through their lives, and the dream world's impact—visions, voices, objects shifting—pointed him like a compass.He stopped at the chapel, its steeple a dark spike against the storm, police tape fluttering in tatters around the back hall where Gary had bled out. The bar knife—stolen from The Dandelion Pour—nagged at him; only a handful knew its place behind the counter: Anne, him, Nina, Kim, and regulars who'd lingered late. Elias's death shifted the frame—same MO, a note saying You're next—and Deon's mind raced through suspects. Nina's ex, Tom, loomed large—jealous, volatile, missing since her hookup with Gary—but others flickered: Kim, steady but protective; Matt or Jacks, quiet but present; even a vengeful campaign aide Gary had crossed.The dream world's hum grew louder, a whisper threading his thoughts: Close, close, close. He closed his eyes, the snow a cold kiss on his face, and saw it—a flash from the silver forest, Gary's echo snarling, a shadow beside him, hooded, familiar. The figure turned, its face obscured, but the gait—quick, tense—echoed someone he knew. His gut twisted—Tom? Kim?—and he opened his eyes, the chapel's silence pressing in. He was close, the truth a thread he could almost grasp, but it danced just beyond reach, tangled in the dream world's haze.At the apartment, Anne sat on the couch, a blanket draped over her shoulders, the fairy lights casting a frail glow. The bar was shuttered—police orders—and the weight of Gary's death, Elias's murder, and the dream world's reach pressed her into stillness. She'd dreamed again—a dandelion field turned black, shadows with knives, Gary's voice chanting You wished it—and woke to find a glass shattered on the floor, untouched by her hand. The dream world was bleeding through, its impact a vise on her mind, and she needed answers.The door creaked open, and Madame Lazare stepped in, her tunic snow-damp, her opal pendant pulsing like a trapped star. Her gray curls framed a face etched with urgency, and she crossed to Anne, sitting beside her, her voice a rasp of resolve."You're drowning in it," Lazare said, her storm-gray eyes locking on Anne's. "The dream world—it's tearing at you. Time you understood why."Anne straightened, clutching the blanket, her voice trembling but firm. "Tell me—everything. What it is, what it's doing, how it's tied to us."Lazare nodded, her hands folding over the pendant, its light flickering as she began. "It's old—older than us, born when the first mind slept, when thoughts slipped free and wove a realm. The dream world's a mirror—reflects us, feeds on us. It's alive, hungry, shaped by will but ruled by exchange: give to take. I learned it as a child—my mother walked it, taught me its paths. Silver forests, starry rivers, shadows that watch—they're echoes, fragments of what we leave behind."Anne listened, her breath shallow, the pieces of Deon's origin clicking into place. "Deon—he's from there?""Yes," Lazare said, her gaze steady. "You made him—poured love, need into him as a girl. He grew in its shadows, fed by your echoes, until your sleeplessness tore a crack. My dust—dreamstone ground fine—bridged him here, made him real. But he's tethered—to you, to it. A thread, fragile but strong."Anne's hand tightened on the blanket, the fairy lights trembling as the room's air grew heavy. "Gary's death—Elias's—it's waking it?"Lazare's pendant flared, her voice darkening. "Death's fuel—blood, intent, emotion. Gary's stabbing—your wish, his greed—cracked the veil. Elias's murder fed it more—rage, fear, a killer's will. Shadows grow, pushing through—visions, whispers, things moving. It's breaching now, reaching for you, Deon, Nina—anyone tied to the wound."Anne's eyes widened, the shattered glass a memory in her mind. "Why us?""Your bond," Lazare said, leaning closer. "Deon's yours—love keeps him here, a shield against its pull. But guilt, anger—they're cracks it exploits. Gary's echo snarls for you; Elias's warns me. The killer's feeding it—each stab a gift—and it wants more."Anne shivered, the dream world's impact a cold hand on her spine. "Can we stop it?""Yes," Lazare said, her voice steel. "Find the killer—cut the feed. I'll cross, trace the thread—warn who's next. You hold Deon—your love's the anchor. It's breaking through—days, maybe less—before shadows take form."The room stilled, the pendant's pulse a heartbeat, and Anne nodded, resolve hardening. "Deon's out there—looking. I'll keep him close."Lazare stood, her tunic rustling, her eyes sharp. "Good. Elias is gone—I'll not lose you too. Stay sharp—it's watching."She left, the door shutting with a soft thud, leaving Anne with the weight of clarity—the dream world's mechanics, its hunger, its tie to them—a map to navigate the storm.Deon returned hours later, snow melting from his boots, his face taut with urgency as he found Anne on the couch. She stood, meeting him halfway, and they collided in a warm embrace, his arms tight around her, her breath a sob against his chest."Got close," he said, his voice rough, pulling back to meet her eyes. "Chapel—saw something, a shadow. It's someone we know—Tom, maybe Kim. Dream world's pointing me.""Lazare came," Anne said, her hands gripping his jacket. "Explained it—dream world's awake, feeding on Gary's death, Elias's. It's breaching—because of us, our bond. Killer's making it worse."He nodded, his jaw clenching, the whispers in his head—Close, close—echoing her words. "Tom—Nina's ex—he's missing, fits the rage. Kim's steady, but… she knew the bar, the knife. I'm close, Anne—feel it."She kissed him, fierce and brief, her gray eyes steady. "We'll find them—together. Lazare's crossing—warning us. Hold me—it's our shield."He pulled her close again, the snow outside a veil, the dream world's hum a pulse they shared. He was close—Tom's shadow loomed, Kim's loyalty flickered—and with Anne, he'd unravel it, the truth a blade to cut the hunger's reach.Across town, Nina sat in her apartment, whiskey in hand, Tom's name a thorn in her mind—his jealousy, his absence, the knife's fit. She dialed Hargreaves, her voice sharp: "Check Tom Carver—my ex. Knew Gary, hated him—could be your guy." The detective grunted, promising a trace, and she sipped, the dream world's whispers—He's coming—a chill she couldn't shake.In the silver forest, Lazare walked alone, Elias's echo gone, shadows swarming the starry river, their eyes glinting—Gary's snarl, a new voice, Tom's?—as the veil thinned, the truth a thread she raced to pull before it snapped.