I'm with my family in the family house, an old, slightly ramshackle place [about the caliber of Melanie's mom's house in age and construction, but the neighborhood is more suburban], not great big - though we're a pretty big family, most of the kids are grown and don't live there. I'm the next-to-youngest (I'm about 18 or 20). Patrick Duffy is my older brother, and he's been kidnapped and just been rescued and brought home, so all of us are here and having a sort of family reunion. Most of us are outside, getting ready to go someplace, and he's on the porch [ground level - small]. I've just come through the door, and our younger sister (she's maybe 9 or 10) behind me, and seeing him there, flesh and blood, alive and well, and I just have to hug him again. I'm feeling very emotional - we all just adore him, and we're a close family - I just want to hold onto him for a bit longer. So does my little sister, she joins in, and another one or 2 from the other side. Letting go after a bit, now I'm going back in the front door into the living room. [It also has a lot of the qualities of Melanie's mom's house - tacky brown/yellow flowered couch, fringed lamps giving off dull yellow light, tacky coffee tables, tacky knick-knacks.] There's a few other people in here - particularly, on the couch to the right of the door, is a fat old woman - she's from some European country, and I think she's Patrick's mother-in-law. She's a grump anyway, and she's glowering across the room at [Kathy ?] one of my other female relatives, who's standing talking to an older man (or 2), and she has a section of the newspaper in her hand that the old bat wants to read. She thinks she's supposed to be catered to, of course, though nobody else does, and she's spending a lot of her time pissed off. She looks up at me and I get the very clear message that she expects me to fix this for her, and for a moment I look from one to the other, askance. I find it rather amusing but I sure ain't going to look it where she can see me, so I just give a sort of polite half-smile and go on my merry way. I go through into another room, which is dark, and then to the kitchen, ditto. Outside it's almost dark, and the back of the house has that gloomy light. Somehow I know that something's wrong. It's just a creepy, "off" feeling, as if I know somebody was watching me, or something was moved that shouldn't have been. I start to worry that maybe this whole business isn't over, that even though my brother is back home, the bad guys may still be plotting something - maybe they're even hiding in the house, maybe they'll kidnap him again, or another one of us, maybe even me. Suddenly I'm uncomfortable being by myself. Now I'm in a neighbor's house [a rather basic suburban-type house] with a friend - we're not buddies, but our families have known each other a long time - and I'm waiting to see what happens next. This woman is grown, but she still lives with her mom and dad and kid brother; she's a little bit simple - maybe retarded, but could be something else. She keeps changing who she thinks she is, not her real name and where she lives and that, but she plays new roles every now and then as she changes interests. She'll suddenly latch on to something new and exciting, and pretend to be somebody else. Right now she's trying to be Robin to my Batman, sort of. (I actually am a detective - or something like it - but I'm more nearly Sherlock Holmes, I don't do Batman stuff.) We were out having some sort of adventure just now - she showed up while I was working on a case and she actually did help some, I figure I can be tolerant and let her indulge herself for a while, she'll change to something else anyway after a while. Meanwhile she's got herself a detective trench coat and detective slouch hat and looking very Bogart-like. So I'm sitting on the couch while she's telling her mom and brother all about it - her mom's been doing housework [she's pretty much of a drudge] and she's just going, "Uh-huh" ("big deal") ("oh, sure"), "uh-huh." The daughter gets up to go into another room, and I call something after her, using her name, and her mother corrects me, saying, "Oh, she's not (that) any more, now you have to call her (?)." And I say, oh, I see, sure.