"You're so morbid minded," Toffee complained. Then, at the last possible moment, she swung the car sharply into a side road, and the evening stillness was hastily dispatched to the realm of memory by a shrieking protest from the tortured tires. "Holy smoke!" yelled Marc. "If the sheriff isn't after us by now, the highway patrol must be." Toffee didn't answer. She was too busy regaining a lost foothold on the accelerator. Marc noted with relief that the new road was deserted. At least she couldn't kill any innocent bystanders here. There was still a chance that manslaughter wouldn't be added to the list of their crimes. "Where are we going?" he asked. "How should I know?" Toffee replied toughly, from the side of her mouth. "Where _do_ people go when they're making a getaway?" "You don't have to talk like a gun moll," Marc admonished, and suddenly he was overcome with the hopelessness of the situation. It seemed that fate had gone out of its way to find new confusions for complicating his life. If things had been too monotonously simple only a few hours before, now they were too hecticly complex. They had gone far beyond his capacity for such things. Through it all, Marc was wishing that Julie were there to console and advise him, as she had so often in the past. It was only a matter of a moment before he was lost deep in a reverie in which only the stillness of the night, his wife and himself existed. The car began to lose its speed. "Stop that!" Toffee's voice said with unnatural faintness. "You're making me fade!" "Huh?" Marc turned toward her, and his eyes widened with alarm. Toffee was almost transparent. "You were day dreaming again, weren't you?" she accused, becoming more visible. "I've warned you about that before. I can't exist unless I'm projected through your full consciousness. Now stay awake unless you want to be wrecked." "I'm sorry," Marc said, relieved that she had already become almost completely materialized once more. But Toffee, obviously concerned with other matters, seemed to forget the incident instantly. "I think we're being followed," she said gravely. "What!" "A car turned off the highway just after we did, and has been gaining on us ever since. I've been watching it in the mirror." * * * * * Marc shifted quickly in the seat, and thrusting his head out the window, peered into the darkness, behind. Two headlights, like the eyes of a nightmare demon, stared malevolently back at him, and crept closer. "Step on it!" he yelled. "It's probably the sheriff!" Then, suddenly, like a turtle retreating into the safety of its shell, he jerked his head back inside as a shot rang out through the still night. "He's shooting at us!" he cried. "Don't you think I know it?" Toffee moaned, bending low over the wheel. Then she screamed as another barking sound announced a second shot. The car began to skid drunkenly sideways. "They've hit a tire!" she screamed. "We're out of control!"