The Dream Case || Dreamnotfound

14

George pulled out his chair, the metal scraping against the tiled floor loudly. He sat down with an exhale and stared blankly at the closed folder in front of him. It was silent for minutes before George flipped the folder open, his eyes passing over pictures and documents. Each photo was ingrained in his brain after spending so much time on the Dream Case.

He stopped at a particular photo, one of Dream's more gruesome kills. It was one of Dream's earlier kills― a man, mid forties maybe, with his torso torn open. Two wounds on his chest gaped open, supposed to be eyes. A wide curve sliced the man's stomach open in a smile.

George stared at it blankly. He turned the photo to face Clay, who flinched. George stated numbly, "You did this."

Clay nodded with a grimace.

If George had food in his stomach, he would've thrown up.

George turned over another photo. "And this?"

Clay nodded again. George showed him dozens of more photos, asking the same thing over and over. Each time, Clay nodded. When George's stomach started to churn at it all, he stopped. He waited for his head to stop spinning and took a deep breath.

"George, I―"

"Don't," George whispered weakly, "just... don't. Nothing you can say will fix this."

"Fix what exactly?"

George's eyes lifted to meet Clay's and he whispered, "Everything― Clay... you knew what you were doing and you knew it would hurt me, but you still did it anyways."

"I'm sorry."

George looked away, his eyes looking at himself in the large mirror on the wall. He wondered who was behind it. He wondered who was observing and taking notes, who was watching with disgust and hatred, who was listening with shock and confusion.

"Can I explain?" Clay asked quietly.

"What's there to explain?" George whispered, "You confessed about lying about being a car salesman and said you were a journalist... you knew that I would trust you more since you had told the 'truth'― I trusted you, but you lied about everything."

Clay was quiet for a long moment. He said, "I have a reas―"

"Stop," George muttered, "you're a liar... and to me that hurts more than everything else."

"You're still here."

"I have to be here. This is my case."

Clay pressed, "What about those times?"

"What times?"

Clay lowered his voice so it wouldn't be picked up by the people in the observation room. He whispered, "Admit it, George, part of you liked the 'Dream' part of me. You kissed me back even when I was Dream, for fuck's sake."

"I wasn't in a good mindset then. You took advantage of me."

"No, I stopped your panic attack or whatever. I wasn't planning on continuing the kiss, but you returned it."

George stood up abruptly, his chair pushing out behind him. He said harshly in defense, "I'm done. Goodbye Clay, have fun in prison."

"Wait!" Clay shouted at George's turned back. George paused and Clay whispered, "Please listen. I have more to say."

"What else is left to say? I know everything about you now," George said quietly and continued his walking to the door.

"George!" Clay shouted, "I have a sister!"

George froze. "You have a sister?"

"Yeah," Clay replied, his voice quivering. "I need to save her."

"What?" George whispered and turned around. He hesitantly walked back to his seat and sat down. "Is she in danger?"

Clay looked away and reluctantly mumbled, "Sorta."

"Then fucking tell me," George said angrily. "You wanted to explain, so talk."

Clay's eyes darted to George's before looking down. "Listen... I wasn't always like this― I wasn't always a killer." Clay looked to the mirror on the wall. He whispered, "I grew up with no parents, it was just me and my sister living on the streets. We were near starvation. One day a man approached us and offered me a deal I couldn't refuse."

George hated how his heart softened. He didn't want to sympathize with Clay, but he couldn't help it. Clay continued, "He offered us a roof over our heads and food in exchange for helping him... Had I known what he wanted help with, I would've never said yes. But we were desperate. The man drove us to someplace far from here, by the coast. The first few weeks were nice. We had food and shelter and a nice person caring for us... but then he took my sister away in the night."

Clay swallowed and looked to George. "He said if I wanted to see her again, I had to train and become this― this monster as you called me." George winced, listening to Clay continue. "For years he taught me how to be faster, stronger, smarter, everything I needed in order to be who he wanted. I was fifteen when he took me and my sister in― my sister was seven. A couple years ago was when he asked me to complete my first job."

"And I did it," Clay whispered, his voice cracking, "I killed the first person. The adrenaline of the moment gave me enough power to kill him, but I spiraled after that. For weeks I was anxious and paranoid. The man let me see my sister for the first time in five years to motivate me. She was doing great and I was happy, until he took her away again.

"He said that he was going to put my sister through the same training that he had put me through, if I didn't do what I was told."

Clay took a shaky breath. "So I continued doing his jobs― I'd rather be the monster instead of her. Each victim always brought up the thought of my sister... the thought of what the man would make her into. So I started being more gruesome in my kills, like the one picture of the man with a smile carved in him. I showed him that I was the one he wanted― not her. I could be a monster to protect her."

George's heart was cracking at the story. Tears lined his eyes as he listened to Clay's shaky, emotion-filled voice. "I can only hope that he listened to me, that my sister isn't being put through what I had been. I haven't seen the man in two years― he prefers to send me my targets through the mail because the web is easier to track. I've been trying to find him, but I can't... I just want to know if she's okay."

Clay went quiet and George opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out. Clay whispered hoarsely, "The smile that I use... I didn't mean for it to become my thing― my signature, it was supposed to remind me to be happy. I painted it on my daggers, I carved it on some of my targets, I wore a mask with a smile... to remind me that I should be happy. I should be happy that I'm the one being made to do this and that my sister isn't in my place."

A tear slid down George's cheek. He whispered, "I'm so sorry. I had no idea... Who did this to you?"

Clay looked up, his eyes darkening. He said stiffly, "Wilbur... Wilbur Soot."

-------------

a/n - ...plotwist

love you guys lots! bye <3