Allison walked back into the bedroom and opened the closet. If the dream was going to continue, she might as well get dressed.

Suits. Nice ones, the kind successful lawyers wore. She tilted her head and ran her fingers across the sleeve of a beautiful, expensive jacket. What the hell, she figured. She put it on.

The car she found in the apartment's corresponding parking spot was a rusty, dented beige Ford pick-up truck. She thought it was hilarious.

By the time she reached the courthouse she had begun to worry, though. It seemed too real. It wasn't like her usual dreams. She had never dreamed a different life.

She didn't know where to go when she arrived at the courthouse, so she went to Devalos' assistant. Sondra smiled broadly. "Hi, Mrs. Scanlon! How's the case going?"

Allison smiled back weakly. "Great, great," she said. Here she was an attorney in an expensive suit. Whatever the case was, might as well have it going well.

This made her wonder: Was this the life she wanted deep down? Was that what this was about?

She frowned at that thought, though. No Joe, no girls. She loved all of them and suddenly felt incredibly selfish. How could she even dream something like this? She always told Joe about her dreams, but this would be one that she didn't think she could ever confide in him.

So she was supposed to meet Lee at noon. Until then, Allison wandered. She ended up in what was supposed to be her office. It was beautiful, lots of mahogany furniture. Made her feel very adult.

Impulsively, she pulled out a phonebook and looked up Dubois in the residence white pages. She found Joseph, and, heart pounding, dialed the number.

"You've reached 602-555-1342," the monotone computerized answering machine voice said. "Press 'one' to leave a text message, press 'two' to--" Allison hung up quickly.

She was about to put the phonebook back in the desk drawer when it flipped, unaided as if an invisible hand were turning it, to the yellow pages. In the middle of the page was an ad for an architecture firm called Dubois and Miller. There was a photo of Joe, smiling. He was a partner.

Disturbed, Allison threw the book in the drawer and slammed it shut. Her head was starting to hurt. She didn't understand this. It was going on too long and it felt too real.

She stared at the desk clock and watched time pass slowly, like it was toying with her. Confused, on the verge of tears, at a quarter to noon she headed for the D.A.'s office.

Allison entered the conference room and waited silently at the long conference table. She gazed at the sunlight streaming in from the window at the opposite end of the room.

Lee finally arrived, startling her. He came up from behind and put his hands on her shoulders. She jumped. He kissed her neck softly. "Something wrong?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

Allison stood. She needed to break out of this, and Lee was apparently the focal point of the illusion. She needed to explain it to him to understand it.

"This isn't my life," she said softly, leaning against the conference table, staring up at him. She hated saying it to him because she knew it would hurt him. But she also knew she had to be truthful with him. "I don't know what this is, but this isn't my life."

"Allison, what are you talking about?" He moved to put his arms on her shoulders, but she pulled away.

"I'm not married to you. I'm married to a man named Joe Dubois. I have three daughters. This is some sort of dream, I think. Vision. Maybe." Her eyes filled with tears. "I don't know!"

"You're having a vision?" Lee asked, moving again to put his arms on her shoulders. Allison pulled away again and turned from him. He grabbed her shoulder this time and pulled her around to face him. "What the hell's going on, Allison?"

"This isn't my life!" she said, blinking rapidly to avoid crying. "I don't what this is! I don't know why I can't wake up!"

Lee stepped a short step away from her and crossed his arms tightly. "You're telling me you don't remember being married to me?" he asked incredulously.

"No."

There was a long silence. Finally, he said, " But I love you." Allison watched as he rubbed his hand on the back of his short hair and that did the trick: she began to cry.

He pulled her to him and held her tightly. She couldn't believe how warm he felt. And he smelled like cologne, comforting, masculine cologne. She'd never hugged him in real life, but had always thought he'd smell just like this.

It made her cry harder. She was five-two and he was so much taller. He leaned down and put his head in the crook of her neck and they stayed that way for several minutes. Allison felt as if her heart were pounding out of her chest, and she was barely able to breathe.

He finally pulled away a bit; she was unable to move from him at all. His hands were still on her waist. "Is this a psychic thing? Some kind of amnesia? Do we need to go to a doctor?"

He paused, looking at her somberly with his hazel eyes. "Allison, tell me what I need to do."

"I don't know," Allison responded softly, shaking her head. "I don't know."

"So, if I'm not your husband, who am I?" He tried to smile, but couldn't pull it off, the worry on his face apparent.

"We … work together," Allison said. "That's all."

"That's all?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, now able to smile a little. "There's no way I'd be able to just work with you. No way in hell." He leaned in and kissed the top of her head.

Allison's eyes filled up with tears. "I don't remember."

He pulled away completely then and stared at her. "We'll get you to the doctor tomorrow, OK? Get this straightened out. Fix it."

Allison couldn't say anything. It was too much now. The dream or whatever it was had gone on too long and it hurt. When she woke up she was going to remember having been so close to him and it wasn't fair. Why the hell was this happening?