As I was walking along a country path, carrying several heavy thick books, I noticed Louise walking in the same direction just ahead of me. I quickly caught up with her and passed her; I didn't say anything to her because it seemed we weren't on speaking terms. Nevertheless, as I passed, she said something to me. I continued walking without responding, until I heard her say something like "all right," as if to say that if I didn't want to speak to her, then she didn't want to speak with me. But I didn't want to be that way: I stopped, waited for her to catch up, and began walking with her.

She was surprisingly friendly. She was probably in her late 20s and very pretty. She talked animatedly and seemed to enjoy the conversation. I enjoyed talking with her. We hadn't walked far however when suddenly two security guards dressed in black showed up. They pulled Louise away from me and said I couldn't talk with her. Once she was in their custody, she immediately became incoherent, almost as if she were drugged, and she finally fell onto her back onto the ground. She looked so helpless and pitiful, and when she called out, "Tebe" (a shortened form of my name, "Steven"), I felt so sorry for her.

I quickly surmised that the guards worked for someone in Louise's family, either her husband or her mother, and that the guards were paid to keep Louise under control. But obviously she didn't want the guards to control her; she was simply powerless to resist them. I tried to get close to her, thinking if she would simply say she wanted me to represent her as her attorney, I might be able to help her. I dropped my books on the ground, knelt down on my knees and forced myself in close to her, asking her if she wanted me to represent her. At one point she mumbled, "Midol," as if asking me for a pill to ease her pain. I asked her again if she wanted me to represent her as her attorney. Finally, with her eyes closed, from her deep torpor, she muttered, "Yes."

I stood up and told the guards I was now her attorney, and they had to let me talk to her. Nevertheless, they still stood in my way.

A crowd began to gather. We were no longer on a country path, but in an alley in town. Thinking the police might be able to help me, I told the guards to call the police. The guards hollered out for the police and almost immediately two young police officers walked up. I began talking with the two officers; I seemed to recall Louise wasn't popular with the police, and I asked them to put aside any animosity they might feel for Louise, and to order the security guards to let me talk with her. To my dismay, however, the two police officers supported the guards. The officers even threatened to arrest me. I had no choice: I had to leave.

I walked a few steps through the alley until it emptied unto a street. I recognized immediately where I was: an alley between Gay Street and Chillicothe Street, in downtown Portsmouth; I had just stepped out onto Gallia Street. I crossed Gallia Street, thinking I needed to immediately go to probate court (where matters of incompetence were handled) and seek a court order allowing me to talk with Louise. I thought about simply going immediately to court and making an oral motion, but then I decided I would need to make a written motion. I wondered if I should first notify Louise's husband and mother of the hearing; I probably wouldn't, since evidently they were the ones responsible for Louise's condition.

Suddenly I stopped: I had forgotten my books in the alley. I must go back and retrieve them. I turned around and headed back toward the alley.

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