Prologue, III.

Phantasm

Chapter III: Buried Secrets

"Three can keep a secret... if two of them are dead."
—Benjamin Franklin

Grace Hill
Chaperone

The heavy sigh that slipped past her lips was one of exhaustion… one that caffeine couldn't immediately fix.

The mountain of paperwork and forms to her left had only grown since yesterday when she finally dragged herself from the office. She believed she had slept, somewhat—but it was hard to tell any more.

I need these done by the end of the day. Thank you, Grace! X

It's not that she didn't want to do it—on the contrary, Grace was a perfectionist who loved to take charge and organise everything her way—but the time crunch was becoming more of a strangling, looming presence. Clarence's eagerness to push Dreamscape into its beta stage had meant that a lot of corners had been cut… corners that Grace, unwittingly, had to chase up… and fast.

Grace steadied herself as she started from the top. A signature here, a note there. Forms and contracts for the eventual candidate players. Health and safety measures. Taxes and statements and filings and—

"I have something I need you to do urgently," Clarence announced as he breezed into her office.

Grace's head sharply shot up, "What is it?"

"It's about 'boomgate'... Roald's investigation has come up empty. We ran it a second time, just to be sure, and there was no exploding child. I need you to close the paperwork on it and file it."

"Does Esme know?"

Clarence's eyebrows furrowed, "What makes you think that she doesn't?"

Because you're so quick to close it? Grace couldn't help but wonder. "Just curious."

Clarence sighed as he perched himself on the edge of Grace's desk, "Truthfully? Not the extent of it. She knows that we found no concrete reasoning to why it happened, and she also knows that the 'bug' has been fixed to not happen again, but I haven't told her that I'm closing the investigation into it."

"Can I ask why?" Grace poked encouragingly, "She's your sister, Clarence. Your co-founder. She has as much stake in this as you do."

Grace had known the twins since they were teenagers—Clarence's carefree, devil-may-care attitude that often got him in trouble… trouble that Esme instinctively shouldered the blame for, as she always did.

"She'll be mad."

"Why would she?" Grace softly looked at the mountain of paperwork she had barely made a dent in. It can wait. She stood up, coming to sit next to the man who was her boss but often felt more like her surrogate child. "You've been through a lot in the last year together. You'll be surprised at how much she has mellowed since your Father passed."

Clarence chuckled, "You really think so?"

"Well… as mellow as Esme could possibly ever be, sure," Grace laughed, "But the important thing to remember is that you're in this together. Just talk to her."

"Can you please still seal it?" Clarence asked, a pitiful look in his eye of a rebellious teenager who had just been caught red-handed, "I promise I will tell her. But for us to start the advertising, I need zero credible concerns. Everything has to be locked away or else the media will have a field day and this project will—"

"—Okay," Grace nodded, "I'll seal it."

Clarence bounced off of the table, "You know, I really do appreciate everything you do for this company, Grace."

It's only ever for you two, Grace smiled softly as she nodded knowingly again. "I know."

As Clarence skipped from the office—leaving behind the file on the desk—Grace felt her stomach sink.

She had always supported the twins—more so, Clarence—in every endeavour that they wilfully threw themselves into. But she couldn't shake the feeling that their Father's passing had affected them in ways they probably didn't even know. It might have been months… but Clarence's persistent rush for Dreamscape to launch and hide things behind his twin's back was alarming.

Taking the file, Grace unlocked the bottom cabinet drawer, tucking it under miscellaneous folders away from prying eyes. Even though she knew it wasn't another secret she wished to bear, she dutifully buried it deep.

Roald Larsen
Head Developer

On the very edge of the office, like a deer caught in headlights—in his hand, a small cardboard box that he hadn't found time to wrap—Roald stood perfectly still.

In his mind, he rationalised that, if he stood still, nobody would notice him. A phantasm of their imaginations. A strange apparition that couldn't quite be their stuffy, quiet, elusive Head Developer whom nobody knew outside of his blunt calls and demands for submitted work to, well… be submitted.

His eyes scanned the room. Paper garlands hung from every corner. Helium balloons wafted to the ceilings above. Across the desks, Roald spotted Levi dragging what could only be described as some archaic karaoke machine into the far right-hand corner, Dominic scribbled hastily in a board marker across the screen.

"Can I get some help?" Levi called, "No? Nobody? I know we all believe in feminism but screw you all."

Roald gently placed his gift on the desk, crossing the room hurriedly to help out. She didn't even notice as he curled his fingers around the plastic handle on his side, hoisting it up.

"Thanks…" Levi huffed, "I didn't think it would weigh so much. Dom better be grateful since I loaded the entire Ungodly Hour album onto it."

Roald didn't say anything back. He didn't even know what Ungodly Hour was.

His silence finally garnered a look from her. Levi frowned. "I don't think we've ever met? What department are you from?"

"Development…" Roald chose his words carefully.

"I like your accent!" Levi nodded approvingly, "Is it Swedish? Oh— shit. I'm sorry. I know who you are! You're the Head Developer. Roald, right? Like the author."

"Yeah," Roald smiled uncomfortably. It was a known fact that he was the only European on the team. He was lucky that his job allowed him to work remotely all of the time—he barely knew anyone from his team besides their names and their poor attempts to hide their browsing histories during work hours.

Levi grinned, "It's cool that you came. Most of the big bosses wouldn't bother."

It had Roald questioning if he was truly invited or not—he saw the note on the break room fridge and just assumed. He had been telling himself for months that he needed to socialise and make friends, and that work was a great place to start.

Maybe I'm wrong… Roald inwardly sighed. His loneliness was just so paramount sometimes that he often forgot how antisocial he truly was.

Eventually, the pair of them set the karaoke machine into the corner. Roald watched awkwardly from the sidelines as Levi set up the microphone and other unknown party-goers continued to decorate, adding food and stacking an empty desk up with half-drank bottles of liquor.

His gut knotted. This was a mistake.

Roald didn't even say goodbye as he collected his gift, making sure to add it to the pile before he scurried away. He stopped by his office on the way out, his monitor suspiciously still on. He frowned as he realised, quickly closing the website and yanking open his top drawer.

On top, a notebook full of hasty written messages laid. He knew it wasn't safe there.

Stuffing it into his pocket, Roald knew that his secret would potentially be the end of him but he had no choice but to bury it deep.

Dominic Stroud
Programmer

Thud.

A sharp pain jolted up Dom's leg, shuddering his laugh between broken breaths. He wished he could've seen what he had walked straight into—alas, the blindfold was pulled taut against his eyes, covering him in darkness.

"This is why I don't drive…" Levi hummed.

"You don't drive because Manhattan's streets would probably be the end of you," Dom shot back, "You'd drive your ass into a bodega or something because you saw a cute dog on the sidewalk."

Thud.

"Ouch!" Dom laughed, "Okay, okay, I take it back. You don't have to purposely push me into things."

Levi laughed, too. A cutesy yet somehow evil laugh. "Don't be so ungrateful then. You knew this was coming— okay, stop!"

Dom grinded his feet to a halt, unable to hide the grin on his face. He could hear the distinctive sound of pitter-patter on the office carpet. The quiet murmurings of huddled people, ready to all jump out on him. He was thankful that he didn't care much for surprises—his main source of entertainment was collecting all the gossip and, in an office, nothing stays secret for long.

"Oh no," Levi sing-songed, "I think that the power is out—"

The blindfold fell away from Dom's eyes, engulfing his vision in an array of electric colours. People bounced from every corner of the room in unison.

"Surprise!"

Dom feigned shock, "Oh, you guys! I truly had no idea!"

Dom made his way around the party-goers, thanking them for the surprise and humbly accepting their well wishes and gifts. It was times like this that he truly favoured being, well, everyone's favourite!

He thought he had dealt with it all until he found a lone cardboard box on the desk.

"What's this?" Dom asked over the music, haphazardly-thrown together cocktail in hand.

Levi—a little tipsy—leaned forward, "It's from Ronald. Ronald? Ro-ald."

"Who's that?" Dom queried before he made a face, "Oh—! He came? I didn't see him…"

"He left," Levi nodded drunkenly, "He thought I didn't see… but I did."

Dom smiled, surprised by the sudden secrecy from the Swede. They had barely shared a conversation. In fact, Dom only ever remembered applying to move up into the development team and being politely rejected a few days later over email. Did Roald really remember that? Am I too drunk? Dom paused, sniffing his drink. What the fuck did I even put in this?

It was only when he caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye that he suddenly sobered up—a horrifying, cold snap back to reality that made his head spin. He eyed the camera at the far corner of the office. It was a dummy: it had never truly worked, ever.

Except the small, red flashing light said otherwise.

Dom knew otherwise.

He tilted his head and knocked his drink back, letting the fuzziness dull his senses for a few seconds longer, long enough for him to bury the secret as deep as his queasy, alcohol-soaked stomach would allow.

w w w. dreamsarenightmarestoo. weebly. c o m

So, I originally lied. There is one more prologue after this but on the bright side, there is a deadline in sight! Subs will close on the 1st Feb at 12.00 GMT.

I've closed a majority of my slots so at this point, if you haven't made yourself noticed that you're going to sub, I would suggest you do it now before there isn't a spot left!

Besides that, nothing important to note. The tributes submitted thus far have been wonderful and we're truly going to have ourselves a great, safe time where everyone returns happy and healthy.

-Corey