Claire tried to control herself. Her breathing was rapid. Her heart rate had to be close to redline. The rapid beats seemed to merge into one long rattle that made her ears roar.

She found herself, in an instant framed by lifting a spoon of Frosted Mini Wheats to her mouth while watching House on TiVo, to now, 1500 feet in the air, in her nightgown, in a clear, tear-shaped bubble, with a dribble of milk on her chin. She was pretty sure she recognized her house at nadir. She was stationary. Other than the roar in her ears and her breathing, it was dead silent.

And that wasn’t all. Just below her and a bit northward, an impossibly-sized half-naked man was ravaging Atlanta like a toddler tear-assing through sandcastles on the beach. His head was near her level. He was quite handsome, really.

Yeah, this day was shaping up to be pretty darn interesting. Thoughts of work pressures evaporated. Some strange part of her thought, “Well, I only thought I had problems.”

Aman turned, and moved toward her.