Marc turned the grey business coupe into a side street and headed for the parking lot behind the bank. He wasn't thinking too much, though, about what he was doing. Instead, his mind was occupied with a sneaking suspicion. There was something strange about the car, something odd about the feel of it and the way it rode. The body seemed to lean to the left a bit, almost as though someone were clinging to the side. Also, there had been the incident at the intersection, when a truck had broken through the light and headed directly toward the grey coupe. He could have sworn someone yelled at him to look out, someone very close to his left ear. It had given him a creepy feeling at the time. And thinking back on it, he was no longer so certain about the gust of wind that had brushed past him as he was closing the office door. It might have been....
Reaching the parking lot, he swung the car quickly to the right, into a drive, and pressed down on the gas as it turned onto a short, steep incline. Then he went tense in his seat. The post and chain barrier hadn't been visible from the street. Neither had the sign saying, "Use Other Entrance." And now that they were visible, there wasn't time to do anything about them. Sign, posts and chain were swarming over the car in a rush.
There was a tearing, whacking sound and the coupe jerked wickedly to the right. Suddenly, the steering wheel seemed to be leaving its post, spiraling upward toward Marc's face. A split second later everything went black to the raucous accompaniment of a blaring horn.
The horn continued to scream in the darkness, and, to Marc, its windy blast seemed to be hurling him outward. He shot swiftly out and up into lightless, unknown regions, his body curiously unhampered by the faintest trace of atmospheric resistance. He sailed through space, arms outspread, unrestrained, as though in a vacuum, and strangely, he felt wonderfully free, almost exultant. As he moved further into the distance the sound of the horn took on a thin, silvery tone that was almost musical.
Then, slowly, like a projectile approaching the apex of its arc, his body began to lose momentum. For a time there was the sensation of treading air as a swimmer treads water. Gradually, he churned to a complete, suspended stop. He felt himself hovering precariously in mid-air, and then, all of a sudden, he plunged downward.
In his descent there was no sense of easy motion as there had been before. Instead, he was falling rapidly, hurtling through the dark, a tangled mass of helpless arms and legs. His efforts to fight the force that was sucking him downward were useless. Then, sooner and more easily than he had expected, he came to rest. All at once there was a soft, cool surface beneath him that seemed to give with his weight, then lift him gently.
But his relief was shattered by a sudden, terrifying blast from the ghostly horn. Instantly, light began to show through the blackness which was being ripped into fleeting whisps and fragments by a strong, angry wind. Oddly, though, the wind didn't seem to affect Marc; it was blowing all about him without stirring so much as a hair on his head. He sat up and gazed at the scene before him as the last remnants of the shredded blackness disappeared into the distance. At once, the wind died and everything became quiet.
Marc was in the very center of a small grove of strange feathery trees that seemed to have deliberately arranged themselves into a perfect circle. A light blue mist lay motionless beneath the trees, blending softly into the green mossy carpet upon which he was resting. There was a cool restfulness about the place which he recognized at once. It was the feeling that always came to him when he entered the valley of his own mind.
He threw his hands out behind him on the grass and leaned back luxuriously. He was just closing his eyes when a soft sound whispered against the grass behind him. He started to swing about, but he was too slow. Mid-way, two cool hands pressed down gently over his eyes and two lips closed simultaneously over his mouth. The lips were not nearly so cool or so gentle as the hands, and they went directly to the business of kissing him with an air of abandon and authority. Marc struggled away from them.