TOO MANY WORLDS Would you like to wake up in a nightmare world where none of the old laws work? Then take this trip into a strange hell HE WAS HALFWAY to the city, barreling along the express arterial, before he recovered from the numbing hypnotic of the nightmare. He remembered nothing of the dream, except the feeling that invisible cords were being drawn tight on his mind, slowly smothering him. He had awakened exhausted. Mechanically he went through the morning routine of dressing, kissing Irene, and leaving for work.
As his mind began to function again, he became aware that his speedometer had climbed past eighty.
He decreased the speed. Then, with a cold shock shivering along his spine, he looked again at the chromium dial and its surrounding field of red leather. He was driving a sleek, nile-green Cadillac convertible. And he had never seen the car before.
He turned off the arterial and pulled to a stop on a deserted side street near the Bay. Wisps of cold morning mist hung in trailing threads over the road, dancing gray shadows against the dismal sky. With trembling fingers he twisted the registration slip, fastened to the steering column, so that he could read it. The owner of the Cadillac, he discovered, was Albert Hammond, of 3 754 Via Wanda Way.
But that was his own name! And he drove a Buick, two years old.
Hammond snapped open the glove compartment. There was his old brier, Irene’s scarf, the familiar Auto Club map book, and a letter which he recognized at once. Irene had given it to him three days ago and asked him to mail it on his way to work. As he sometimes did, he had stuffed it into the glove compartment and forgotten it.
. . .
