Stalker // DNF

4: Crazy

George feels crazy. Every neuron in his brain feels mad. He'd yanked off his webcam with shaky palms and was now kneeling on the floor, scanning each detail of the camera.

The webcam did have a wire, but it was just to charge the device. The webcam was on all the time, George hadn't properly read the instructions. It had been on all the time.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thinks. He was a cyber-crime investigator, he was supposed to be the example of online safety! Yet his webcam had been on all the time, like a fool.

He throws it to the floor in fury and drags himself up to his feet. George storms to the kitchen counter and immediately calls the group chat.

He impatiently stomps his foot, the events of the past few minutes swirling in a disorganized fashion around his brain. The paintings, the smoke, the webcam.

'Hello?' Cole's voice sounds from the phone, his voice distant and unclear. 'I'm on the way to work, what's up?'

'Hi?' Leila joins as Cole is speaking, her morning voice groggy and she clears her throat to remove the rasp. George can't feel bad for waking her up, he's too panicked.

'Guys, guys, have you seen Dream's new painting?' George rushes, propping himself up on the counter.

'The one of the flowering t-shirt? Yeah..?' Cole says, clearly confused.

'No, hang on, I'll look it up now,' Leila comments.

'Did you not notice anything about the -' George begins, but is interrupted by Tom's voice joining the call.

'Hello, what the hell are we all doing here?'

'Tom, right. Have a look at Dream's new painting. Does it not look incredibly familiar?' George exclaims. He's never spoken this quickly and desperately needs his friends to convince him he isn't going crazy.

'I saw it earlier,' Tom says. 'What about it?'

'Cole?' George pleads.

'George, are you okay? You sound... squeaky?' Cole's quiet voice says. 'Are you upset about what we said last night?'

'Oh my god, no. I don't care. Do none of you think that Dream's new piece looks exactly like the photo you sent of the cashier covered in my vomit?'

George is met with a silence, his friends attempting to understand what George is saying. All he can hear is the sound of the road from Cole's end.

'Guys?'

'George, I've just had a look at the picture,' Leila speaks up. 'It looks like the same shop, sure, because of the background. But... I don't really get what you're trying to say?'

'But the painting is almost exactly the same as the photo,' George says exasperatedly, desperation increasing in his pitch. 'Don't you... do none of you think it's weird? And like... Dreams last painting was of someone paying for all of the drinks... after we made that stupid bet that I lost. And! And there was my pizza order...' George trails off, hearing his insanity and heavy breathing as he is becoming carried away.

The silence that met George's words before was now amplified before a snort is heard from Tom's lips.

'You're a nutcase, George. What are you saying - you think Dream is stalking you and painting about it?' Tom scoffs.

George winces at hearing how stupid it all sounds from another's mouth.

Cole chokes down a laugh. 'George, you're paranoid. Dream probably painted the same shop and it just happened to have - a shirt... or whatever you think the connection is.'

'Don't worry so much, all that stuff you said - granted I lost you a bit at the end - but they're all coincidences George, you're safe,' Leila says, trying to comfort her distressed friend.

'So none of you guys are Dream?' George asks, regretting the words as soon as they left his tongue. He's gone mad.

Tom and Cole howl at his comment, Tom begins coughing from the force of his laugh and Leila is heard stifling her giggles.

'Fuck me, George,' Tom laughs. 'It's too early for this shit, I'm hanging up.'

'Yeah, I really have to go too,' Cole says and George hears his engine being turned off. 'George mate, it sounds like you'd better go back to sleep for a few hours. I'll talk to you guys later.'

'I agree, sleep it off George. You're not thinking rationally,' Lelia says.

They all hang up and leave George clinging onto his counter, feeling embarrassed, stupid and paranoid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

His arm, which was previously holding the phone to his ear, drops by his side and he puts his head in his hands.

Tom's words 'you think Dream is stalking you and painting about it?' sting in his ears, making him feel like an idiot. Because for a second, he almost lead himself to believe it.

Because why does he still kind of believe it?

Being the laughing stock has bruised his ego and sent him into a pit of embarrassment, but 3 days is a row... He still doesn't believe it is a fluke, a true coincidence.

George stands and walks to his computer, crouching when he arrives to grab the webcam and point it at his face. He's been told enough horror stories of people spying through these devices to add another layer to his paranoia.

'Hello?' he says, feeling mad and crazy and mad. He puts the camera next to his ear, expecting - what? A response?

When it's clear nothing is being heard he points the camera at his face again.

'Is someone watching me?' he whispers. 'Is it -'

He can't bring himself to utter the ridiculous words, is it Dream? Is the famous painter, Dream, looking at him through the webcam and making little paintings about what he hears on the streets of London? God, his friends are right, he is a nutcase.

'I won't be able to rest tonight not knowing if I'm... being watched by - someone,' George carries on, despite cringe resisting every words that passes his lips. 'So I'm going to tell you, if there is a 'you' there, something that no one in my life would know.'

He pauses, searching his brain for anything, not even his own mother, has the knowledge of. He thinks of his work, his childhood, his insecurities.

'Ah! Okay, right. So I can't swim,' George confesses. 'It's not that big of a deal, right? Loads of people can't swim. But I never learnt because -'

He pauses, thinking back to his reflection in his bathroom mirror last night. Thinking that he can't recall the last time he saw himself not covered in cloth.

'I never learnt because I couldn't bear to see myself without a shirt on. I couldn't put swimming trunks on and walk out in front of everyone because... Well I don't really know why. But I'm still like that, I won't take my shirt off, not even around myself.'

George stops, feeling a sudden surge of emotion, despite himself still feeling like a lunatic.

'So yeah, no swimming for me. And I always make excuses around my friends for why I won't go in the sea or pool. I'd rather they think I can swim than have to explain why I can't.'

George stares at the light, flickering in his vision. It could just be a light letting him know it's on, when it should have been off. He should have known.

'So try and make a painting out of that,' George mutters, placing the webcam back on the floor. He'll put this crazy theory to bed if his secret remains private. But he has to know if his insane side is truly insane, he has to know.