Now, if I could free myself of it, what would happen? I shied away from the thoughts as I would shy away from death. I couldn't imagine anything separate from it.
But what else was there for me? A chameleon-like mental life as a wandering ego? What would happen if I could sever my contact with Dave's sensory centers and motor centers? Perhaps then I would become who I was in reality and end this strange pattern of existence.
Suddenly I knew I must.
All sensation ended abruptly. There was no light, no sound. There was no thought, except for the awareness of existence, and the sense of passing time.
Then, like the turning on of a light, I was staring through a windshield. My hands were gripping a steering wheel. I was in my car. And I was Fred Martin!
Ahead of me a man was starting to cross the street. I could not see him clearly. But there was something significant about him—something of tremendous significance.
My foot was pressed down on the gas. My car was going faster and faster. My hands turned the steering wheel a trifle, heading the car toward the man. And then I knew who he was—Dave Thordsen!
My blood was ice in my veins. I saw him half turn and see me. He started to run. I turned the wheel so he couldn't escape. He looked over his shoulder at the car, then through the windshield at me, and he recognized me. I could see it in his expression as the left fender struck him and tossed his shattered body aside.
At the next corner I turned right. Two blocks later I turned right again. A third time, and ahead of me in the next block a crowd had collected around something at the curb. A man's body.