Dreamweaver

Epilogue

You spent the next year traveling and living off of odd jobs; usually gathering information for a client or being an advisor. Anything to keep you busy and not thinking about the past. Bounty hunts were also an option, but you made sure to do your homework before going in for the kill. You'd observe their dreams for a while and try to get a gist of the person, and then make the decision. Often times, you chose to abandon the job, leaving it to the next hunter. Killing because someone else deemed it was the way of your previous life, and it wore too much on your conscience.

In all your time spent in the dreams of others, you witnessed so much pain and struggle. You had a client who was haunted by reoccurring nightmares of a trauma she'd suffered. She asked you to track down and kill the person responsible for this trauma, since the police would not act without more evidence. Classic vigilante job. After finding the supposed guilty party, you learned that he was not directly responsible for her suffering. In fact, he had experienced his own hardships, which he blamed on yet another person. Seeking out the next person responsible was a chain that seemed to go on endlessly. You found yourself unable to blame any one person. You told the original client that you could not complete the job. Instead you offered to help her with her reoccurring dreams, explaining that taking revenge won't stop her dreams. She was reluctant but she agreed to try it.

You observed her dreams every night until the reoccurring dream happened. You stepped in and stopped the direction of the dream, allowing your client to change the outcome. You continued to do this until her dreams had stopped for 30 consecutive days. She was overjoyed, and able to sleep peacefully. She paid you handsomely, and no one had to die. For the first time, you felt good about the work you'd done. This gave you an idea.

You started offering your services as a "Sleep Mender." You rented a fancy office space in a tall building in one of the biggest cities in the area. You would meet with potential clients in person and talk about the problems they were having. If the problems were dream related, you would explain your services to them. If they agreed, the client would be given 3 months of your time, for a hefty sum paid up front. You'd observe their dreams and manipulate when necessary.  You would continue face-to-face meetings weekly to talk about the progress. The goal was to change their outlook or clear their conscience, not just be a crutch. If it was possible, 3 months was enough time to do it. Before too long, you had a wait list of clients who needed your help. The work was fulfilling, although mentally and emotionally exhausting. You always took a week off between jobs to recuperate.

Most of your clients were important people with a lot of money and secrets. You used an alias and required your clients to do the same. Often times they were afraid you'd see too much, but it was up to them to take that risk. For safety, you always carried your dart gun, loaded with your blood-imbued darts incase you needed to use Tether. It had never come to that, but for obvious reasons you kept it at hand. You also had a special business keycard that was a one-way communicator. It showed a timer count down until their appointment, once you'd scheduled it months in advance. Then they would be required to bring that keycard to the appointment to gain access to your office.

It was the second year of your practice, and you were in high demand. Your wait list seemed endless but you were confident. You'd just had a nice week off, and had a new client coming that night. You were wearing your business attire and had spent extra time on your appearance to look professional. You arrived at your office early to tidy and get your paperwork for the new contract together. The office felt stuffy so you cracked a window to let the night breeze in. You heard the front door notification go off, meaning the client had entered the street door and was on their way to your office on the 18th floor. Some of your papers blew onto the floor as you heard the door being unlocked by the arriving client's keycard. You shuffled to pick up the papers with your back to the door saying, "Take a seat, I'll be right with you."

A man's voice said, with a slight scoff, "I should have known it'd be you." You recognized his voice instantly and whipped your head around to confirm what you'd heard.  There he was, stepping out of your past and into your office, the door closing behind him. Your mouth gaped to see Chrollo Lucifer making himself comfortable on your couch.

"What... Why are you here??" you demanded, heart racing and hand reaching for you dart gun.

He was too amused to care about your confusion or fear, saying with a smile "I'm your 8 o'clock," as he flipped the keycard between his fingers. You observed that he was in "try to look normal" mode; dressed in a casual suit, tattoo covered and hair down.

You aimed your gun at him and he responded with his hands up in innocence. "I know you always carry weapons. Put them on the floor," you ordered.

He began, "I'm not here to-"

"Now," you interrupted with a gesture of your gun. He complied, opening his suit jacket and removing his knife and spell book, placing them on the floor out of reach.  "How did you find me?!" you questioned.

He shook his head and replied, "I didn't come to find you- I came for help from the Dreamweaver."

"Dreamweaver?" you asked suspiciously.

"Yes, that's what everyone calls you. You're something of a legend nowadays... among people like me who can't quiet their own minds," he explained. Was this really happening? Even with the window open, you felt it was exceptionally warm in your office. You were watching him for signs of aggression or fast movements but saw none. He started laughing again as he slumped back onto the couch "God I'm an idiot. Of course it's you." You didn't know what to say. If he really was here for your help, then you should oblige.

Trying to keep composure instead of remembering what you did the last time you saw him, you tried to act like he was a normal client. "What... what seems to be the problem? I mean, why do you need my help?" you asked. Racy thoughts went through your mind as you imagined the chance of spending more time with him.

"Ahh, well... Turns out, you can't help me. I have to say I'm disappointed... I've been waiting for over a year for this appointment," he mused.

"Why not? I've helped numerous people... some worse off than you, I bet..." you baited him. "You don't think I can do it?" you asked, walking around to stand in front of your desk, crossing your arms defiantly.

He gave you a sardonic look as he stood up. "Do I think you can help me get rid of my dreams about you? No, I don't." That statement made you blush way too much. You were speechless as he stared at you, his expression changing from petulance to intrigue, as he looked you up and down.

"You.. said we could never see each other again...." you said, making excuses to try to put him on the spot, successfully provoking him.

"True, but we didn't really mean to see each other, did we?" he rationalized, walking over to where you were standing. "This wasn't... intentional," he said. Your breath was quick and your whole body felt hot.

"You.. said you'd kill me on sight," you retorted playfully, placing your hands against his chest, which was now splendidly close to you. You ran your hands under his open jacket down to his waist.

"Mmm I didn't say that. I said the other members would kill you on site... luckily for us, I came alone tonight,"  he said into you ear, as he put his hands past you onto the desk you were both bumped up against. You pulled him closer, delighting in his longing for you.

"Well, I guess you can be my 8 o'clock then," you mused, as you toyed with the buttons on his shirt. He lifted you abruptly onto the desk, pushing his hips between yours.

"I'm going to need a lot more than 20 minutes though."

^o^; ~~~ The End