The walk to my VW Eos was brisk, and more heel than toe. I chirped the door lock, but before getting in, I glanced toward the window pane of the door I had just left. Was that a faint image of Slick? I couldn’t be sure. Just like when I thought he disappeared before the night watchman showed up.
I don’t take any type of sleeping pill, but I’ve heard some people get behind the wheel, and go for a drive, under their influence. That’s how I felt. Some kind of twilight this is, I thought.
Anyway, I slid into that comfy bucket seat of the car that made me feel like a teenager again, buckled up, and zipped out of the lot without looking back again. I weaved through the back streets, entered the ramp to Highway 20 South, and then punched the throttle for a few seconds like I was in a rocket trying to escape gravity. Not seeing cars or cops, I punched it again, hit 95mph, and then coasted back to sanity at 60. I needed that burst, hoping to readjust to reality. It seemed to do the trick. I squeezed the steering wheel, turned on the satellite radio, and glanced at the rest of the dash. Everything inside the car felt real again, not like the inside of the Ark.
The rest of the ride home felt as real as can be. Almost like the trip to the Ark never happened. Almost. I pulled into the garage, turned off the Eos, sent the garage door down, and sat very still for about a minute.
I glanced at myself in the rear view mirror, focused my eyes, and faced the fact.
It DID happen.
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