The Dream Case || Dreamnotfound

12

George's face fell as the body disappeared from the camera's vision. It was the man he had killed the night before. He looked to Dream in astonishment and whispered, "I thought you said you would take care of the body."

"I did."

"Looks like Dream has killed yet another citizen," the reporter said from the tv, now away from the crime scene. "The cycle of bodies continues... when will he stop? Has he no feelings at all―"

The screen went black, Dream having turned it off. It was silent for a long moment before Dream said quietly, "I do have feelings, just so you know."

George looked away from the tv and stared at Dream in shock. "You took the credit― why?"

Dream didn't reply and George asked, "Why did you do that? I don't understand."

"You can leave now."

Instead of feeling relieved at those words, George felt confused instead. He looked to the door, noticing the boxes and duffel bags as well as a cat carrier. Dream said, "I'll be gone before you can call your friends."

George didn't have anything to call them with anyways. He phone was still in the ally by the pub with his gun― unless Dream trashed them when he was cleaning up the body. George muttered, "Why are you helping me?"

"I said you can leave, so leave. You were so eager to leave last night, why are you hesitating now?"

George grumbled in agreement and stood up, not having touched his food. He glance back to Dream as he approached the door. Dream didn't move a muscle. George's hand hovered over the door knob and he swallowed nervously.

He opened the door, his eyes scanning over the room, jumping over furniture and boxes. George gave Dream a long last look before he left. He closed the door behind him with a loud exhale. As his shoulders relaxed, George felt a twinge of disappointment and confusion.

Despite these mixed emotions, George left in a hurry and asked the nearest stranger for their phone. He called the only person that came to mind. The line clicked and George said into the phone, "Karl, it's me, George. Can you come pick me up?"

~

"Hang on― let me get this right― you're a detective and you're working on Dream's case?" Karl said slowly, "And he likes you, so that's why you're not dead?"

George looked around nervously and said in a hushed whisper, "Quiet Karl! Don't tell the whole café that."

"Right," Karl said apologetically, "sorry. So, you're saying that Dream helped you?"

George nodded and Karl leaned back with wide eyes. He ran a hand through his hair. "Woah, that's kinda cool... I can't believe you met Dream."

"It's not that cool," George muttered.

"Wait, did he break your arm?"

"No, that was my own fault. I broke it trying to run from Sapnap."

"You met Sapnap?!"

"You met him too," George said. "He was the one guy at the pub, remember? He kept checking you out."

"Woah," Karl said with wide eyes, "I met a serial killer. That's actually insane― wait, that's scary. He could've killed me!"

George nodded slowly and Karl added, "It's a good thing he's in prison... what about Dream though? Why haven't you arrested him?"

"Because he helped me," George muttered, "and it's not like it's that easy for me to kill him. He's smart..."

Karl studied George for a moment and his eyes lit up in realization, "Wait― do you like him?"

"No!" George said quickly with a face of disgust, "I don't like him. He's a serial killer."

"Huh, I could've sworn I heard a different tone in your voice," Karl remarked.

George blink and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I don't like him― I have a boyfriend... err, I think he's my boyfriend. We haven't made anything official."

"Oh yeah, Clay! You guys have been dating for months now," Karl mused. "Have you told him about Dream?"

"No," George muttered. He then remembered that he had a job. George stood up quickly and said, "Shit Karl, I forgot about my job... there was a body this morning. I should probably go to the station. See you later!"

Karl waved goodbye and George took an uber to the station. He arrived at his work ten minutes later.

"George!" Jack greeted. "Where have you been? I've been trying to call you, but you haven't been picking up."

"Sorry Jack, I lost my phone. I was―"

"Gogy!" Tommy shouted and jogged to George with a wide smile. "How are you big man? I met another intern and we're friends now! He showed me how to use the printer!"

"That's great Tommy," George replied with a grin. "Speaking of printers, can you print the newest photos from the crime scene this morning? If you find Niki's assistant, he's a forensic photographer and he'll have the file for you. Just tell him that I want you to get the newest evidence to add to the wall."

Tommy nodded with a determined look. "On it."

Tommy rushed off and George turned back to Jack. "What did I miss?"

"There wasn't any prominent evidence, like usual, but there was something new... Dream shot this one instead of using his typical dagger."

George paled at the mention of it and swallowed. "Oh... really?"

"Yeah, we studied the bullet and it's from a standard issued police pistol," Jack added. "There aren't any reported missing guns from the station, so Dream must've bought one and used it to mess with us. Isn't that weird?"

"Yeah, really weird," George muttered and looked around. His eyes landed on a angry agent who was approaching swiftly.

"Where were you this morning?" Quackity asked.

"I lost my phone," George said, nodding in dismissal to Jack. "How are you doing Quackity?"

"I'm pissed. You're the head detective on this case and you didn't even show up," Quackity replied and crossed his arms.

"I'm sorry Quackity. Accidents happen. I lost my phone and I didn't get any texts or calls from the station."

"You better be there when the next body is found."

"Of course," George replied evenly. "This is my case, not yours. That being said, don't boss me around. I have more authority in this station than you."

Quackity scoffed. He muttered, "Let's see who actually solves this case. Then we'll see who knows more about the situation."

George held in a sigh as Quackity turned his back and left to talk with one of his associates. He spent the rest of his Saturday combing through old information and possible evidence. George knew that it was useless― if he wanted to find Dream, he could just flip off a security camera and piss off the serial killer. But a growing part of him didn't want to put Dream in prison.

He was confused at this― George hated it.

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