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Victorique’s Dream Interpretation – Part 03

Gazing upon her beauty, reminiscent of either a celestial being or a harbinger of doom, he asked with genuine curiosity, “What sort of dog are you referring to, miss?”

Victorique, growing increasingly flustered by the question, began to fidget uncharacteristically. After a moment of contemplation, she stood with arms akimbo, her tiny fists resting on her small waist.

“Are you seriously asking me what kind of dog it was, you cretin?”

“I am!”

“Very well… Hmm, perhaps it was a white dog?”

“I see.”

“No, wait. Maybe it was black, after all? What do you think?”

Dr. Boleid, questioned by the incoherent woman for some reason, grew even more pleased.

“How big is it?!” he asked.

“Hmph, average!”

Sparks flew as the dancing doctor and daunting Victorique stared at each other. A renowned psychologist and an anonymous private detective during daytime. A killing machine and a Gray Wolf at night.

Several moments of peculiar silence passed as they held each other’s gaze. Victorique looked straight at Dr. Boleid without flinching.

It was Dr. Boleid who broke the silence and tension. “Young lady!” he exclaimed with a grin. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re simply stunning! Such divine beauty. Oh, pitiful, tender, lovely lady. One look and I can tell: fate has not been kind to you. But tell me, is the dog you’re seeking real?”

“What?”

“Perhaps it’s a manifestation of an unfulfilled dream, symbolizing something deep within your heart?”

“…”

“By the way, dreams about dogs often symbolize ‘inner wildness and aggression,’ while for cats, it’s ‘destructive impulses and violence.’ Oh? Did your eyes, lovely as jewels, widen? Are you surprised?”

“Hmm…”

“This is dream interpretation! A technique too complex and dangerous for amateurs. But it happens to be my specialty. So, young lady: what kind of dog was it? I’m quite intrigued. Come on, tell me!”

“Well, um… oh!”

Just then, the elevator finally arrived. The iron cage groaned open, and Kazuya emerged, his face concealed beneath a hat pulled low.

Victorique’s relief was palpable, like a child finding her father. Her cheeks flushed pink.

“I will search over there instead,” she said. “Farewell, strange fellow.”

With a quick turn, Victorique hastened away with Kazuya. Dr. Boleid watched them leave with the grin of a Cheshire cat.

“Searching in the city is pointless!” he shouted as he danced. “Oh, poor, lovely lady. Bound by a tragic fate chosen by either divine providence or dark forces. Look within your own heart. Dive into the depths of your subconscious! Explore the murky depths of desire, in the secret room behind the black door, deep within the darkest recesses of your mind.” His voice rose. “I’ll be waiting!”

Kazuya jumped in surprise. “What were you talking about?” he asked in a hushed tone. “Looks like Dr. Boleid has taken quite a liking to you.”

“It’s none of your concern,” Victorique huffed, a sour look on her face. “Stop pestering me.”

“Why are you mad at me?”

“You were taking so long, so I thought I’d buy some time by chatting with that odd man. I figured, why not engage in small talk?”

“You? Small talk? With a stranger? And Dr. G.I. Boleid of all people?”

Kazuya nearly burst into laughter but managed to stifle it, much to Victorique’s growing annoyance.

“And then… um… How did things go on your end?”

Kazuya nodded with a start. As they stepped out onto the main street, he stopped in his tracks and turned to Victorique with a grave expression.

“Your deduction was correct. I found the files. All four culprits were patients of Dr. G. I. Boleid.”

Victorique nodded softly. “Just as I thought, huh?” She brought her pipe to her lips and took a drag.

A cold winter breeze swept down the main street, rustling the roadside trees. Skeletal branches brushed against each other eerily. Victorique’s coat flared.

Victorique leaned against the fence and smoked her pipe. Kazuya stood upright beside her, gazing at her profile intently.

“Dr. Boleid is undoubtedly the mastermind behind the case,” Victorique muttered, and Kazuya nodded in agreement. “I overheard a conversation between Dr. Boleid and a mysterious individual.”

“A mysterious individual? Who?”

“No idea.” Removing the pipe from her lips, Victorique continued, “The doctor mentioned finding patients who harbor violent impulses and hypnotizing them into committing murders. Apparently, he’s been instructed by someone known as the Director to target a high-profile figure. I don’t know who it is and how it’s connected to the recent serial killings.”

Victorique pondered for a moment before a revelation struck her. Green eyes flickering, she looked up at Kazuya. A faint trace of emotion dawned on her cold and lovely features, so perfect as to seem like a doll crafted by a master.

With a proud tilt of her pretty nose, she met Kazuya’s gaze, eyes widening with delight.

“I’ve figured it out, Kujou,” she said enthusiastically.

Her voice was as raspy as an ancient crone’s—low, ominous, echoing in the night.

The night wind howled, tousling her silver hair, shimmering like the band of light in the sky. Her coat and red ruffles stirred like waves in a sea of blood. Her eyes gleamed like stars.

Victorique chuckled softly. “Earlier, Dr. Boleid and the mysterious individual talked about how the best place to hide a tree is in a forest. This implies concealing a body inside a pile of corpses.”

“What does it mean exactly?”

“Is it not plain as day?” She waved her golden pipe with excitement, puckering her glossy cherry lips. “Essentially, they were running ‘murder rehearsals’ before going after their main target. To avoid attracting attention, Dr. Boleid selected Little Italy for its abundance of corpses; a few more Italian Mafia members killed would likely go unnoticed by the police. After honing their skills through practice and gaining confidence in their precision, they’re now planning to take out the main target.”

“No way…” Kazuya stared at Victorique in disbelief. Slowly, the shock registered. Shaking his head sorrowfully, he said, “Did he really kill for such a reason? He took the lives of four people he didn’t know without any motive?”

Victorique, smoking her pipe, appeared either intrigued or indifferent. “We can’t definitively claim Dr. Boleid is insane, but he’s unquestionably lacking in social or ethical stability.”

Her voice was as frigid and quiet as snowfall in darkness. Her expression remained unchanged. Meanwhile, Kazuya’s face grew pale under the moon’s glow.

Cold moonlight fell on Victorique’s shimmering silver locks and Kazuya’s jet-black hair. The hum of car engines filled the main street. Clouds drifted, veiling half the moon and casting a faint shadow over the surroundings.

---

Riding the old black bicycle together, Victorique and Kazuya made their way back to Little Italy.

Past midnight, the main street lay deserted, devoid of cars and pedestrians. Light spilled from the taverns onto the pavement. The occasional voices that rolled out sounded like the whispers of the departed. The moonlight grew colder with each passing moment. Victorique’s silver hair shimmered like flowing water, and her frills fluttered in the chilly breeze.

As Kazuya parked the bicycle at the Italian Furniture Sculpture Import Association, he paused, listening intently. Victorique’s small ears twitched too. They shared a glance before both directing their gaze towards the grand church across the street.

Its black spires stretched skyward, menacing daggers piercing the moonlit sky. Oversized rose windows gleamed like the eyes of a nocturnal predator. The whistling north wind chilled the vicinity of the building.

Despite the lateness of the hour, candlelight illuminated the church interior with a vivid red hue. Faint sounds of raucous laughter and occasional screams echoed from within.

Victorique and Kazuya approached cautiously and peered inside.

High ceiling. An expansive floor lined with rows of wooden seats. A crucified Christ statue glowed in the foreground. The candlesticks’ flames flickered ominously in the wind, while stained glass in the rose windows glistened in red, green, yellow.

Young gangsters in suits lounged on chairs, all fixated on the ceiling. Following their gaze, Victorique and Kazuya gasped.

Three black pulleys hung from the ceiling, clattering as they turned, suspending two men and one woman. Bound with ropes, they swung up and down like human-shaped toys in sync with the pulleys. The men wore coats, while the woman was still in her nightclothes, her red hair tossing around wildly.

“Let us down! Please!”

The voice sounded familiar.

Kazuya strained his eyes. “Michael Kenton!”

Victorique nodded silently. While Kazuya looked shocked, her expression was inscrutable. She pointed her tiny, child-sized finger.

“The other man is Benny Sander. And the woman with red hair must be Nancy Doldor. The gangsters wasted no time in tracking down the culprits after receiving our report.”

“Oh…”

“Come daybreak, and they will be corpses lying in the alleys.”

“Unbelievable.”

Benny Sander’s groans for help were drowned out by Nancy Doldor’s screams and Michael Kenton’s curses.

The gangsters laughed and fired their guns at them as a joke. Some appeared bored, yawning as if this were merely routine.

A bullet tore off Nancy Doldor’s red hair, drifting down like bird feathers. Kazuya knelt, picked it up, and glanced at Victorique with desperation. Victorique returned his gaze with concern.

Side by side they walked under the flying bullets. John Smith, standing at the altar like a priest, smiled when he spotted them. He beckoned them over with his gun.