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Victorique’s Dream Interpretation – Part 02

Meanwhile, Victorique stood watch at the entrance of the apartment building, surveying the surroundings.

She brought her gold pipe to her lips and blew wisps of white smoke into the winter night sky. Her emerald green eyes, sharp as a predator’s, glinted as they sucked in the darkness.

“This is quite the challenge,” she remarked, removing the pipe from her lips. “It appears this case is more complex than I initially imagined. Who would have thought we would get entangled in Little Italy’s gang scene and start chasing after some renowned psychologist?” She chuckled derisively.

Cold, pale moonlight poured from the heavens. Victorique’s resplendent silver hair shimmered, and the voluminous five-tiered ruffles of her coat undulated like the waves of the nocturnal sea.

“But if Dr. G.I. Boleid is indeed involved, the next question would be the motive, Kujou. Hmm? Kujou? That incompetent attendant of mine. What’s taking him so long?”

Muttering under her breath, she absently puffed on her pipe.

“Why on earth would Dr. G.I. Boreid, who’s making waves with his psychoanalysis and dream interpretation, venture all the way to Little Italy to get involved in killing gang members?” She sighed. “And in what capacity is he involved?”

The smoke swirled gently.

“Unfortunately, the nature of his involvement remains a mystery… Oh?”

Victorique’s tiny ears pricked up. Footsteps echoed from the main street. One set sounded like typical male footsteps, but they were accompanied by a curious rhythm of lighter, more measured steps.

Swiftly, Victorique hid behind a black post. Blending seamlessly with the darkness, her figure, swathed in the folds of her cloak, vanished like a shadow engulfed by the night. A cool breeze blew, and Victorique’s presence dissipated in an instant.

Tap, tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap tap.

The mysterious, rhythmic footsteps continued, and the grim voices of men drew nearer.

“Well then, Dr. Boleid…”

A slim man entered. He was tall, with long, straight black hair tied back. Though Victorique couldn’t quite make out his face, he appeared relatively young.

“As for the plan at hand, everything is proceeding smoothly, yes?”

Tap! Tap-tap-tap, tap-tap.

Following behind, a middle-aged gentleman appeared, twirling in circles. The dim entrance suddenly appeared to brighten, resembling a stage on Broadway.

The gentleman—Dr. Boleid—sported an exquisite frock coat, a hat, a red cane in hand, and a neatly groomed beard. A fine man that exuded intelligence, he jumped so high he nearly hit the ceiling, spun around on the spot, and danced left and right like a stage actor.

Shrouded in darkness, Victorique furrowed her pretty eyebrows, observing Dr. Boleid’s feet closely while puffing on her pipe.

“I see. He has a severe case of chorea,” she mused. “This is the first time I’ve seen it in person.”

Tap… Tap-tap-tap.

Victorique’s brows twitched. “Perhaps it stems from war trauma. Or perhaps there’s more to it. For instance, dancing as a way to compensate for some intense desire that can’t be fulfilled. Hmm?”

She replaced the pipe in her mouth and narrowed her green eyes, continuing her observation.

Dr. Boleid leaped high, landed, and tapped side to side, but his face betrayed a reluctance to dance.

“Y-Yes… Th-Things are p-proceeding smoothly,” he said. “P-Please t-tell him that.”

“Hmm…”

“Y-You see…” He leaped high again, then, with a pained expression, descended. He went on eloquently, “You see, even the kindest person has anger, hatred, and resentment hidden deep inside their heart. Some individuals conceal pure violent impulses like children. These impulses may lie dormant during the day and only awaken secretly in dreams at night. Majority of people, however, live their whole lives never letting these feelings surface at all.”

“Hmm.”

“Truth be told, even with my abilities, I can’t make a patient without violent tendencies commit murder. What I do is unearth the capacity—that sense, the unholy gift from the Devil, not God—hidden within a patient and make their twisted dreams come true. I lull them to sleep with herbal tea, then tell them to kill their target. And then, you see, those with a knack for violence—the gifted—subconsciously grab knives, guns, poisons, fulfilling their secret childhood fantasies—harming others, stripping them of their dignity, and finally committing murder effortlessly!”

The other man chuckled. “You seem to be having quite a bit of fun tonight, doctor.”

“N-Not at all. Th-That person instinctively sensed my dark talents. They singled me out, dug into my past, and tried to turn me into a killer for their own gain. I followed their orders and promptly executed it. Not on the battlefield, but here in this great city of New York. Not targeting children, but adults.”

“What a creepy fellow.”

“So you say, but to me…” As Dr. Boleid continued to dance, his breath grew labored, and he started trembling violently. Sweat streamed down his face. “The Director is much, much scarier! Even with psychoanalysis, I still have no idea where his desires lie.” He jumped high. “Why does he seek to control this country from the shadows? What happened to him in the past? What shape do his desires take? And why did he instruct me to eliminate such a character?”

“That’s enough, doctor,” the man said with disinterest. “Do machines think?”

“Right.” Dr. Boleid nodded fearfully. His sweat continued pouring, and he trembled with terror and disgust.

“So, how’s that assassination plan going?”

Nodding repeatedly, the doctor replied, “Th-There’s a saying: the best place to hide a tree is in a forest. To ensure the success of our important plan, I first used the trees in the forest as practice targets. The crime was executed according to plan, and it went frighteningly well.”

The young man seemed to smile faintly. Dr. Boleid, trembling with fear, continued nodding as he danced. Neither of them noticed the mysterious emerald-green eyes watching them from the darkness.

Dr. Boleid started spinning so wildly that he seemed about to fall to the floor. “Th-The practice period is finally over!” he declared shrilly. “The execution is tomorrow. Please relay that message.”

“Ah, I see. Tomorrow.”

The doctor nodded. “Yes. A major event is happening tomorrow. I wasn’t certain at first, but I found a patient perfect for the crime. They work for a newspaper company.”

“I see. A newspaper company employee can easily get close to the target.”

“Exactly!”

Dr. Boleid smiled with relief, spinning round and round.

“I’ll report to the Director, then.”

With that, the man turned on his heel. He glanced back once, giving Dr. Boleid a chilling stare, before leaving the building without a sound.

The entrance fell silent. The only sound was Dr. Boleid’s eerie dancing footsteps.

A pair of emerald-green eyes flickered in the darkness. The golden pipe glinted, and thin white smoke curled into the air.

“Who is this Director they were talking about?” Victorique wondered suspiciously.

The wisp of smoke rippled.

“We now know that Dr. Boleid found the desire for murder deep in the patients’ minds and induced them to commit crimes,” she continued in a raspy voice. “But what about the latter part of the conversation? The best place to hide a tree is in a forest, practice, execution tomorrow, newspaper company employee. What do all of these things mean?”

Silver hair rippled in the darkness, shining like the wings of a bewitching demon.

Dr. Boleid danced as he headed towards the elevator hall.

“Oh no!” Victorique gasped. “Kujou hasn’t come out yet. Ugh, that incompetent fellow.”

The smoke from her pipe quivered uneasily.

“I have to do something, or he will run into Dr. Boleid at the clinic. Hmm…” Her heels clacked restlessly in the darkness. Finally, she sighed in resignation. “Fine! There’s no other choice.”

Victorique suddenly emerged from the deep shadows of the pillars. Her coat fluttered gracefully, and her silver hair flowed smoothly from under her bonnet. Chubby, rosy cheeks. Cold green eyes. Red frills peeking out from under her coat. Each breath she exhaled turned the air around her into glittering ice crystals.

Victorique slowly and reluctantly approached Dr. Boleid. Hearing footsteps, the doctor turned around, startled to see a small, incredibly beautiful woman standing there. He swallowed, studying Victorique. He even stopped dancing for a moment.

“E-Excuse me,” Victorique said, tilting her head slowly.

She was on the verge of crying; starting a conversation with a stranger was not something she usually did. Tears of stress welled up in her emerald-green eyes.

“A-A dog?” she stammered. “No… H-How about a cat? Hmm… No, let’s stick with a dog!”

“Hmm?”

“I-I uh… I lost sight of my dog around here. S-So I’m searching for it. Yes, let’s go with that. D-Did you happen to see anything? A dog, a dog, a dog! It’s a dog!” She erupted in irrational anger.

“Ugh!”

Tears glistened in her green eyes like pearls, threatening to spill over.

Dr. Boleid, more intrigued than suspicious, observed Victorique’s peculiar conduct with amusement, idly stroking his beard.