Last night, my wife and I were sleeping peacefully, until we were woken by several official-like gentlemen. They escorted us outside, several blocks away through a foot of new fallen snow, to where the familiar street began to change into an unfamiliar grassy, rising footpath. By the time we reached the top of the path, it was warm an summery, and we descended into a huge, lush, green valley, surrounded by mountains, opening on to the ocean. It was a paradise, and it was right next door! We were joined by dozens of other couples - people almost weeping with the beauty of the place. Female assistants, looking like flight attendants, served us drinks and tropical fruits. We were greeted by a gentleman looking very much like actor Stephen Root who was preparing a presentation for us on how we could buy and live here. If anyone has ever-been to a time-sharing presentation, it was like that. We were all dying to know - where was this place?? And how could we live here? He revealed, through hints and nudges, that it was actually on the West Coast, on the Alaskan Panhandle. As people enthusiastically pulled out their credit cards, I began wondering how we got here. So I asked him. How did we get here? We live five hours by plane from the area, and I think I would have woken up if they'd put us on a plane for five hours. There were only two possibilities: 1] We'd been drugged and abducted and spirited away to this paradise, or 2] We were still in our beds, but somehow brain-washed into thinking we were in this paradise. Either way, they had violated us. I accused him of making this a big illusion to bilk us. This was just like that Star Trek episode, where Moriarty imprisons the crew in a fake world to get the command codes - only this guy wanted our credit card numbers and bank info. Are we wearing some devices that are feeding images into our brains? I went to check my wife to see if she had some some sort of scalp electrode thing attached to her. The leader uttered something to his attendants to get me out of here before I blow the whole thing. One of the attendants brushed up against me, pulling some sort of electronic key fob out of my pocket. She pointed it at me, pressed the button, and ... ... I woke up. I looked over at my wife breathing deeply but quietly, half expecting to see a scalp electrode thing on her head. There wasn't. But was she sleeping peacefully? Or was there just the faintest possibility that she really was imprisoned in her own mind? Do I wake her and rescue her? I reached over... . . . .