Slowly, it began to dawn on him that he wasn't walking along US1 in Maine or any other state for that matter. He wasn't even on the East coast. He was here, in California, and God only knew what time it was. It could have been three in the morning and Ray could have walked all the way to Rialto without a second thought.
Ray stopped and looked up at one of the street lamps. McVries wasn't there, no one else was there but himself and the guy he'd thought was a part of the crowd. Now the guy was coming toward him and Ray moved back a little. Just a little. He pushed his fingers into his hair. His legs stilled, aching and burning now. How long had he walked in his dreams? How long had he been walking here?
When the man touched his shoulder, Ray made himself stand still and not jump. "I did it again, didn't I?" he said, confused. "Shit. I did."