Fighting against the centrifugal force to move out toward the center of the whirlwind is like trying to walk through a wall of chunky peanut butter pushing back at you – it’s just not going to work. Your left foot eventually makes a breakthrough, getting pulled in by some force just in front of you. Then goes your left leg and soon the rest of your body along with it.
You find that you can freely float in the air, so you paddle yourself toward Dakota. His smile has become more voluminous and reminiscent of a slap-happy cartoon character, so much so that you close your eyes rather than look at his face. In the blackness brought on by your tightly shut eyelids, a new darkness envelops you externally.
After feeling the solid floor beneath your palms and fingers, you suddenly realize that the blasting sounds of the tornado are totally absent. In front of you is a door and further up your hand leads you to a doorknob. You open the door. There, in front of, lays the foyer of what might be the inside of a church. You venture a little further and around the corner next to an entrance is a brochure rack with pamphlets ranging from Freemasonry to apologetics on Aleister Crowley.
“Is this your child?” A voice startles you from behind.
You turn around to a busty woman with blood-red lipstick…
Go to page 167.
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