Stalker // DNF

6: Exposed

Three paintings. Three paintings had never been placed in such close proximity to each other within such a short amount of time in Dream's career. Dream is obsessed with that street, obsessed with the apartment walls... is he really also obsessed with George?

George leans back from his stooped position over the desk, his neck lifting from its previous position of analyzing a map of London. He'd printed it in a hurry and marked every location, within the past 2 months, that Dream's graffiti had been spotted. The majority were random, mostly placed in poorer neighborhoods out of the city centre.

But then for the past few days, when Dream had begun painting hints from George's life, all but the pizza had been drawn in the victims' neighborhood. Did Dream somehow find out this had become a regular walk to work for George?

The past few hours had been rough. George had paced around his flat, panic being walked into the carpet from his body. His theory was right, or so he assumed. He was right, goddammit he was right.

George recalls how his friends had reacted to his previous paranoia and pictures telling them what he knows now. In each imaginative scenario of him breaking the news of the pool painting and his connections, they laugh him out of the call. He knows they wouldn't believe him, he isn't sure if he himself really believes him.

So he hasn't spoken to a soul, instead has been researching any patterns of Dream's artwork locations, finding out little apart from the past week. If Dream was going to strike again tonight, surely it would be on that same street, right?

George hurriedly pushes his chair out from under the desk to stand up, ignoring his hunger and thirst from neglecting his body urges for the past few hours. He grabs his coat which lays on the back of his couch and stuffs his feet quickly into his trainers, not bothering to undo the laces.

He chucks his phone, map and keys into his pocket and is out of the door as quickly as his feet allow him. Surprise engulfs him when he sees the dark pinks and orange of the sky swirling together above the setting sun. Had he really been worrying and analyzing over Dream the entire day?

He pushes the thought behind him and shoves his hands into the warm pockets of his coat, shrugging his shoulders up to decrease the pinching sensation the cold air had caused to his ears.

George shuffles quickly away from his house and to the street, his feet leading the way, knowing the path like second nature. He has no plan, not really. Just questions, lots and lots of questions. He could ask the neighbors for any sightings of Dream, although it was unlikely. Dream was well known for being quick with his work and, sometimes narrowly, avoiding the eyes of pedestrians while he paints.

George approaches the street, growing increasingly anxious at the thought that a man, who knows more about him than any other, could be lurking nearby. A man who's capabilities are not public knowledge.

He enters the neighborhood and looks around. There are a few people wandering near the bus stop, clearly awaiting their transport's arrival. Other than that and the distant sound of indie music from the apartments, the street is quiet as people begin to settle down for the night.

George cruises down the street and takes a turning down a small path which he knows leads to the wall with the swimming mural. The path takes him through 2 larger apartment buildings and nestled behind 1, and opposite a back garden, lays a smaller wall of another building, displaying the art he'd seen on the screen mere hours ago. His breath gets caught at his feelings of being exposed to the world, but he walks forward to grasp the true image of his secret.

He navigates to the middle of the graffiti, feeling small and scared at the size of the art. The wall towers above him and the paint takes up all of it. The bubbles are the size of his outstretched palm and the blue captures his entire vision. His younger self hides behind his arms, the t-shirt flowing and filled with water. George can't help but pity the terrified, self-conscious child who couldn't bear for others to glance in his direction.

The amount of detail Dream has given the painting was impressive, yet petrifying at how much time had, clearly, gone into it. Light freckles cover George's arms, some reaching his thighs. His body is hard to see under the clothes, yet the image still captures a scrawny boy, one who's skinny frame could barely be compared to others his age. His hair spreads out around his face, caught in the pressure and density of the water. Dream had somehow captured George's arms tensing, desperate for no one to see his facial features.

The children in the background all merge together, all blurred and impossible to decipher. The small boy protrudes and stands out, different and the focus of the eye.

This is terrifying.

'Do you like it?' a playful voice says out of the darkness and silence, startling George and causing his body to freeze. The voice comes from behind George, quiet enough that he knows the person is close. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck shoot up and all his focus for the painting is redirected. 'I think it's one of my best, personally.'