After wandering up one row and halfway down another Rachel paused. The tenuous misting of morning dew on the cars reflected the first rays of the sun, making it hard for Tim to judge much of the vehicles around him beyond their basic shape and color. Apparently, that had not been how Rachel was searching, because she starting moving towards a car that just looked like a luminous blob to him. She approached the rear of a blue crossover and ran her finger through the fine layer of beaded moisture that hovered over a Creed bumper sticker.

  “Oh you’ve got to kidding me.” He hated Creed.

  “Nope. And I like Creed!” finding this car seemed to have elevated Rachels mood. “Help me find the key!”

  Tim joined her in checking around the wheel wells to no avail.

  “Hmmm…” She pursed her lips and angled her hips; a very obvious and exaggerated thinking pose.

  She tried the door. It opened to her touch and she grabbed the key fob from where it lay in the center of the driver’s seat in victory.

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  “Lets go!” she crowed “I’m driving.”

  Rachel got into the seat, immediately flicking the key from its housing and feeding it into the ignition. She turned the car on while glancing at her mirrors, shutting her door quickly. Tim followed suit and scrambled into the car, closing his door right after Rachel did. Tim felt a deep unease sitting in a complete stranger’s car. With a different complete stranger. This couldn’t be real. The accident had shattered him. Destroyed him. There was no way he could be up and walking effortlessly. Was this a dream like he first had thought? A drug reaction? Was he dying and was this his white light? A journey to nowhere with someone he didn’t know seemed like a pretty disappointing final experience.

  Rachel snapped him out of his reverie by asking him to look in the glove box. He opened the tiny storage compartment directly in front of him and saw only the owner’s manual and a small envelope.

  “Open the envelope.” She instructed.

  Tim shrugged and took the envelope out. It was a standard 4x11 business envelope, moderately full of paper. The sort of thing most people kept their insurance and registration in. He pulled back the un-glued flap and thumbed through the contents.

  “Some money…a couple coupons…two gift cards…and a few pieces of notebook paper covered in gibberish.” The contents were uninspiring except perhaps the few hundred dollars in various bills stuffed in. Then he remembered what she had said about needing money.

  “Whose car is this, Rachel?” he closed the glove box with the envelope and its contents back inside, uneasy.