About the same time her hand jerked me downward by the front of my shirt a blinding light sheared off the roof of the car and half the windshield. Wide eyes stung by the oncoming wind I floored it, knuckles going white around the steering wheel. The radio blared static interrupted by snippets of songs and DJ’s.

Kate howled with perverse glee and hollered over the wind, “I’ll be in the trunk. Keep the pedal down and do some weaving…you know, serpentine, baby!” I think that was supposed to be funny, but she dove for the back, tugged down the back seat, and scrambled into the trunk.

Robotically and not nearly as skillfully as I think she’d been hoping, I maneuvered the car back and forth across the two lanes of blacktop. The sedan obliged more or less as the speedometer crept slowly past 90. At 93 I could feel the handling go a bit soft.

As much as I tried to put my curiosity on hold, it would not be denied.

What the crap is going on? I thought over and over, And why can’t I remember any of it?!