. . . . for a split second the rain let up; he could see headlights. The driver might know a safe route to Los Angeles. Flailing wildly, Sam tried to halt the vehicle, but a county truck rapidly sped by splashing water—the sound of its mournful horn trailing dismally. Instantly the car interior closed in to smother and suf-focate. Panting heavily, struggling to breathe, claustrophobia gripping him tightly, he moaned, “Oh dear Lord, help me, please help me! Despair swelled to consume his insides; blood rushed to his face; he was unable to control his panic; his body burned. Frustrated, not knowing how to proceed, and fearful of sinking into deeper water, Sam cautiously pulled over and stopped.

     If the storm slacked off visibility might point the way out of there. Cutting off the engine, he closed his eyes and listened to rain beating on the roof. It became a lulling hum. Suffering a lack of sleep from the previous night, he drifted off, and could sense Annalee's presence. Soothingly she took him by the hand leading him along. As he began to experience the security he always felt while with his dearest one, Sam's anxiety eased off, and a mantle of tranquility began to enfold. He'd not fight the storm, but go with her, and no longer be afraid . . . .

      A loud rapping brought him back. Startled and dazed, Sam opened his eyes to see an eerie apparition swinging a lantern. It was a drenched slicker clad hooded highway worker striking the driver's window. A hoarse shout made its way to his ears, “I seen you here about half-hour ago. Got engine trouble?”