The TV image was clearly delineated but puzzling until my brain concluded it was a close up of the soles of a man’s shoes. Curious as to where the scene would go next, I was totally unprepared for what followed. No longer two-dimensional but three, a pair of highly polished black shoes slid gracefully from the screen, hit the floor and all six-foot two of “the man in the suit” stood before me. I stared at the cup of tea I’d just sipped and wondered what or who had tainted it. “I must be dreaming,” I whispered, more to myself than to him and caught the glimmer of a smile.

“Be that as it may,” he murmured in a voice that left me longing for more. He took in my wheel chair and me in it, then scanned the untidy bedroom with a glance, making me wish I’d tidied up, been dressed in something seductive, been thirty years younger. He slipped out of the room and I wheeled after him. Reality, dream, or hallucination, I had no intention of letting him out of my sight.

In the kitchen, slowly and very quietly he opened and closed cabinets and drawers, his eyes lingered on the photos taped to my refrigerator door. Skirting around me, he strode into the living room and continued his search. “You know a lot of languages, he said, rifling through my books.

“Not really, they’re language texts,” I answered. “It was a hobby, when I was younger. I never got past basic phrases–you know: Sprechen sie deutch? Allons-y! Besame?” I added hopefully.

“Hmmm.” He seemed to consider it. “And what about the woman in the head scarf?” he nodded toward the kitchen as he tucked a memory stick into my computer.

“She’s a good friend! Hey, what’s with you? Leave my computer alone, that’s a total invasion of privacy! I’ll answer your questions, but you better start telling me what’s going on here first!”

“We have information that you had ties to Central America during a previous administration. And you may be working with foreign agents now.”

“That’s ridiculous! You’ve got me confused with someone else.” The sound on the TV grew louder and I heard a familiar voice uttering familiar words “. . . .whether you’re victim or perpetrator, if your number comes up we’ll find you.”

“I want to talk to Mr. Finch.”

His eyes grew cold and wary. “And how do you know about Mr. Finch?”