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Victorique’s Dream Interpretation – Part 06

Darkness enveloped the surroundings. Underground water was dripping somewhere. Faint cries of young children drifted in from afar. Victorique turned around, but found no one there. The disturbing presence of the dead hung in the air.

“Catch him,” said a boy.

“Make him pay,” echoed another.

“Someone, please,” a girl begged.

“Who are you?” Victorique asked.

The sounds of dripping water, thickening darkness, and the musty scent of a basement began to envelop her. The cries grew louder.

“Are you referring to Dr. Boleid? But who are you?”

Victorique strained to hear.

Drip, drip.

Thin screams. The crack of a whip. Agonizing cries. The sound of something plunging into water. More screams.

And then…

“Kill…”

“Kill him…”

“Kill…”

“Hmm?”

Victorique strained her ears, but the voices, too faint to decipher, seemed to dissolve into the wind.

The darkness lifted, and Victorique found herself back in the empty meadow, alone, with only the wind blowing around her.

And so, time passed.

One day. Two days. No, five days.

Alone in the meadow, Victorique stood, sat, lay down, lost in thought, repeating the cycle, waiting for something.

Eventually…

On the sixth day, she saw someone slowly approaching from a distance. Victorique rose and observed the figure.

Wearing a grass crown, draped in white cloth, and carrying a torch—a large and beautiful woman dressed as a goddess, about three times the height of an average person. Broad-shouldered yet slender, radiating strength.

Frowning, Victorique eyed the goddess suspiciously.

“Oh… I thought you might be Rebecca Sacco, but it seems I was mistaken.”

The goddess loomed large before Victorique. The Gray Wolf felt small and fragile in her presence, as if the goddess could crush her at any moment.

“Could it be?” Victorique mumbled. “The symbol of the United States, the Statue of Liberty?”

Victorique cocked her head, dumbfounded. Her silver hair swirled around her.

The Statue of Liberty remained motionless. Victorique examined her for a good while.

“Dr. Boleid said amateurs can’t interpret dreams,” she muttered with frustration. “H-However…”

She pursed her lips and fell silent. The wind blew.

And then…

The goddess dropped something hidden behind her back—a bright red, round object. A ripe apple.

Victorique attempted to dodge it, but she stumbled, and the fruit—as large as a human being—landed heavily on the ground with a thud.

With thundering footsteps, the goddess turned her back on Victorique and walked away, leaving her increasingly puzzled.

“So, what’s this all about?” she wondered aloud, suspiciously rotating around the apple, sniffing, poking, pondering. “A goddess? An apple? What could it all mean?”

Confused, she began to wander aimlessly around the pleasant meadow.

“What I really want to know is the identity of Dr. Boleid’s prime target. So… Could the Statue of Liberty and the apple symbolize who it is? Hmm…” she mused, continuing her aimless pacing.

The wind rose. Perplexed, Victorique lay back down on the grass. Closing her eyes, she groaned in exasperation, wracking her brains hard but eventually gave up.

“Curse you, Dr. G.I. Boleid.”

She turned into a red frilly ball, rolling around the meadow.

Rolling and rolling.

“Oh?”

Slowly she sat up. Blades of grass were stuck in her hair and clothes. She puffed up her cheeks; there was grass stuck to them.

Blinking, Victorique contemplated, “The Statue of Liberty is a symbol of the United States. Does this mean that this case isn’t just about Little Italy but has far-reaching implications for the entire country? And the apple…”

She scratched her head vigorously, on the verge of remembering something.

“Think. There’s a prominent figure who always had an apple in their profile.”

She shook her head, and the blades of grass fell to the ground.

“Oh! C-Could it be…” Her voice dropped lower. “A person whose ancestors made their fortune in apple farming and transitioned into politics. Known for their cleanliness, also known as Mr. Clean.”

Victorique looked doubtful. Then, slowly, her emerald green eyes widened and her glossy lips moved.

“If that gentleman is their target, there will be grave consequences,” Victorique mumbled as she rose.

Thud! She bumped her forehead against something hard.

Grasping her forehead with her small hands, she endured the pain in silence for a moment. Tears threatened to spill from the corners of her eyes.

Cautiously and irritably, she opened her eyes and saw brown hair, light brown eyes, and a teddy bear against the chest. A young man was peering at Victorique with an innocent, childlike tilt of his head.

Victorique’s eyes widened. “You’re that weird detective. Benjamin, was it? What right do you have to stare at me like that? Scram!”

“Okay…” Detective Benjamin hastily retreated.

Victorique found herself in the grand church of Little Italy. The three culprits had been lowered from the pulley but were still tied up on the floor, all looking equally drained.

Several hours had passed since she fell asleep. She could see the pearly sky through the stained glass.

Kazuya peered in from the other side. “You’re awake,” he said. “Thank goodness.”

“Yes. As you can see, it was a terrible awakening.”

Victorique grumpily sat up. She looked around and saw gangsters standing up and approaching.

“So, I fell asleep,” she said, casting them a sidelong glance.

“Yeah, I was worried. But I knew you’d wake up after a while. I was waiting for you to wake up.”

“And in the meantime, a bumbling detective from the NYPD joined us.”

“Yup! He knew we’d been out and about late into the night, so he tailed us. He really wanted to know what kind of case we’re investigating. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t get rid of him.”

“Today might be just the right time,” Victorique murmured quietly. “Given the circumstances. It won’t be easy to get the cooperation of the NYPD, but… Hey, Detective Benjamin!”

Detective Benjamin timidly approached. Victorique lit her pipe and took a drag.

“I’ve managed to deduce who Dr. G.I. Boleid is targeting,” she told Kazuya.

“What?” Kazuya croaked.

Victorique looked at him quizzically. A wisp of white smoke wafted from the gold pipe, drifting toward the ceiling. The light of dawn filtered through the rose windows.

“Kujou.” Victorique nodded slowly. “Explain the situation to Benjamin.”

“O-Okay.” Kazuya looked uneasy, but began nonetheless. “We’ve been looking into a serial murder of gangsters since yesterday. We’ve identified multiple culprits, and it seems the one pulling their strings in the shadows is actually the psychologist Dr. G.I. Boleid.”

“Dr. Boleid?!” Detective Benjamin exclaimed incredulously. “That famous guy?! No way!”

“That seems to be the case. We deduced that the doctor has a prime target to kill, and he’s been using the gang murders as practice. According to Victorique…” He paused.

The gang members and Detective Benjamin tensed up, listening intently.

Victorique took over. “The target is from a wealthy family of apple farmers from the northern region.” Her voice dropped to just above a whisper, echoing hoarsely in the quietness enveloping the church. “A candidate for future President of the United States—Mr. Goldsworthy.”

Morning began to fill the church. The temperature rose slightly, and their white breaths turned invisible. Someone among the culprits seemed to have succumbed to exhaustion and fallen asleep, snoring faintly.

“What?” Detective Benjamin was the one to break the silence.

He looked utterly confused. Breathing heavily, he placed a hand on his chest, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the case.

Kazuya was also astonished, his jet-black eyes wide as he looked at Victorique.

“I have no idea why he’s being targeted,” Victorique continued with nary an emotion on her face.

“A-Ahuh.”

“By the way, Kujou, are there any events today in New York where Mr. Goldsworthy might be vulnerable?”

“Well… there is. And it’s a perfect one. There’s a rally happening today at the plaza in front of the Empire State Building. Seniors were talking about going for coverage.”

“I see! That might be what Dr. Boleid and the mysterious man were discussing last night. According to the doctor, there’s an ideal event to carry out the assassination, and he mentioned a profession that makes it easy to approach the victim—someone from a newspaper company. The doctor likely hypnotized a patient under the guise of psychoanalysis by serving them tea and putting them to sleep.”

As Victorique went on, Kazuya’s face clouded with sadness.

“They probably groomed the fifth culprit to kill the primary target.”

“…”

“Now, the issue is finding the culprits. Benjamin, if you could interrogate Dr. Boleid as the police, that would be best, but without evidence, it will be difficult, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“In that case, Kujou, perhaps sneaking into Dr. Boleid’s clinic again to search for potential patients from the medical records might be the most realistic approach. Hmm?”

A frown of suspicion creased Victorique’s forehead. Kazuya, looking restless and apologetic, slowly raised his hand.

“What is it? A question at this juncture? I thought I explained it concisely enough even for your pumpkin head.”

Kazuya shook his head.

“Then, what is it?”

“I’m not sure how to put it, b-but I might have a slight idea about that person from the newspaper company.”

Victorique removed her pipe from her lips, gaping slightly, utterly taken aback.

Looking increasingly unsure of himself, Kazuya shrunk back, placing his hand on his cheek. He appeared embarrassed like a teenage girl.

“Uh, um… Sorry…”

“Don’t tell me… I-Is it you?”

“Victorique…”

“Are you the fifth culprit?! Wh-What on earth are you doing?! We have a dire situation in our hands! How did you end up in such a strange position?!”

“L-Listen. Um, you see… Yesterday, Nico and I went to Dr. Boleid’s clinic for an interview and were served that tea. And then I, uh, fell asleep! Just like Michael Kenton and the others.”

“…”

“Oh, come to think of it, the doctor should have been busy, but when the chief requested the interview, he readily agreed, and even said we could come that day. He must’ve needed someone from a newspaper for the rally.”

“K-Kujou, you dolt!”

“I’m sorry, Victorique… Huh?”

Click.

Steel clinked, and Kazuya turned around. Victorique wore a puzzled look.

Detective Benjamin was wearing a wide grin on his face. His left hand was holding Kazuya’s wrist, and his right hand handcuffed him.

“Huh?” Stunned, Kazuya stared at Detective Benjamin dumbly.

Victorique, still holding the pipe in her mouth, eyed Kazuya and the detective curiously.