Prompt: 99¢ Dreams

The old man sat in his chair behind the booth, watching the passersby with a practiced eye. He knew their types, the ones who fled to the undercity, searching for a cure to their fleeting problems, bills clenched in their fists. They were always running, even if they didn't move. He didn't understand that, but they paid well, and it wasn't his business to pry.

His tattered booth was ramshackle compared to the sweeping pillars of the Insomnia Emporium and Amnesia Suites, all gleaming gold and marble, but his wooden stall drew enough customers to get by. It didn't have some grandiose title, just a wooden sign propped up on the front: 99¢ DREAMS.

Dreams were wonderful things, and a wonderful profession, he thought. With just a twist of a knob and a tweak of a lever he could create magical worlds blooming in the minds of the beholder, like painting a picture with fine and delicate brushstrokes. He was a virtuoso at his craft, but would rather stay under the stained tarp that covered his head than wander the lobby of the Surreal and Splendorous Dream Palace, gesturing customers into rooms where he would plunge into their minds, giving them the pleasure of wild fantasies. No, he was satisfied.

A young man approached the booth, looking apprehensive, and pulled a dollar bill from his pocket.

"Excuse me, sir, might I have a dream?" He had a fine accent of an upper-class privileged youth, the sort who usually flocked to the finer buildings. Obviously he had no real business in the undercity, only an escape to pleasure.

"Yes, yes." The old man waved him in and pulled him behind the counter toa tent-like structure. Inside was a chair, not unlike a barber's, leaned back with a showerhead nozzle suspended above it. The old man was perched behind a complicated-looking machine of wires and gauges, fiddling with them. The young man froze, observing the scene.

The old man looked up at him through his bushy eyebrows. "Well?" He asked, and the young man sat down in the chair, noticeably nervous."You have a name, son?"

"Theo." The young man replied. "Would you like to hear my request?"

The old man snorted at the haughtiness in the boy's tone. "We have a few rules here, Theo. You need to hear them first. One – I don't do any funky dreams, okay? You want a restricted-rated dream, go somewhere else."

Theo nodded.

"Good. Second – no refunds. You get what you get. You have in your head the perfect dream you want, and I can't read your mind. I can only put pictures in it. Got that?"

Theo nodded again.

"Lastly– enjoy it, kid. It's only a dollar."

The young man smiled. "I will, believe me."

He settled himself back in the chair, the cracked leather beneath him, and the old man watched him glance up at the nozzle with suspicion. The rich kids never really understood how dreams worked, having only seen the picturesque parlors in the fancy emporiums complete with refreshments. Theo didn't seem like he wanted to talk, so the old man supplied the conversation.

"What Brings you around here, then? Why aren't you up in the Surreal and Splendorous Dream Palace?"

Theo snorted, a short and derisive sound. "Those places are phonies. Plus, I need something they can't provide."

"And what would that be?" The old man's brow furrowed with confusion. Some of the best dreamwarpers were employed in the fanciest structures, weaving wild nightmares with incredible skill. They could make the wildest dreams possible, for a hefty price. Surely if Theo wanted a certain dream so desperately he could simply go to one of their places of business.

"Your reputation precedes you." Theo simply replied, leaning his head back against the headrest of the chair. "Now, are we to begin?"

The old man's knobbled hands flew over the controls, tweaking a lever here, spinning a gear there. "Just a moment, just a moment. You're very impatient."

"You're very slow." The young man shot back, although his tone wasn't contemptuous. Shaking his head, the old man walked around to the front of the chair and took a seat on a small stool.

"So what's your dream, Theo? Adventure? Travel?" The old man took out a small notepad and a pencil, ready to jot down notes like he often did with other customers, but Theo extended a hand and pushed the notepad away.

"Like I said, your reputation precedes you. I want you to give me a memory."

The old man wet his lips, suddenly nervous. "You know how dangerous these jobs are, don't you? Not to mention illegal. A mind is a man's last fortress – tapping into it is immoral, wrong."

"Please." Theo's voice broke and his hands clenched into fists. "I'll pay you well. Just... Do this for me."

The old man shook his head again, lowering a set of probes from the multitude of tools and wires suspended above the chair. "Dreams are only a dollar, son. That's all I expect."

Adhering the probes to Theo's temples, the old man secured his head with a small strap of leather, then his arms and legs. "You must understand, these are safety precautions. They do the same in the emporiums as well."

The young man nodded swiftly, as much of a nod as he could muster with his head fastened to the headrest of the chair.

"Now, I'll need you to tell me around when the memory was, so that I can find it. Experiences are like a dictionary – if you don't know whatyou're looking for you'd search for ages, and that would run the risk of mental impairment. Having someone else in your head for to long is incredibly dangerous. Are you sure you don't just want a normal dream?"

Theo slammed his eyes shut and set his jaw. "No. I'm ready. It would be when I was fifteen, sometime in summer. My mother had made he and my sister milkshakes. Well, it was really the maid who prepared them, but it was the thought that counted. That was the last day before she went to the undercity... And never came back."

"Ready when you are." The old man intoned, situating himself in front of the control panel. He set a few more dials to align to Theo's time period, then placed his hands on the scanner and keyed in his access to Theo's memories.

An onslaught of sights and sounds assailed him, but the old man was experienced in dealing with this sort of dreamcasting. Quickly he rose above the pouring tide and perused the images before him, sorting through the thoughts with great delicacy. Theo stiffened beside him, arms straining against the bonds, but he remained quiet as the old man searched for the memory.

Seconds later he discovered it, compressed into an explosion of color, sound, and sensation. The cool of the glass against Theo's hands, the broiling heat of a summer day. Red-on-white striped dress, and a searing light that could only mean they were above the undercity.

The old man captured the moment and released it along the probes, sending out the winnowing strands of the dream into Theo's mind. Instantly the young man's body relaxed, sinking into the chair. Keeping his ties to the memory, the old man watched as the dream played out in Theo's head, so real and vibrant he himself felt as though he was standing above the undercity in the sunshine.

"Kids! I have milkshakes!"

A burst of emotion, maybe elation, spiked through the dream. Theo's feet pounded against the grass – real grass, not concrete or hewn stone – as he ran up to his mother, donned in a short summer dress of red and white, holding two tall glasses in her hand. She was smiling, with a single dimple in one cheek, and dream-Theo's heartwas warmed simply seeing her there, so happy.

"What kind?" A girl's voice sounded from behind Theo and the old man turned to see a young girl approaching. She had the same reddish hair as her mother, tied back in neat pigtails.

"Strawberry, your favorite." The woman beamed, and the old man twisted a gear to bring her features into sharper focus.

"Mom, Dad said you were going on a business trip today." Dream-Theo asked, twirling the straw in his milkshake pensively.

"Well, Dad was wrong." The old man couldn't miss the edge in the woman's voice when she replied, guarded by that careful smile. "You two listen here, now."

"Oh, boy. We're in trouble." The girl, presumably Theo's sister, muttered.

"You're not in trouble, dear." The woman placed a hand on Theo's shoulder, firm and yet gentle at the same time. "I just wanted to tell you that I will never ever leave you, so you don't have to worry, okay?"

"Okay!" Theo's sister's voice was bright, and the old man could feel the weight of doubt leaving Theo's chest. And that was the last he ever saw of her.

The memory ran thin, then dissipated in a shower of smoke. Theo jolted forward in his bonds, gasping for breath, and his hands scrambled for the straps. Calmly the old man helped him up from the chair, supporting him slightly as Theo trembled.

"I can't believe it." The young man gasped, dragging a hand through his hair. "She was there, she was right there, I could feel her hand." He placed his own hand on his shoulder, as if feeling the familiar weight.

"I understand, Theo, but it was just a dream." The old man murmured."Are you satisfied with your product?"

Theo blinked slowly, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a wallet."Y-yes, of course. Here." He placed a handful of coins in the old man's palm, hands shaking as he did so.

"If you don't mind my asking, why did you want to see that memory? It obviously disturbed you. Forgive me, I don't mean to pry."

"It's fine. I have very few real memories of my mother, not since she came down here years ago. I just wanted to see her again." Theo looked down at his shoes, so meticulously polished they could have been mirrors. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my father doesn't like it when I come down here. I should be going."

The old man bowed his head. "Of course. Come back any time."

As Theo's retreating back faded into the ever-shifting crowd of people clustered in the undercity, the old man caught a glimpse of a suddenly familiar color. A reddish bob of hair, bright against the contrast of browns and blondes that filled the streets, a color that Theo had known so well.

The second he tried to focus on it, though, the color was gone.