One of the reasons why I don't watch a lot of tv is that I am very prone to getting other people's images stuck in my head. While this is just annoying when it's something stupid, like, say, a singing toilet, lack of filters for violent images can really cause me to suffer. Weirdly, I can read accounts of some of the most gruesome possible crimes without any trouble at all because I can damp down the image even as it comes to mind, or, of course, I can just skip it altogether if I want to (..." and then there was a battle/the murder/ the assault").

I suspect that my mind may not work the way most people's do. Okay. It's more than just a suspicion.....

The worst types of problems develop, though, whenever I'm not really paying that much attention to what's on the idiot box and, as a result, my brain tries to deal with it when I'm asleep. I know where this dream, the one I'm about to tell you about, came from. It came from The Hub getting involved in one of his "Law and Order" marathons (also known as "Doink-Doink" additiction - as in, "If you don't turn that off by the time you hear the next "doink-doink" you'll be hooked") while an ad for a movie about anti-terrorism politics kept cycling through the ads. That and several days worth of marital disagreement about whose fault it was that that poor mentally ill woman wound up managing to strangle herself after being detained by airport police on her way to treatment out in Arizona. (The Hub thinks it's her husband's fault. I think two armed officers vs one average size woman was plenty and the 4 or 5 that piled on in the video may have been a sign of abuse of power - but that's just my opinion)

All that combined with a toaster tart right before bed and I bring you "Rendition: My Nightmare"

It stared out in one of those grim little interrogation rooms. You know, the two way mirror, the ugly metal furniture, the cinderblock walls. Actually, to tell you the truth, except for the two way mirror that sort of describes my classrooms at Scared Heart. Well, even the two way mirror does, sort of, if you can imagine the eyes of Heaven peering through the mortal veil instead of the DA or whomever staring in. But, you know what, that digression is a whole nother blog.

Anyway, since this was one of those vivid dreams in which I didn't know I was dreaming and I was IN this room one guy who looked like Vince D'Onfrio only dumber, meaner and less shaved, and another dude who, weirdly, looked like Craig Northrup, the local realtor, it was definately a nightmare, in which I was, if not frightened, at least anxious.

And so I did what I do in real life when things are not looking good: I made a serious effort to calm down, pay attention, and try to figure things out before making everything thirty million times worse by having an emmotional outburst.

This was fairly difficult in the face of "Vince" yelling in my ear in a fairly transparent play of "bad cop"

"Now, there's no reason to get so worked up." "Craig" said, flashing me overly white teeth, "Mrs. P. hasn't given us any trouble so far. There's no reason to think she's not going to work with us. Pacifists aren't exactly the same thing as terrorists."

He said this in the exact voice of someone who wants you to think he both is and is not making a joke, depending on your point of view. I'm probably not going to want to work with you just on account of you using more hair product than me I thought, in an effort to settle my nerves, while "Vince" went and sat down in the corner crossing his legs and arms like a pissed off girl.

Craig flashed more teeth and opened a manilla folder. He tidied the pages. I sat there and looked at him. Still smiling, he said, "Now you are not under arrest so you don't have to take that whole 'right to remain silent' thing seriously. You can speak without any serious consequences."

"Ah. So, you're allowed to handcuff people to chairs now, if they're not under arrest?" I asked. Holy S*** I'm handcuffed to the chair! I thought.

"Oh. Sorry about that." Craig said, making a hand motion to Vince who came around and undid the handcuffs. I didn't say anything.

"You're welcome." Vince muttered under his breath.

I folded my hands in my lap. " -- we have to take more than average precautions here at the CIA."

The C freaking IA?!? I thought. "The truth will set you free" I muttered.

"Excuse me?" Craig asked, smiling more brightly.

"The truth will set you free. Besides being a quote from the Bible, that's what it says at the entrance the CIA building in Langley"

"How do you know that? We didn't come in that way!" Vince actually seemed a little frightened.
In real life, I know that because The Hub knows it. But I didn't say anything.

"I'm sure that Mrs. P. has read the ocassional spy novel, haven't you, Tea?"

I shrugged. I didn't say anything. The two way mirror was to my right. I wasn't facing it. The door was next to it, to the left of it. I took note of it. There wasn't, naturally, a window.

"Well." Craig said, "So, Quaker, right? You worship in silence, right? Feel very comfortable with it?"

"I haven't been to meeting in a long time. I'm not sure I consider myself a Friend any longer." I said. His eye brows shot up. "However, not withstanding any of that, I'm not sure that small talk is going to help us along here."

"You see."Craig said, ostensibly to Kevin, "that sounds co-operative. Very co-operative. You'd like to help move us along here, right? Get yourself home? To your husband and your dog, isn't it? Winston?"

"You've driven me to Langley Virginia to discuss my dog? That leash law the county passed must have really been something." I said, lightly, and put my hands on the table, forcing them to relax and keep an open posture. Craig laughed like this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

"No, no. Of course not.Tell me, do you recognise this man?" Craig said passing me a photo.

It was my old boyfriend. From a LONG time ago. "Yes. Tony."

"It is. What would you say if we were to tell you that he still has some very serious drug charges outstanding against him?"

"I'd say that's unfortunate." I replied.

"And if you could give us some information that could help him out?"

"It would surprise me very much since I haven't seen him in years. And since the man is entirely responsible for all of his own actions, I'd say he's pretty much on his own."

"Ouch!" Craig laughed, "Okay! So, bad break up then? Your profile didn't seem to indicate you'd be so cold." I didn't say anything. "And your current husband....he's a very upstanding man, isn't he?"

"What's he have? A parking ticket?" I asked, forestalling another gale of laughter by raising my hand at the wrist and speaking more forcefully, "Yes, he is very upstanding. He's not a Quaker, nor is he a pacifist."

"And the books for his business? They're all in good order, are they?"

"I don't know. I don't do his bookkeeping. Our finances are seperate."

"Your attitude toward him is warmer than toward the other gentleman?"

"All people all responible for their own actions." I said in the most neutral voice I possess.

"You really are a bitch." Vince put in. I looked at the edge of the table.

The door opened. "Dr. Fisher." Craig said getting up. He went to stand in the corner. When I looked up there was another man sitting accross from me. He was older, balding, light blue eyes, round gold framed glasses, thin, long fingers, no expression. Different folder. Looked like a whole different animal than Good Cop and Bad Cop - smarter, scarier. He pushed a clear plastic cup of ice water in my direction without looking at me.

We sat there without saying anything for a long time. It struck me that it was especially important to not be the first one to speak to this person. That's the only thing I know from sales "He who speaks first owns it".

After awhile he said, as if it was of no consequence, "You ought to drink that. You didn't have any lunch."

"Thank you." I said, non-committally. We looked at each other. He was trying not to appear interested and only giving himself away by the most obscure clues: the lines around his eyes. I realized that I was sweating and the room was very warm. I picked up the water, watching him out of the corner of my eye. He leaned forward incrimentally. I put it back down. Even if it was only water, I didn't even want to be in that much debt to this guy.

He began to leaf through his folder. Craig left. The hall was quiet when the door opened: it closed slowly and quietly. Dr. Fisher held the file so I couldn't see it, of course.

After all, this was the CIA. But something was seriously wrong with this whole situation. The new guy continued to read. There was something about his general appearance that pissed me off. Intellectually, I knew this was probably deliberate, but I couldn't help myself. "Light bad in your office doctor?" I asked. He shook his head, kept reading.

Lions one, Christians nothing I warned myself, determined not to speak again. Think this through. They haven't arrested you, nor asked you for any information yet. They're trying to figure something out. As if on cue, Fisher said, "You have quite a mental health history here. Hospitalizations, even." Completely disinterested, but very much my achilles tendon. I kept the open posture. Didn't say anything. Looked at the edge of the table. He sighed. "Quite a health history in general. It says here that you have MS."

"Does it indeed?" It shouldn't. It should say probable MS or demylinating disease I thought. That must mean he hasn't seen my actual medical records or he someone gave him a bad abstract. But the laws haven't gotten that bad yet. I'm guessing that he's drawing from public records. Unless the CIA is really incompetent. And it's a long drive from Westminster to Langley to use a crappy abstract. Meanwhile, he was nodding, still reading, pretending he couldn't take very slight glances away from time to time.

"That's why I brought you the ice water."

"You'd think in a building this size you could just turn the air conditioning on. After all, it must work elsewhere around here. Enough for you to keep your suit coat on."

"You're really a very fragile person." he said.

"You could be right about that." I said, almost by rote. I say that often to get conversational space.

He nodded, still pretending to read."Easily lead." I stayed quiet, "Though it's very important to you to be in control of little things. Cut off your nose to spite your face. Like not drinking that water."

"I'm not drinking the water because I'm getting ready to leave." I said conversationally and I stood up.

He was VERY surprised. "Sit down, Tea." he said in an Authority-Figure voice. I decided to press my advantage on his surprise. I leaned forward until my face was an inch away from his, startling Vince who seemed to wake up in the corner. I let my anger out "If you had an actual psychological profile from some time after I turned 15, you'd know that depression has only made me much stronger than the average bear, and my health has made my ties to this life very light indeed. I don't know what you want, but you're out of stick and I don't see a carrot. Unless you have some specific charge against me, or that door is locked, both of which I doubt strongly, I am going find my way out of here, borrow .35 cents from a bum, and get a lift home." Then I picked up the ice water and threw it at the two way mirror.

Three things happened at once. Fisher erupted out of the chair and out the door like he'd been shot out of a cannon, Craig came back in with his hands up in a universal gesture of "take it easy / you win" and there was a click as the air conditioning came on. Craig was blocking my way out.

"You're right. You're absolutely right. We've handled this all wrong."

Vince joined him. Standing up straight he looked a lot milder and more intellegent. "We're inexperienced at this. It's a little scary for us to deal with someone like you."

"We're used to dealing with criminals." Craig said. Fisher bustled back in with large pitcher of ice water and three glasses, then left. Interogater to waiter in three seconds. What a demotion.
"We need help. Please sit down and hear us out."

"I can't imagine how I could possibly help you. I'm not a criminal, and I don't know anybody who is. Besides, why didn't you just ASK me for help if you want it?"

"We're not used to people just helping us with....nothing in it for them." Vince said.

"It really was just water. It really is now. Do you want some?" Craig asked, gesturing at the tray, and pouring himself a glass. They were glasses now, not plastic cups. The AC hummed steadily.

I sat back down. "How can I help you?"

"We want you to help us find someone. A lot of people. Some soldiers who are missing in Afghanistan."

"What makes you think I could do that?"

"You know those old rumors about remote imaging and all that. Psi ops, as in psychic, Firestarter by Stephen King...all that stuff?"

"Oh, for God's sake you can't be serious!" I was astonished.

"People told us you have these dreams -" Vince started.

"But, look, that's not something I can just do on command! That stuff comes and goes as it will. I'd be happy to help you if I could but if your hope for these guys depends on me having a traveling dream that could take awhile." I said, shocked.

The door was open. Fisher was standing there again. "We have, er, some substances that would help out with that." he said.

"You'd have to sign some releases." Vince muttered.

"Yeah, I'll bet." I said.

And I woke up.

Er...if you don't hear from me for a few days......nevermind.