Stranger Wearing Makeup: Prologue [The Dream]

"Its the same dream every night. Every time I close my eyes. I'm standing in an old theater, the kind with the levels and levels of seats, the red velvet curtains scrunched and wrapped in gold rope. The kind with the massive rounded stage, brown wood floors extending all the way back to the curtains. The kind of theaters that were built into the ground, like a fallout shelter, at a 45 degree angle. The kind that make you sweat as you walk out.
"I'm walking down one of the aisles on ground level, heading towards the stage and I can feel the eyes of everyone burring into me, a million little holes sizzling my skin. I hurriedly try to make my way closer to the stage, but although my feet are moving, I don't seem to move any sort of real distance. I see the aisles streching out in front of me, stretching on and on. I look around to see if anyone is watching this, but all the faces are ecstatic, they're all so full overjoyed, frozen in their ecstacy. Their ceramic skin wrapping tightly around them, holding them all as still as rocks.
"I look back to the stage, lights crossing on the velvet curtain making an 'X'. Then slowly, the curtains open and I see myself standing in front of a dozen women all holding onto each other like a fountain, the white of their ceramic skin glares from the stage lights. I'm standing there, the other me, the me covered in cracking ceramic. I'm standing there at the edge of the stage, just behind where the curtains were, my right arm outstretched like I'm about to take someone's hand. My face, smiling a big lovingly joyful smile is cracking.
"Pieces of the ceramic skin chip away, as if blown away by some delicatly wind, eneveloped in sorrow, but all the while the curtains are still. The flacky skinchips away and I see red trickle down to the floor, until there's nothing left but a hollowed man, muscles and tendons exposed, standing in a pool of warm crimson blood.
"Then the fountain of ceramic women erupt. The red spraying from all sides, a beautiful display of self-destruction. I look away to the people sitting around me. Their fixed smiles of a petrified happiness still radiating just as firmly as before. But then, they too begin to crumble from the outside in, until I'm standing in a collousal theater filled with a fleshless audience. After that, they each get to their feet and start clapping, the tendions and muscles from their arms tearing apart, snapping like rubber bands.
"Then I wake up." I say.
"Oh," Amanda says.
"And that's why I don't sleep anymore." I reply. "Ever. There's no fear like the kind you feel in your dreams."
"Its so pure, not clouded by logic." She adds, now not so afraid.
"So it has nothing to do with the guilt from...the other night?" Allison asks me handing me a glass of water.
"No, that's something else." I say, then I take a sip. "Its kind of a waking dream, or a dream I can never tell is real or not."
"What do you mean?" She asks.
"The pills." I say.
I assume this all needs some sort of explanation. So how's about I start at the beginning, of the case [or a tad bit before that] and go on until I reach the "now" and continue from there.
Now where to begin?
Oh, yes...this city, dark and green from the years of constant downpour, the buildings have all started to wither away into a rain beaten moosh of sex, drugs, and violence. This city kills you from the inside and makes you puke it up, infecting everyone around you.
This is my city of choice, Pompey City.
My name is Gus Green, I'm a private detective.

-Sir Jestro