'I'll remember that, Mrs Finnie, thank you.' It was a woman. Semila, maybe? She was looking down the stairs, but as her gaze turned on John, he knew it was her. She looked different, wearing a cardigan and a doctor's coat thrown over it, but those eyes were unmistakable. A smile burst onto her face when his eyes met hers. She closed the door.

'Back to do your check-ups, Johnnie.' Her eyes twinkled with mischief, and she said check-ups like it was a naughty thing. Suddenly his balls itched.

'You're alive,' he breathed, jumping from where he stood next to the bedside cabinet. Before she could answer, he'd wrapped her in a hug, squeezing as tightly as he dared. For the first time, he noticed her breasts too. So big and soft against his chest. He withdrew and smiled awkwardly. 'Sorry. It's just...you were dead. And now you're here, alive.'

'We just spoke this morning...'

Her eyes widened. 'You did it now? You went back to save me today? Oh John.' She hugged him this time, tighter than before, and a warm feeling flooded him. 'Thank you.' She pulled back and looked into his eyes, holding his jaw with one hand. 'You crazy fucker, you're going to save us all. You know that, right?' Tears gleamed in her eyes. That was unlike her; she was a tough cookie. Still, her ecstasy rubbed off on him.

'Speaking of which, do you know Samantha Grimes in this version of our lives?'

'Sure, we got smashed together a few days ago. She's my drinking buddy.'

Oh god, John had never imagined Samantha drunk. Actually that was a lie, he had imagined her drunk when he was sixteen; he'd also imagined her stripping for him, dancing on a pole, rubbing her perfect curves against it. He blushed. 'Oh--yeah, okay. Can you call her?' He started rummaging through drawers, looking for a mobile phone. 'Get her to bring her pictures? All of them? In fact, call Marty too--' John froze.

'What?'

'Is--is he alive?' Dread crawled beneath his skin. What if it hadn't worked? What if he'd been wrong about Grimsol killing Marty? What if Paul had been the Collector and not some incarnation of Grimsol? That would mean Marty would still be dead by now.

With hands on her hips, Semila frowned at him. 'Alive?'

Oh no. God, no. It hadn't worked. His hands began to shake, and tears stung his eyes. How could it not have worked? Samantha had been right all along. He should've mourned, should've gone to the funeral at least, but he was a terrible fri--

'Why wouldn't he be?' she said and cocked her head to the side.

'So he is? Ohmygod!' John punched the air as if it had caused him this pain. 'Yes!'

Semila frowned. 'Wait, was he dead too?'

'Yeah, Grimsol got to him. Just like he did to you.'

Semila ran her tongue over her teeth. 'That dirt bag of a lowlife? I assume you got rid of him, seeing that I'm here?'

'Yeah, you were there. Don't you remember it?'

She shook her head, struggling out of the doctor's coat, cursing when her hand got stuck.

'John stuffed his hands in his pockets and started inspecting his room. Things looked just a little different. Cleaner, for one. 'Gabriel and Death helped.'

'You gotta be kidding me, Anubis and Gabriel the holy working together?' She snorted. 'Now you're just lying for the fun of it.'

'No, really. They did Sem. It was weird...' John remembered Death in a poncho and heard that Mexican music in his mind.

'You sure you didn't just dream this, John?'

'Do I still get those?' he asked. 'The dreams?'

She shrugged. 'That's what you say. An old lady, two cops, a little girl, something about a guy named Tom.' She chucked the coat on his bed and started tugging at the cardigan next.

'Yeah, that's right. Tom. It all started with him.' Reminiscence flooded John, bombs and gunfire amidst smoke and mud and screaming, and the pasty wet feel of Tom's blood in his lap. Strangely enough, Semila didn't feel the need to ask what he was talking about, which was good. Tom wasn't something he felt like sharing with anyone. He tapped the windowsill, touched the blinds. 'And I can walk now?'

'That's my cover story for being here, I'm your Biokineticist. Basically helping you get your body back in shape, get you walking straight.'

'Huh.' From the window to Semila, he walked--straight, no quirks in his feet or muscles, no aches in his knees, no foibles or stumbles. No pain in his back, even. 'Looks like it's working.'

'It's just a cover. You've been fine for months now thanks to Samantha.'

'Yeah, she's good.' He recalled her rubbing his leg muscles while he spat swear words in her face and cringed. 'I'd like to thank her. She's been real helpful. I think...I think I'm going to tell her about the Blink.'

'You sure?' Semila sounded uncertain, but she had a knowing look on her face, a lopsided grin that showed her gold tooth. 'She might just think you're crazy.'

'Don't worry' --he winked at her-- 'I've got something that'll convince her.'

While Semila paced the room, chatting on her mobile phone, John rummaged in his drawers again and found the piece of evidence he needed. It was time to save Charlie, and he had a feeling he'd need everyone's help on this one. Samantha had to believe him--there was no other way.

In the background, Semila's chatting stopped.

'Did you call Marty too?'

'Yeah.'

'Good, I think he can help. You know I told him about all this once?'

Semila pocketed the phone. 'Yeah?'

'Didn't believe me. Maybe this time...'

#

The doorbell rang, John could hear it from his room when the house was quiet enough. 'They're here.' He felt the way he'd felt on that first date with Samantha. Sweaty palms, butterflies beating his stomach to a pulp. Sat on the edge of his bed, he watched Semila go open the room door.

'Hey guys.' She hugged Samantha and they shared smiles--they really were drinking buddies. Marty walked in behind Samantha, and John couldn't help the tears that choked him. 'Hey, bro.'

'Gay boy, I see you're still feely as ever.'

'Feely.' John grunted, swept Marty into a hug, and tried to hide his tears with rapid blinking. 'Who you calling feely, you soft sod?'

Marty chuckled and patted John's back. 'God, it still blows my mind having you back, seeing you walking.' He turned to Semila. 'You're a miracle worker, doc.'

'Thanks, Sarg.' She accentuated the 'Sarg' sarcastically, shaking Marty's hand. 'Nice to know my work's appreciated.'

'Of course, Ma'am.' He tapped his forehead with one finger in a mock salute.

When had they become so mannered? 'Enough with the formalities, guys, I have something big to tell you.'

'Oh, here it comes,' Marty said, 'The feels.' He crouched. 'Prepare yourself Sam, he's been at it since high school.'

'Grow up, Marty.' She slapped him on the shoulder.

'This is important.' John sat somberly, no smile, and the others calmed down. Marty sat in John's chair near the window, Samantha and Semila leaned against his desk on the far wall. The nerves kicked it up a notch, and John cleared his throat in the sudden awkward quiet. 'So, I'm not sure how to break this to you, except...' He looked at their faces. Nobody was going to cop him out of this one, he'd just have to go all in and hope for the best. 'Right, so I guess first I should say I'm doing this for Charlie.'

Samantha shifted awkwardly and Semila wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Their smiles unnerved him even more--Semila smiling like she knew the secret to ending world hunger, and Samantha like she hoped John hadn't just lost his marbles. And maybe he had, maybe he'd never had marbles in the first place. 'Shit guys, this is going to sound crazy, but hear me out okay?' He couldn't get the words out. He'd done it once before with Marty and ended up in a seventeen-year coma. Call him a pessimist, but that didn't bode well for his future.

'Okay, damn, so to summarise...I can change time.'

Samantha burst into nervous laughter, but Semila and Marty stared at John, and her laughter weighted the atmosphere with more tension as it died down.

Eventually Marty sighed. 'This again? Semila, you're a doctor, what's wrong with his brain?' He gestured at John.

John scowled. 'Thanks for the vote of confidence, mate.'

'Just hear him out, will you?'

Semila's answer obviously surprised Marty, whose brows shot up, mouth shut quick.

'I have proof, Sam.' Slowly, as if Samantha could spook like a feral kitten, John approached her and held out the photo, the frayed undated one from two years back, the one he'd given Semila in the black box. The one Samantha had taken of him in his comatose state. He hoped she hadn't shown anyone the picture before.

Her jaw dropped and her hand started trembling as she reached for the photo and drew it closer, touching the edges. 'Where'd you get this?'

'Like I said, I can change time. How is a bit complicated to explain, but it's all got to do with photos.'

'You took that one, Sam. You took hundreds, thousands. I saw them. In another version of time you carted boxes full of them up those steps, and I used them to save Marty's life.' He was rambling now, glancing between Marty and Samantha and trying to ignore the laugh in Semila's eyes.

'You died Marty. Samantha was there when it happened. Luckily, with some help, we changed time, and now you're here...' Tears burned in the corners of his eyes, and emotion welled up in his chest. John coughed. 'S'why I'm so fucking glad to see you, mate.'

'And you Sem.' He looked into her eyes and drowned in their depths. Tears wet his cheeks and he scarcely noticed.

'You're for real on this?' Marty sounded as if he almost believed John, as if it wasn't the craziest thing John'd ever said.

'Yes, he is.' Semila stepped forward and tugged at her jeans with one hand. 'I know it. I was there. He can.'

'This is crazy,' Samantha whispered, touching the photo. The room was quiet for over a minute, each person lost in their thoughts, attempting to process what John had divulged. He let them. It was big news. He was surprised they even kind of believed him and hadn't call the mental institute yet.

Marty turned his gaze from the window. 'So. How do you do it? Is it like in school?'

'Kind of.' John scratched his beard. 'Thing is, it keeps changing. At first I could look at a photo and hear voices, then one day I looked at a photo and fell into it, and I saw that moment in time again.' John remembered that the doctors had done tests on him as a toddler, but he chose not to share that--he wanted them to believe he was sane, and if they knew the doctors had wanted to send him to the loony bin at a young age, it wouldn't help his case. 'Still, I couldn't change time. Then there was Tom, the soldier. I Blinked into this photo of the war, and...and when I Blinked out, history had changed.'

'Blinked,' Samantha said, shell-shocked.

Semila popped a wad of gum into her mouth. 'Yeah, that's what he calls it.'

'I remember that day. Thought you were comin' out the closet, gay boy.' Marty chuckled in the chair, and the crow's feet bordering his eyes warmed John's heart. He smiled. 'Yeah I remember. Then we magically passed everything, aces.'

'You know, I never really believed you could do it. You said you'd prove it, but--I dunno--' Marty threw a hand in the air. '--just crazy, this shit, you know?'

'Yeah, I know.' Who could believe that the Blink was real, that angels and demons existed, that he'd helped kill a demon. It was the stuff you read about in books and watched at 11pm on the tele. John looked down at his hand. 'But I need you on this, mate. And you Sam.'

Though she looked paler, John thought he spotted a new light in Samantha's eyes, a spark of hope. 'I believe you,' she whispered at the photo. 'I never knew why...but this--your gift--it means I'm not crazy.' She looked up. 'This is why I felt compelled to take a photo of you each day. You can have your life back.' Now her expression turned from sallow to bright with hope. 'Right?'

'I don't know Sam, I never tried to save myself, but I know I can help Charlie. I can save her, but not alone.'

'So what d'you need?' Marty looked stolid, determined to try to believe John, and Samantha gushed with hope. Semila, with that sarcasm still in her eyes, leaned against the windowsill chewing gum and wriggling her eyebrows at him every chance she got, that gold tooth gleaming in sunlight when her teeth hit the right angle.

'We're going to need photos. Lots of photos. Yours' --he pointed at Samantha-- 'and any photos you have, Marty? You're a cop, I figured you might have access to the photos from the Collector case?'

A shadow crossed Marty's features. 'I do actually, but I can't bring them here, and I don't know if they'd help, photos of the victims before they went missing--school photos and such. Luckily I happen to have another picture on me. Long story, but I found this one recently, haven't bagged and tagged it yet. It's an old pic.' The photo Marty held out was of a young girl tied, bleeding, gagged, chained to the roof of a dank room by her hands. Just seeing it gave John chills deeper than the physical. What kind of monster would do this to a child?

'When did she die?'

After a pause, Marty said, 'she's number ten, Bethany Alders, went missing on the fourteenth of June, nineteen eighty-six.'

'Wow.' Sam's eyebrows lifted.

Still leaning against the window sill, Semila popped a bubble and chewed on. 'Good cop, knows his stuff.'

'It's more than that, doctor, this case haunts me. I see the faces of those girls everyday pinned up on a board. Did you know the Collector sends recordings of each kill? Listening to that...'

In the pause, Samantha snuffled, tears running down her face.

'It changes you. I sleep less now, keep dreaming of that grating voice, and the little girls. I suppose this photo is the worst. Once you've heard the kill, seeing the results breaks you. And this guy's been killing girls for years. Nobody's caught him. Either he started very young, or he's ancient by now.'

'How long's it been?' Semila asked between chews.

'Nearly forty-three years. Two or three deaths a year.'

With a rumble and snort, Samantha blew her nose into a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.

'You okay, Sam?' John walked closer and took her hand.

He could see she was struggling to contain deep emotion, and she swallowed before speaking. 'The Collector took my cousin too, just three years ago. Little Kelly was my favourite cousin. She always had her hair in the cutest--'

'--blonde pigtails,' Marty said, horror in his eyes.

'Oh god.' Samantha rushed from the room crying.

From her window perch, Semila nodded at John. 'I'll go talk to her. Help her get those boxes here.'

'Sure, Sem.'

'Thanks,' Marty added.

In silence John and Marty listened to the girls' muffled voices until the front door banged shut.

'Right.' The photo in John's hand felt suddenly heavier. 'Got to try take out the Collector, and I might as well start with this pic.' He frowned. 'She died before Charlie, right?'

'Long before, mate. Charlie was number fifty-seven. That's number ten. It's weird calling them numbers, I know, but it helps me cope.'

At the other side of the room, John dug out the camera from a pile of his crap. 'S'alright mate. I'm not sure how long this is going to take. Used to be only a few seconds back when I was in school, but like I said, things have changed--keep changing.'

'Sure, bro. I hope it works. I hope you come back and Charlie's banging on your door.' Saying this, Marty looked out the window, his jaw tight. 'Maybe you can save the other girls too.'

'Yeah.' With nothing left to say, John set his shoulders, grit his teeth, and Blinked.

#

'Let go!' John screamed.

A demon clung to his waist bared its impossibly long, sharp teeth, ready to dig them into the flesh of his hand.

'Fuck!' he shouted, but pushed at the thing's face again, its skin cold, cloying, putrid, and he shuddered even as he pushed against the creature, hurtling towards the photo in the pitch black of the Blink.

Falling to the photo took only a few seconds, but felt like fucking hours when all of hell was after him, trying to stop him. In the darkness he heard other voices, deep, chilling, grating. Some kind of like Grimsol's, and some boding much darker evil than even Grimsol could've done. Glimpses of hoofed and clawed limbs flashed past his eyes as he shot past. Goosebumps ran the length of his arms, his spine shivered with chills, and he kicked out desperately, trying to use his ankles to get the demon off him. Just as he got to the photo's surface, he swung his fist at its serrated jaw and got in a lucky shot. Spittle flew from the screeching creature, and it lost its grip. In the same instant John kicked loose of the thing and punched a hole in the photo's wall with a fist like he was superman.

With a loud crash, John fell into the room, rolling to a stop against a metal table, implements flying from it. He covered his head. 'Fuck me! I forgot how much that hurt.'

A voice, John assumed the Collector, screamed, 'Demons, demons sent for me!'

Groaning, John stood, shook his head clear, rubbed his elbow. The room stank of rotting flesh and fungi, dank, dusty, and badly lit, though in a spot of hazy light, he saw a little girl hanging from chains, the girl from the photo. Revulsion and indignation twisted his guts but put fire in his bones.

He squinted at a spot where a blade of some sort reflected light from the shadows. A man stepped into the light and John gasped. 'Fuck me, I know you!' It was the man from his vision. 'Put the knife down man, I know you. The game's up.'

The girl screamed, and John dodged as the man ran at him, scrambling to grab some kind of sharp object to defend himself with.

'Kill him mister,' Bethany screamed. 'Kill him please. Kill him and get my mommy!'

Fumbling in the shadows, his eyes taking time to adjust, John's fingers brushed against something metallic and he grabbed it. Fuck he was stupid. Why hadn't he thought to bring a weapon? I mean, what was he going to do with the camera anyway? Beat him over the head?

'Fucker!' The man shouted, stabbing at John who dodged the blade and swung his own weapon blindly at the Collector. 'Demon fucker!'

The knife scraped against his camera, and John's adrenalin kicked in. The light looked brighter, the mote dancing in it vivid as it swirled in slow motion. The Collector's warped voice slurred, as if time slowed down, and John frowned at him and watched the blade cut into his thigh, stuck in. Shit. The utensil he'd held onto fell, and reflexively he grabbed the camera and pressed a button. A bright flash accompanied the whirring click from the camera that meant he'd taken a photo. He searched the roof for the star. 'Come on,' he mumbled as pain burned in his leg. It appeared, thank God or Death or whoever was helping him. He Blinked out and crashed into his own room, rolling to a stop against the bed.

'Fuck!' He heard Marty shout. 'What the fuck, mate!'

'Shit, Marty, he stabbed me. The fucker stabbed me. Get--' he looked around the room, a wave of dizziness blurred everything. '--pass me that towel over there, and call Samantha.'

'Yeah.' He rushed to the cabinet and ripped two white towels out. The knife was in deep, and an ache bloomed from the spot