Dreamwalker Protocol

As he lay motionless on the leather recliner I had invested in to offer my clients more than the usual comfort, I prepared myself. It was never easy walking through another's dreams, no matter how many decades I had been a practitioner of this so-called dark art. I always had a generous two thumbs, forget the fingers, of 10-year Islay whisky to settle my heart and lungs. Then I could begin. As long as I had my subject at the forefront of my mind, it was straightforward in principle. In practice it was like a bad fucking trip. Having this session monitored and streamed online made it even trickier.

I couldn't help thinking the man was familiar but couldn't quite remember. Still a job is a job. And in my line of work, the world is full of cynics who think me a quack like a hypnotist or reiki, whatever they're called.

Anyway, Gordon, time to focus. As my eyes fully closed, I felt the familiar lightness and then a sudden jolt of kinetic energy that told me I was close to Simon's subconscious.

I prided myself on a classier approach to my work and therefore an elegant black hardwood door stood before me.

A spark sizzled my fingers as I caressed the golden spherical handle. Resistance was common. Especially for first timers or... anyway.

I had to use a little force and prised the door open and took my first step through.

Complete blackness awaited me. Again, not uncommon, so I searched for a light switch and instead found a candlestick. Wrought iron with a long off-white candle and a heavy aromatic scent.

Smelled great, if you liked hippy shit. But not the best for lighting an unknown path. This was why, although a crook, Edison was a genius.

I almost bumped into a cold concrete wall. As I looked for a doorway, the candlelight illuminated a child's drawing that said "Gordon killing mummy in dreamverse".

I'd be worried if I wasn't a seasoned pro. Childlike misinterpretations were always there in dreams.

Then I heard heavy breathing.

Female maybe? Twenties. That's something you learned with time.

As I searched the dark, I found bright pink light from a doorway where the breathing came from.

I never walked into a room unprepared. A Colt was a great bargaining tool or immobiliser if necessary.

As I drew the handgun and edged into the room, I saw a woman, naked and weeping.

Wait. Sarah?

No. Can't be.

Just some remnants. Subconscious echoes.

I approached the bed and stood at its foot. I remembered her tears.

Simon gripped at the hem of my jeans.

"Why did you hurt mummy? Did she upset you?"

I ignored him.

I was used to feedback. But this was stronger.

Simon was very confused. That's trauma for you folks.

If I shot him in the temple, he'd be put out of his misery.

I warned anyone who tuned in that it could get messy.

"Are you going to hurt me again, Gordon?"

I didn't respond. Sarah was only speaking because Simon thought she had. There had been a misunderstanding.

I needed to find Simon in his current age.

"Simon?"

"Hello Gordon. Does any of this feel familiar?"

Simon's adult voice came from little Simon's mouth.

"It's delusions. I'm sorry you're suffering like your mother, Simon!"

There was silence, then the bed was dripping with blood and Sarah. Her legs were strapped and wide and her flesh was a mess, blood pouring upwards, splashing the ceiling.

"So you do recognise her?"

Simon's question frustrated me. Little shit.

People too often think they're clever because they gain control of dreams.

A door open can be entered in both directions.

"Your mum was sick and I tried to help! I'm sorry you're so damaged."

I tried reasoning with the little shit while spotting where adult Simon was hiding.

My hand itched around the Colt. Finger on trigger.

My investors were watching. I had to clean this up.

"Simon, my boy. Do you want me to apologise? Let's do it face to face!"

I sat next to Sarah and altered the imagery. Sarah sat beside a younger me, asking for help.

I knew this would draw Simon out.

"More lies, Gordon?"

Simon appeared in the same black t-shirt and white shorts he had worn in my office.

"Ah Simon. You've surprised me. But your shallow attempts feel sideshowish and I want my money back. This won't end well if you insist on dragging up unfortunate errors of judgement on your mother's part."

No sooner had the words left my mouth than I felt something shift.

A mirror appeared in front of me. Simon's doing.

My face morphed from the gravelled middle-aged visage into something grotesque with a long nose and pupil-less eyes and horns.

"Your idea of a joke, Simon?"

I hid my disgust and discomfort.

"Just thought I'd lift the mask on you."

Sarah was back on the bed, naked, trying to push off someone. Me.

"You..."

Simon's voice trailed off and the setting changed.

I felt a sudden pull into water that surrounded me.

A storm raged above me.

"I've spent a long time studying you, Gordon. I remember. Everything."

For the first time, I felt worried.

A crack in Simon's voice.

Enough for me to have my way back in.

"Okay, Simon. You win. You've proven your point. Is that what you want to hear?"

I dipped under water and let the current overwhelm me.

A seasoned dreamwalker can wake easily.

I blinked and was back in my office, Colt again at Simon's temple.

"I'd say I'm sorry. But you are no use to me now. Thank you for everything and say hi to your mum."

As I fired, I turned to the camera lens on the wall.

"I hope we understand ourselves."

"Perfectly, Mr Williams," responded an older gentleman of bought power and stature.

“Simon was not cleared for exposure. He initiated unsanctioned memory extraction.”

A pause.

“If you had failed to terminate him, both of you would have been erased.”

I let that sit. Then I smiled.

Pity. He’d almost made it clean.

*

Thank you very much for reading.

This is for ViM's Where the Dreamwalker Treads Challenge.