Author's Note:  I hope you all had a Merry Christmas (or Happy Chanukah or any other special occasion celebrated in late December), and have a Happy New Year as well.   

  For those of you not familiar with the M rating, it means that it is recommended mature audiences view the following content.  Certain scenes may be found to be disturbing, so as a precaution I thought it best to jolt the rating up one notch. 

  But here is the first chapter: I managed to strive through the obscurity of Writer's Block to produce it.  Blame lack of inspiration if it's not up to scratch 0_~ (New wink!  Yay!). 

  And so, the plot thickens … ^_^

***

The Enigmatic Timekeeper

Chapter 1: A Disruption to the Continuum

Rating: M

***

  An amber ray of Saturday morning sunshine shed a benign glow on the anarchy.  Rolls of torn-up carpet rested in a crude stack in one corner.  The thick layer of dust that had accumulated over years of neglect was disturbed from rest on unpolished wooden floorboards.  Mould and mildew long sheltered in the dark, damp sanctuaries found beneath linoleum, in crevices in the plasterboard, and under tiles were revealed to the heat and dry of summer.  The washing basket overflowed with stained sheets and towels and pillowcases.  Furniture and various other homely accoutrements had been shoved haphazardly in any rooms with space to spare.

  Perhaps the Spring-cleaning was slightly belated, but the were only so many colonies of dust bunnies she could abide.

  Arrayed in faded denim overalls bedecked with spatters of paint, Jenny disdainfully surveyed the apartment laid bare.  Pieces of what appeared to be psychedelic wallpaper, in all likelihood hailing from the nineteen-sixties, peeked in hideous incongruity along the walls.  She had worried at it with a steam iron, but it had refused to leave the residence it had decorated, albeit tastelessly, for possibly the last thirty years. 

  With an unnecessary amount of noise Sean retrieved the stepladder from the broom cupboard.  When it did not unfold to perfection straight away, he cursed it and, as men do when their superiority is shown up by metal, blamed poor quality and set boot to it.  Jenny halted him in his physical remonstrations, and showed him how to unlock the catch to allow the ladder to slide open.  'I tried that,' he muttered, and began to pry the lids of the paint-cans open with a screwdriver.

  'So.  Tiger's Eye in here, I think,' Jenny informed him, gesturing the area of the living room.  'And Catskill in the bathroom.  Oh, and Vanilla Slice in my room, and you wanted the Sky Boat in yours, yes?'  Her brother grunted in reply, conveying a complete lack of attention to his sister's fantasizing as he stirred the gelatinous paint.  Milo, exercising a feline's curiosity, ambled over and sniffed the mustard-coloured Tiger's Eye.  Falling abruptly back on his haunches, the orange tabby rubbed vigorously at his face with a forepaw, trying to clean away the paint that had adhered to his pink nose.

  'Oh Milo,' sighed Jenny, picking up her tomcat.  'Do you think I should lock him in my bedroom until we're finished?'

  'Mmm,' said Sean, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.  'I'll leave him out then,' Jenny decided, setting Milo back down on the floor and briefly fondling his ears.

  'Mmm,' her brother repeated tonelessly.

  'Mum and Dad are coming for dinner.'

  'Mmm ... What?'

  Jenny laughed as Sean's expression made a swift conversion from impassive to horrified.  'You weren't listening to me,' she admonished him.  'Do you honestly think I'd be inviting people to come over to this?  Anyway, I can't even remember the last time Mum and Dad were over.'

  Take that, you hideous wallpaper.  Yuck, those colours are disgusting!  The task of continuously dabbing the brush into the paint and transferring it to the walls was tedious, but rewarding as Jenny watched the last remnants of the apartment's hippy-chic years vanish beneath a coat of paint.  Besides, it distracted her from the unease and anxiety that had been plaguing her since Monday.  That unrelenting sensation of being watched.

  Sean's abrupt cry of, 'Milo, no!' brought her musings back to the present.  She was in time to hear a loud clang, and the terrified hiss of her tomcat.  An orange blur vanished up the short hall, leaving a trail of matching paw-prints in its wake.  Unfurling like the petals of a water lily, the upset paint blossomed on the newspaper.

  'Ah, shit.  Stupid yellow fuzz ball,' Sean grumbled, clambering from his perch on the step-ladder, picking up the paint can and scraping up as much of its spilt contents as he could.  'He's not a stupid yellow fuzz ball,' Jenny retorted, incensed, climbing off her stool.  'You had the can teetering on the edge of the stepladder.  Of course it was going to fall!'

  Sean did not offer further provocation, his silence saving them from a heated argument.  He was staring, transfixed, at something near his feet.  Haltingly he reached for the object of his fascination, wiping away a layer of paint.  'Look Jenny,' he murmured, and held it out to her.  'It's a photo of Muriel, I think.  There's someone else there too.'

  'What?  Where'd that come from?  I've never seen it before - oh no, there's paint all over it!  You keep going, I'll try and clean it up.'  Jenny tentatively took the proffered photograph and retreated into the bathroom.  Taking up a tissue she carefully began to clean away the mustard-hued mess.

  A buxom young woman, the black-and-white Muriel smiled joyfully up at her great niece.  Folds of white silk - gathered at intervals with roses of creased ribbon - cascaded from a bodice worked over with a pattern of pearls.  Expensive lace spilt from collar and cuff.  And beside her, a young man escorted her by the elbow.  He was elegant and charming in a black tuxedo, with a white rose slipped into the topmost buttonhole.  Even captured on film his beauty was poignant, his grace flawless, his eyes piercing. 

  Oh - her wedding day ...

  His loving gaze and adoring smile were meant only for her, the beautiful bride resting her hand upon his arm.  Like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle they fell into place, complimenting one another perfectly, fitting together seamlessly.  Like it was meant.

  Jenny found herself smiling back at her photographic great-aunt, gently touching her beaming face.  So much happiness, so much emotion and love was conveyed in that simple picture, captured forever in black-and-white.  And then she turned her attentions to him.  An incomprehensible mystique hung about him, but his very strangeness was somehow distantly familiar.  Tentatively Jenny stroked the tip of finger against his image; the great-uncle she had never met.

  But that moment could only ever have been ephemeral.  As she dabbed again at Sean's unexpected discovery, Jenny felt an inexplicable welling of sadness.

  She had never seen her great-aunt smile like that, never beheld any true expression of joy or pleasure from the languid, elderly face, so unlike the elated young woman in the photograph.  Almost as if the Muriel Jenny had known and loved, and the Muriel of the past had been different women segregated by time.

  The story that Jenny and Sean had been told as children was that their great-uncle had perished mysteriously - the circumstances were never known, they said - far from home.  He had been working, but when Muriel expected him in the evening, he had not returned.  A search party had been issued, and a body eventually uncovered beneath the eaves of a forest in a game reserve not far away.  The details had been much too gruesome and distressing to recount to children, and how he had met such an odious fate was open to interpretation.  It had been Muriel's painful task to identify him, before he could be taken home for a proper farewell.  She had never again been herself after the grievous incident.  That, anyhow, was the only explanation that Sean and Jenny had ever been offered.  All who had held knowledge of him had been unwilling to part with it.  All who had held knowledge of him were now long deceased, and so curiosity had been forced to submit to the mystery.

  Jenny on occasion visited his resting place - a hillside plot beside which Muriel had later been laid to rest - to trim the grass or replace wilted flowers.  As though somehow there were answers hidden within the engravings, she would often run her hands over her great-uncle's headstone, examining the words commemorating the life and death of the mysterious young man Orlando Graywood.

  Brushing aside a single tear that suddenly trickled down her cheek, Jenny clutched the photograph to her breast and then slipped it into the safety of her bedside drawer.

 At last the first step towards completion of the renovation was finished.  From the early hours of Saturday to the now late eve, the apartment had suffered the complexities of a frenetic makeover.  The result certainly brought out a better side to the tiny two-bedroom unit, and, to Jenny's utmost satisfaction, not a trace of the terrible psychedelic wallpaper had been allowed to show.

  Shafts of darkening light pooled beneath the window, as the sun westered and the darkling cloak of night overswept the firmament.  Stepping back from the wall, the D.I.Y decorators admired their handiwork.  'See?  I told you that colour would look nice in here.'  Triumphant, Jenny lorded her righteousness over her paint-splattered brother.

  Sean rubbed his nose and scrutinized briefly.  'Yeah, alright, it looks okay,' he conceded with the air of a professional interior decorator, 'but I still reckon that honey-wood colour would have looked better.'

  'Oh, admit it.  I was right, you were horribly wrong.  I am the queen of interior design.'

  Sean offered her a look of adolescent indignance.  Jenny inspected the thus-far successfully renovated section of the apartment for the umpteenth time.  Sean heaved an exasperated sigh, inured to Jenny's feminine thoroughness for detail and yet unable to understand its purpose.  'I'm going to take a shower,' he announced, and wandered up the hallway.  Muttering, he promptly began to pull Jenny's painstakingly folded manchester out of the linen cupboard, questing for a towel.  The discarded items he left piled on the floor as he vanished into the bathroom, much to his sister's annoyance and disdain.

  'Sean, you're bloody useless,' she informed him through the closed door.  Milo, however, had already sauntered over to inspect this veritable treasure-trove of amusement, and burrowed into a sheet, hooking sharp claws into an old sheepskin rug as he seemingly tried to murder it.  One by one Jenny plucked his retractable brambles from his sadly already deceased plaything, and Milo found himself carelessly tossed aside by an irritable mistress.  Evincing a feline's inherent haughtiness, Milo sat with his tail meticulously curled about his paws, watching Jenny refold several sheets and rugs and pillowcases through narrowed eyes.

  'Hello, what's this?'  Bemused, Jenny squinted into the semi-darkness.  A tiny scrap of paper peeped from within the folds of an old tablecloth, apparently dropped there by accident.  Reaching in, she drew it into the light, readjusting her spectacles to see it better.  The hand it was written in was alien to her, long and in violent cursive, obviously scribbled in great haste.  Letters blended as if uncertain of their place within a word, merged into a mess of black ink through which the message could just be descried:

  Through portal.  Index gone.  Please contact at 0413 525 440.  Sorry I was not there yesterday, traversed back.  Maps have been burnt..  Will see you later, if can be at Gate tomorrow evening.  Must make haste: he sent through new hunter; Twins now guarding Gate. 

  It was signed off but the paper seemed to have come into contact with water, and the name was an illegible splotch of ink.  Jenny thought she could make out the letters F, R, and S.  Surely Sean was a little too old to play at such childish riddles?  Well aware that she would never have her brother fully deciphered, for he was as unpredictable as sand in wind, Jenny set the strange note aside and decided a cup of lemon and ginger tea with honey was deserved.  At least before they began to rearrange the furniture.  Enough irritation had been expended merely moving it so they could begin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  'Hello, Lea's phone.'

  'Ah, a good morrow to you Bauer.'

  'Well, well, it is nice to know that you still live.  Greetings and salutations, Graywood.  I've been wondering what had become of you, with your going missing like that.  Where are you?'

  'Exiting the Portal.  The index is gone and-'

  'What?'

  'Ouch!  Pray, speak not so loudly: my ears are still recovering from your woebegone experiments.  As I was saying, someone has come through recently.  And left a hole in the floor, as I discovered when I fell into it.'

  'But - who besides we here has knowledge enough to traverse the Bridge safely?'

  'I know not, my friend; and as dearly as I wish I could offer you that assurance, it was not one of us who used it.'

  'No-one can just fortuitously stumble across the Gate and pass through it!  They would be consumed!'

  'I know, I know.  That is why I called.  I worry, Lea.  And with all the caffeine currently swimming in my system I cannot rest or think coherently.  But I do know one thing: unauthorised knowledge in the wrong hands could prove disastrous.  And I do not think these particular hands intend to use their knowledge for good.'

  'Well, I - what was that?'

  'If you are referring to the yowl, that was a stray cat.'

  'I thought you said something?'

  'No.  That was the man I walked into.  And it is probably best if I refrain from repeating such - profanity.  But I think I can safely say that I've never heard so many nasty four-letter words shouted in one breath.'

  'Oh.  Have you been afforded an opportunity?  You know what I mean.'

  'Not yet, but I shall anon if fortune is kind.  It is more a lack of time that hinders me.  I passed by yester eve; they were not home.'

  'I clove to my word.  You must cleave to yours.'

  'Please, refrain from offering me another useless rede.  Those I have in plenty.  I was audience to a lecture from the twins when I happened to emerge as they were preparing to immerse.  Never will I attempt a traverse when those two are abroad again.  There are only so many hours in a day I can spare...'

  'Oh, poor dear.  I extend my most heartfelt pity.'

  'Spare me the sarcasm.  Have you any other useful information to contribute to our discourse?'

  'Not in particular - say, have you heard aught from Forest lately?  He has been unusually quiet recently.'

  'Yes, he has been strangely quiet.  He has not troubled to contact me either.  But never let his silences fool you, oft has his mood been fey since - Lea!  Dîn!'*

  'What?  Why?  Hal-'

  'Shh!  Ethir lhaw lasto.  Abathrabeth.  Namarie.'**

  'Namarie…'

  Long pale fingers slid the receiver back into its cradle, as the conversation was hastily ended, the two speakers at last conscious of an uninvited presence.

  So.  They comprehended their danger now.  It had taken realization of the eavesdropper's presence long enough to dawn, although it would have been preferable to have remained concealed.  While he rebuked himself for miscalculating the acuity of their perception, in retrospect he had to admit that it was not without value.  Unfortunately the time had been too short for him to be privy to exchange of valuable material; though from what idle words had been exchanged they had unwittingly offered him their greatest weakness.  The coterie had dispersed.  They were not working together, but operated as solos.

  Fools.

  A smug smile twitched pale, thin lips.  Snake-Charmer patted the item concealed in his pocket.  With the index, he could steal away with the Outworlder and her precious possession, and retreat through the Portal.  And if, as he suspected, the Timekeeper had abandoned the Way Between Worlds to seek their mutual quarry, then he could lock those pointy-eared meddlers outside of their time, rendering the Portal inaccessible to them.  Segregated from their familiar current, deterioration would be swift.  They would linger and languish; Keeper, Catalyst, and all.  The woman could share that fate when her usefulness was all but diminished.

  Oh yes, he would be very pleased with you…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  * Silence

  ** Spy ears listen.  Converse later.  Farewell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Indicators flickering, a black sedan drew alongside the young man intent on flagging it down.  Wearing a small smile, the driver unwound the window.  'Hail Greywood,' he greeted the familiar figure stooped on the side the road.  Greywood waved the kenning name aside.  'Forget that Taure,' he said quietly.  'We have already been found out; it is useless to shelter beneath such flimsy guises.'

  Taure heaved a sigh, the pleasant expression of welcome succumbing to bleak despair.  'Get in,' he suggested, gesturing to the passenger side seat.  'I don't trust these streets at night.  No word from Legolas?'

  'Nay.'  Greywood's voice was disquietingly soft as he clambered into the vehicle, and his posture strangely stiff.  Even bathed in the orange glow of overhead streetlights, his face appeared pale and taut with worry.  Taure reserved questions for when they were enfolded in the constant flow of traffic.

  'Haldir.  What is it?'

  'I know where he is.  I know where Legolas is.  I could sense it last night.'

  The words were forced by sudden panic.  'The Gate,' Haldir said, drawing a deep inhalation to soothe racing nerves.  'He is at the Gate.  I think he is - trying to make amends.'

  'Valar damn that impetuous fool!' Taure exclaimed, and in the throes of rage slammed his hands on the steering wheel.  Several laughing teenagers on the street started at the sudden blare of a car horn, a few expressing their displeasure with futilely waving fists and certain gestures.  Taure glanced briefly in the rear vision mirror.  Haldir folded his lips, striving to maintain a cool demeanour.  Wisely he refrained from speaking lest his own temper fray.

  'You know he is only trying to fulfill his duty,' he said at length, sufficiently recovered to continue discourse.  'You cannot forbid him that which he feels is necessary on his part.'

  'I never forbade him.  I - warned him against it.  For the nonce,' Taure muttered.  'He cannot control it properly yet.  His efforts are noble, but I fear - I fear that they will kill him.  And he is growing weak.  He has been here too long, but he will not listen to me.  I have argued with him, but his stubbornness and pride are not going to relent any time soon.  I -'

  'Taure, calm yourself,' Haldir admonished.  'You are speaking too fast for me to follow.  Now, hearken to me.  No, do not argue; be silent and let me talk.  Legolas is not a child to be fended from danger with an elder's cautions.  He knows fair well the risks involved, as he understands what consequences may result from any reckless action.'

  'To others, perhaps.  But he puts no thought into the circumstances, or what may happen to him.  We are not separate, Haldir, not to an extent where one will not be missed, where we can carry on without one individual piece.  No one can be spared from this task.  We are a whole: either we function together, or not at all.  And in the case of the latter, we fail and we die.  There will be no convalescence for the world should that happen.  It will tear apart.  Everything ends.  Everything.  He wins.'

  Haldir paused a moment in silent contemplation.  He had been well aware of what would happen should their efforts go to waste, but to hear it spoken so bluntly by another who intimately shared that peril offered him a new perspective.

  'Intervene,' he suggested, to be taken aback by the sudden flashing of Taure's eyes in the dimness, the savage grin that adorned his face.

  'Oh, I intend to intervene, Haldir.  I intend to.'

  The passenger side window unexpectedly exploded in a shower of glass.  Taure cursed as Haldir uttered a sharp cry of pain.  He had clapped a hand to his shoulder.  Blood ran in steady rivulets between his fingers.  'Bullet,' he gasped.  Taure stared at him in horror.  The sudden distraction lapsed his concentration on the road.  The warning shriek of a horn alerted them of a more immediate danger.  A blinding glare was thrown into their faces.  But they were helpless in their terror, unable to apply any effort to ward off the impending as they hurtled towards the oncoming vehicle.

  STOP! ... STOP! ... STOP! ... STOP! 

  The sudden cry flickered through the air, almost lost.  Taure braked as Haldir's white-knuckled hands gripped the rest behind his head in desperation, the bullet wound in his left shoulder forgotten, his eyes shut tightly so he need not watch the horrific playing out of the inevitable.

  Taure looked up.  His wild eyes met those of the driver in the other car.  He saw his own emotions mirrored there, and the dismay at the hopeless situation, unable to back away, unable to stop it.

  The two vehicles converged with alarming speed.  Blood spattered the windscreen before Taure's eyes - was it his?  The side of his head collided with the dashboard.  He was vaguely aware of Haldir, and of the terrible scream that fled into the firmament before consciousness succumbed to emptiness, and he was falling away into shadow.

  NO! ... NO! ... NO! ... NO! ...

  'Brother,' he breathed, and was lost. 

  Stay quiet brother ... ther ... ther ... ther, ... I am coming for you ... you ... you...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Crouching on a balcony on the thirteenth floor of apartments, the watchful hunter had been mindful of his prey.  The vantage point had been flawless, the trajectory perfect, the moment opportune.  With a light breath across the smoking barrel of his weapon, Snake-Charmer hoisted himself onto the balustrade, secured the rifle into the shoulder holster and with the nimbleness of a sure-footed nocturnal creature fled into the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The car keys were often a point of contention between brother and sister.  Jenny had triumphantly snatched them from the hallstand and stood, waving them teasingly out of reach of Sean, who swore at her and made paltry efforts to grab them.  He was already preoccupied with ensuring his towel remained fastened.  Milo watched from the small hollow he had forced into the cushion of the armchair.

  'Come on Jen, be fair,' Sean pleaded.  'I need to go to Red's tonight.  We're studying.'

  'Studying what, the football?' Jenny sneered derisively.  'You can study here.  I have to pick up some tax file records from work, and maybe get some dinner because I'm not cooking tonight.  Now run off and play with your hair gel or something.  Or maybe you could even clean your room, and rearrange the furniture!  Wouldn't that be fun?'  She pinched his cheek.

  Sean snorted and pushed her hand away, slicking his fringe back from his eyes.  'Bitch,' he muttered over his shoulder as he retreated into his room.  He moodily slammed the door, and then seemed to have reached the peak of his tantrum and drifted into quiet sulking.  The angry discordant strumming of a guitar exploded from behind the closed door; Jenny heaved an exasperated sigh and victoriously departed.

  The streets were strangely empty.  The sea of bitumen stretched almost undisturbed, wandering throughout an unusually serene city.  Jenny idly dismissed it, attempting to tune the radio but encountering either static or the brief flickering of radio stations that she did not approve of.  She eventually gave in and lifted her hand from the dial, settling it on the steering wheel.  It seemed almost unbearable, without even music to distract her from the potency of the sensation, and the awkward prickling at the back of her neck.

  Go away! Her mind screamed with frustration.  A sudden sharp pain flitted across her clouded awareness.  She had been chewing her fingernails.  Shaking her head she lowered her hand.  Impulsively she lifted her chin, searching warily.  Had she imagined that movement?  She must have.  There were few creatures that could negotiate the balustrade of an apartment block some twenty stories high, she assured herself.  This paranoia was insufferable.  She was afraid that she had begun a spiraling descent into madness, drifting away from sanity. 

  Glancing to the right, she recognized the youth sweeping the street outside of Sean's workplace, the twenty-four hour general store.  Dave raised his head, catching sight of her.  Seemingly shy, he hesitantly raised a hand to offer her a small wave and a smile.  He immediately resumed sweeping with his head bowed when she did not return the gesture.  But it was not that she had not cared; it was that in her frenetic state she regarded the store as a landmark, signifying that she was almost at her destination.  She could grab the tax records and go; toasted cheese would be good enough for a meal tonight.  The encroachment of her privacy, the breach of her sense of security, would hopefully remit when obstructed by the solid walls of home.

  It came suddenly and softly, like the faintest breath of wind seeping through a partially open window.  Save that it had form.  And words:

  Who? ... who? ... who? ... who? ...

  Like a tendril of smoke it curled on the edges of her hearing, echoing, laden with meaning, cautious.  The edge of the whisper was bleared, as though heard through a dusty cloth.  Jenny started.

  Jenny ... ny ... ny ... ny ... 

  The murmur assumed familiarity, seeming to smile with pleasure at its recognition as it danced throughout her mind.  She felt as if she was losing control.  Her head spun, as if her body had severed its anchorage and she was floating.  Inwardly she screamed in terror.  'Who are you?' she shrieked into the nothingness.

  Changer ... ger ... ger ... Trust me ... me ... me ...

  It wove about her, catching her up in its web.  It pulsed as though with a heart beat, an expression of life.  She was cradled in warm arms, strong and gentle.  A curious touch fondled her face briefly - what was this?  She struggled.  As abruptly as it had seized her it relented.  She fell back into the physical world, the faultless influx of returned consciousness a cold shock to her system.

  To me ... me ... me ... me ...

  The whisper sighed and faded into silence.  Jenny swept a trembling hand across a sweat-bedewed brow, thoroughly shaken by this paranormal experience.  And yet, she felt compelled.  Why not trust it?  Why not go to it?

  She pulled the Barina into the gutter, and sat awhile to gather herself together.  She was tired from an arduous morning.  While contemplating the day's events and trying to force sense into them, she struggled to restrain her unkempt brown-dyed locks into a hair band.  Nothing was wrong.  Her mind was beginning to wander, that was all.  She was suffering from stress, her brain had been overtaxed and was beginning to become incoherent due to fatigue.  It made sense.  Even so, Jenny risked an illicit dash across the street, prayed there had been no law enforcers about to witness, and unlocked the side door to her work and keyed in her identification code.

  The security guard greeted her genially.  She gave him a hasty smile and bob of the head, trying to stem her panic as she stepped into the elevator.  The cubicle blocks were like a disquieting labyrinth in the darkness.  Jenny found her way to her desk, snatched up the document folder, and then ran for the car, unwilling to bide in any place a second more than was necessary.

  Home.  At last.  It felt as though hours had slipped by, while she had been suspended helplessly, spinning uncontrollably above reality.  A cup of peppermint tea to calm her nerves, a quiet evening spent in front of the television, and a restful sleep would put much in order.

  Something exploded in the near distance.  She knew that sound.  Glass.  A window, she thought with relief.  Probably some kid playing with a ball indoors.  Children these days ...

  Smiling absent-mindedly, lost in a childhood memory of an incident involving Sean and his cricket bat, it did not immediately register that the yellow light dancing across her vision was not a figment of her imagination.  Snapping back to reality, she screamed in horror, frantically slamming a fist on the car horn.  It did little to dissuade the vehicle speeding towards her to veer away from an impending collision.  She slammed her foot down upon the brake pedal.  'Oh, shit!' she wept in terror.  'No, please, no!'

  STOP! ... STOP! ... STOP! ... STOP!

  There was a moment when she seemed to drift, when her wide eyes met those of the driver, and shared a gaze of mutual horror.  But only a moment.  The horrible screech of buckling aluminium, the acrid smell of burning rubber, the cataract of shattered glass, the burning strain of the safety belt, the deluge of ebullient emotions all merged into one horrible inescapable scene played out before her.  For a split second there was a furore of pain and the sickening metallic scent of blood.  An agonised scream tore from a man's throat, doors slammed, panicked voices pounded against her dulled hearing in dimly roaring waves.

  NO! ... NO! ... NO! ... NO! ...

  She thought someone grasped her arm, shook her.  Colours pulsated irregularly before her eyes.

  Changer ... ger ... ger, ... with me ... me ... me ...

  Her vague awareness was suddenly benighted, overtaken by an impenetrable darkness that invaded from all corners of her mind.  The tenuous anchorage was foiled by the strain for freedom.  With him.  Yes.  With him.

  With me ... me ... me ...

  A soft touch brushed by her face. 

  Everything was gone.