It appeared that a former judge had been apprehended last evening without a struggle at his house in the exclusive Beaches neighbourhood. Judge Evan Mayer and his wife had been indicted on a number of charges including first degree murder, keeping a common bawdy house, indecent exposure, indecent assault, extortion, assaultand battery, sodomy and forcible confinement. If convicted, he'd probably be confined to solitary. He certainly wouldn't be safe in prison. The former judge had been apprehended due to an anonymous tipand basic police work. There was a list of victims found on his summer property in an unmarked shallow grave. Doreen Stills, Hannah Water, Gladys Lifkin. And other names of women that hadn't deserved to die horribly, frightened, alone and in pain at the hands of a monster. All names that I had spoken quickly into the receiver of a pay phone a week ago on the other side of town. The police were looking for thecaller, but didn't think that they would ever track him down. There were no witnesses to the phone call, and no finger prints in the booth. The article extended thanks to the caller, praising him forsocial responsibility. How ironic.

There was a brief statement from the latest victim who was found battered and nearly unconscious in a locked room of Mayer's mansion. The girl was recovering in hospital from her ordeal and was expectedto testify at the Judge's trial. Sheila McBain personally thanked the anonymous caller for her rescue from the depths of hell. I smiled at the graduation picture that the paper had run of Sheila. She was stunning in the picture, probably a lot more at ease than she was now. She was probably lying in a hospital bed somewhere, police protected,with bruises like nobody should ever endure. She had been at that house for an extra week before the police finally moved. She would recover. Of that I was sure. She had a strength that not many on thisplanet could equal.

The article ended with an appeal for an end to violence against women. I closed my eyes, picturing Sheila's bruised body beneath my lids.

I was unafraid of the black spiders for the first time in a while. It had been an irrational fear. The black spiders had disappeared sinceI'd returned to the main timeline a week ago. But still, I dreaded them.

I heard the screech of the brakes of the bus as it pulled up to the stop. I wearily climbed to my feet, fishing a token from my front pocket. I dropped it into the coin box with a jingle.

I sat down near the middle of the bus and stared idly up at the advertisements. With a shock, I saw Christi. Her pretty hands held a chocolate bar, an Oh Henry. I could hardly read the sign, my whole body was shaking so hard.

I forced my eyes from the ceiling and glanced around the bus. A beautiful woman, perhaps twenty-five sat across from me quietly reading a book and jerking as the bus hastily stopped for the next passenger. Her hair was red and flowing. She reminded me a little of Elizabeth. Sensing my eyes on her, she lifted them from the book and smiled at me. I smiled back and looked away.

I was tempted to stop time. I almost invoked the formulae. Just for a moment. I could have her, if I really wanted to. But I still needed torest. I knew that. Those black spiders weren't pleasant. It shouldn't take long to recover my temporal energy, not according to my calculations, but I wasn't sure a week would suffice. I resisted the temptation.

I let my mind wander a little, remembering the girls, the timeline, the freedoms. I wanted to go back. Perhaps I would someday.

I kept seeing the girls everywhere I went. A flash of blonde and a petite build and I saw Amy in a crowded mall. But Amy was probably back where ever she was from, long gone from the hotel room where I'dtaken her. A flash of red and a long trim form, Elizabeth would smile from a cashier booth or from across a bus aisle. Jane would pass by on a crowded sidewalk, I'd turn to say hello, but she would be gonereplaced by some teen bouncing happily along oblivious to my notice. And Christi, she appeared more than the others. A tall blonde striding down a set of stairs, beautifully clothed. I could see right throughher clothing, and yet I couldn't. At the last moment, I'd see her face and realize that the woman wasn't Christi after all.

I had seen them, but I hadn't. Sheila, in truth, was the only girl I really knew what she was doing. And the advertisement, up there, featuring the girl who had begged me to find her on the real timeline.The girl I'd only discovered was a model in the last few hours of the timeline.

I swallowed heavily, and prayed that the bus ride wouldn't be very long.

A familiar quiet laugh turned my head. A flash of brunette near the back of the bus. I held my breath, shaking my head. The girls were gone. I would never acknowledge them, even if I did see them for real.I couldn't. And I wouldn't. Even if it was her this time, it was immaterial, no matter how much my heart ached.

She turned, Jane's face flashing across my visual line of sight. This time, it was real, not a product of an overactive and hopeful imagination. Her face - none of the fake Janes had had Jane's face. She was sitting alone, reading quietly near the back of the bus. Shewas reading something funny, her smile easy and light on her lips. I closed my eyes and when I'd reopened them she had returned to facing away from me. But it had been Jane's face whereas all the others werenot. I was sure of it. This wasn't just a passing resemblance.

I tensed and let my breath out slowly. I had to force myself to stay in my place. Not get up and sit near her, ask her if she remembered anything, remembered any of the slave talk she was so good at, remembered anything she had done, anything she had loved.

She turned back to her book, oblivious to my knowledge of her. Oblivious to me noticing her. She was used to being noticed.

The bus pulled into a stop. I had no idea where I was any longer.

I forced my eyes away from Jane and glanced back at the red-head across from me. She gave me a dirty look, had seen me staring at Jane. I flushed.

A familiar scent washed over me. Every girl has her own wonderful scent and the sense of smell is perhaps the strongest for evoking memories. I looked up from the red-head just quickly enough to see thelong legs pass by me, walking easily in low comfortable shoes. I knew it was her before I saw the blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, the tall voluptuous body in jeans and a light sweater. I breathed in herscent, not believing the twists of fate that happen.

The blonde walked by me without a flash of recognition. No reason for her to recognize me. I breathed a sigh of relief, but the thoughts began immediately. Both of those girls wanted to remember. They wantedto meet me on the real timeline. Here we were, by some unfathomable twist of destiny.

What could I say?

"Hello, Christi ... Jane. You don't know me, but you made wonderful sex slaves ..."

If I wasn't locked up immediately, I would get a good slap. Probably two. And perhaps I'd get the joy of being locked up *and* slapped. Agood slap from the women that until so recently feared my hand as much as they loved it. I couldn't. There was no way.

"Excuse me? Mind if I sit down?" the blonde girl's musical voice inquired near the back of the bus. It was still as beautiful as I remembered it. I looked up again as though her voice was directed at me which it wasn't.

The petite brunette girl looked up from her book, nodding easily. The blonde settled down beside the girl I thought was Jane, crossing her legs demurely. My heart ached at the sight of the girls together. Icould still remember the soft touch of their skin against mine before I let them go.

My stop came and went. It was of no concern to me. I watched them as surreptitiously as I could.

The last stop was announced. A transfer point. The girls both rose to their feet, smiling to one another. Same stop friends. As they walked by me, the blonde girl flashed one of her easy smiles to me. I smiledback, my heart hammering in my chest.

"Hey, isn't that you?" the brunette pointed at the advertisement I'd noticed earlier.

"Yeah, but don't hold it against me. I don't even like Oh Henry's," the blonde smiled back at the smaller girl as they moved past, washing me with the mixture of their scents. The scents that I remembered sovery clearly.

"I'm Jane," the brunette extended her small hand to the taller blonde.

"Christi."... the blonde flashed her radiant smile at Jane, taking her hand in greeting as they stepped off the bus.

The End