So, they went through London on a red bus, as the rain spattered and ran in rivulets horizontally across the graffiti-scarred windows. One man and a rat, who was also a man, previously. Elmo from the third time line back had convinced Holi that she had taken a blow to the head and needed a lie down. She hadn't, he assured her, seen a large orange-and-yellow-suited ogre appear in her home; there was no rat, no doppelganger. There was only one him. She had seemed suspicious, yet resigned to the idea as he left the house, his future rat self tucked into a back pack next to the metal egg-shaped device, Gum's address in his pocket. When it was quiet on the top level of the bus Rat-Elmo risked scrabbling out of the backpack for a look out the window.

  Arriving at their stop Elmo trudged from the bus stop toward the street on the hill, his head bent, shoulders raised to keep out the drizzle. They had tried to discuss on the way how they might approach things. What would they say to Gum? The Gum in the cupboard clearly was not the Gum they anticipated meeting in this time. Where had he come from? Had he also travelled through time somehow? He had been very vague and fleeting in his visitation.

  As Elmo walked the grey city streets, Rat-Elmo squeaked out from the bag,

  "Don't just give him the device will you? We don't know if we'll get it back.

  We need it back. I need it back. I need to get back."

  The bag went silent. Elmo wondered what it must be like to be in a rodent's skin, to be in a bag come to that. Then they were there. Holding the scrap of paper with the address in one hand, Elmo looked up at the big, old London house. Rat-Elmo peeped out between the teeth of the zipper.

  "This is it," he whispered.

  The path and steps up to the house looked grey and foreboding, the sky was heavy above, still threatening plenty more rain.

  Knocking on the door, Elmo shuffled from one foot to the other, still trying to decide how to explain the situation to Gum, but he was somewhat taken aback when the door was opened by a boy holding a large wooden spoon.

  Looking again at the address, Elmo mumbled, "Is this Gum's house?"

  The boy turned and walked away inside, beckoning to be followed. A quick, furtive glance was exchanged between man and bag, then Elmo stepped inside and followed the youngster into the front room. When the boy indicated that he should do so, he sat expectantly on a sofa and waited. The boy lowered himself cross-legged onto the floor and began staring at the spoon.

  Elmo wondered if he was really in the right house and if so where was Gum? He was about to suggest that the boy tell someone that he was here, but as he leaned forward the boy seemed to misunderstand his intention and handed him the spoon. Puzzled, Elmo flexed it experimentally.

  "Do not try to bend the spoon. That's impossible," the boy intoned.

  "I wasn't try..." began Elmo.

  But the lad continued, "Instead only try to realise the truth."

  "What truth?"

  "It's made of wood and wood doesn't bend. You're a spoon. You watch too many films." He snatched the implement back at this point and whacked Elmo on the head with it sharply.

  At that point Heather appeared in the doorway and before Elmo could speak she said, "I know, you're Elmo. Be right with you."

  She set off back out of the room, down the corridor toward the kitchen and Elmo jumped up to follow her, still slightly shaken by the weirdness of the young boy and rubbing his head.

  "This is Gum's place? " came a puzzled squeak from the bag.

  "Bingo. Not quite what you were expecting right?” Heather had heard, but seemed unconcerned and busied herself at the oven. "Almost done. Smell good don't they?"

  Elmo realised he was dripping on the lino and decided to sit down.

  "I'd ask you to sit, but you're not going to anyway," Heather said over her shoulder as Elmo's bottom was part way through its descent to the chair, "And don't worry about the vase." She said it the American way like 'vays'.

  "What's a vays?" Elmo began, quickly straightening up again.

  "Vays, vahs," she said it both ways now, "You know."

  Elmo looked around for a vase, couldn't see one. "What vase?" he asked, feeling increasingly uneasy, but Heather was still speaking.

  "You're cuter than I thought, I can see why she likes you."

  "Who?" the confused Elmo enquired, suspicious that he was tangling up into something here.

  "Not too bright though. You know why you're here?"

  Elmo was about to point out that he had come to see Gum, but was interrupted before he could open his mouth.

  "So what do you think? You think you're the one?"

  "One what?"

  Elmo was floundering under Heather's strange course of conversation, he gazed about the kitchen wondering what was expected of him. His eyes fell on the large fridge-freezer. It was festooned with little, yellow Post-it notes, each with an instruction, presumably for Gum to carry out at the indicated time. Rat-Elmo was beginning to get impatient, Elmo could feel the bag moving, but Heather was staring right at him expectantly.

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  "Ah… " was all Elmo could manage.

  "No, open your mouth and say ‘ahh’," Heather prodded.

  Now he felt really stupid, opening his mouth as she looked inside. Why was she doing this? Why was everything so bizarre here?

  Heather went on with barely a pause, "Now I'm supposed to say 'hmmm that's interesting', but then you say..."

  Elmo had no idea what he was supposed to say.

  Rat-Elmo had had enough, bursting out of the bag he squoke up, "Get out of his mouth! Where's Gum? We've come to see Gum!"

  Heather shrieked and leapt onto a stool and then the worktop, knocking over a vase in her hurry to get away from the intruding rat. She looked like she wanted to mention the fallen vase, but didn't. Instead she just tottered up there, clutching both hands to her neck and quivering.

  "Is he here?" the hot-under-the-collar rat demanded. Heather backed up another few inches and pointed upward.

  "He's upstairs? Is that it?" The irate rat was now out of the bag and heading stairward. Elmo gave an apologetic nod, closed his still open mouth and followed.

  *****

  Roan of timeline one waved as Gum dropped him home and swung his car round in the cul-de-sac circle before setting off into the night. Roan wondered if Mist might be annoyed with him for getting back so late. He deserved it, probably. He should have sent a text or something. He fumbled his key into the lock, scowling under the gloom of the porch security light. The light was dimmed by a green polythene bag placed over the bulb. He had only ever intended this as a temporary replacement for the glass cover that broke when he changed the bulb. Little things like that bugged Roan every time he looked at them, but not enough to go to the effort of buying a new light just yet. He'd get one, eventually.

  The house was quiet as he entered. Had Mistletoe given up and gone to bed? He pulled out his phone, intending to check whether she had messaged him, but jumped with a loud gasp at the threshold to the living room.

  “What on...? Gum? You scared... Wait... How? You just drove off?”

  The figure sitting comfortably on Roan’s corner chair was indeed Gum, but different. He was dressed in a snug-fitting, black body-suit, he had pushed back a hood to a dark zip-up top and his hair seemed more well-gelled than normal. Despite the low lighting in the sitting room, Gum wore a small, round pair of reflective shades. Something protruded above his shoulder that looked like the handles of twin oriental katanas.

  “You might want to sit down. This is going to be hard to hear,” Gum began.

  *****

  No 2 sat amid the ring of stone columns, hunched in his heavy chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, whiskers twitching, when the door to his sanctum opened and a rather sharply dressed Elmo hurried in. “Sorry. Sorry,” the newcomer panted out.

  “You’re late number three, where have you been?”

  “Oh, just held up at the committee meeting – they’re all excited about the implications of the returnee...”

  “But you’re late for me,” the hooded rat dismissed the excuse, scowling down from his raised stone platform.

  “Sorry,” Elmo number three repeated with a subservient move that was half bow-half curtsy. He made an attempt to shift the focus of attention, “You did it eh? Sent one of us out to a timeline, the first timeline at that. And got him back. The team are most excited about the implications. The guys are hoping this might lead to a breakthrough - getting everyone back to their own times.”

  The rat gave a barely discernible huff of derision. “How dare you suggest I sent him. Don’t pretend you know something! The committee know full well that renegade won’t give his number and did not do what he was instructed to do in timeline one.”

  Number three decided that another attempt at ignorance might be worth a try, “He was sent to TL 1. Who other than you...”

  “You know full-well the report says he won't say who sent him. Don’t play dumb! What’s your theory about what happened?”

  Number 3 gave up the pretence, “His statement says he met Elmo from TL 1 before he could complete his research. He panicked and ended up ‘involving’ himself. Elmo TL 1 ‘activated’ the device, went back in time. Rogue time-travelled to hunt First Elmo down.”

  “Meaning?” Three hesitated as his eyes fell on a big spider climbing in the shadows of the columns. He shuddered.

  “Another timeline. He would have created a second time line when he arrived at his chosen time, because you can’t go up and down your own timeline; you can’t unhappen what has already happened because...”

  “I know your theories on time travel; cobbled together from over-analysing Back To The Future and endless seasons of Alias! Never mind. You weren't there. I was there remember! This idiot turned up and set all this chaos off! Caused it all!”

  “But, he didn't, did he?” No 3 said with a fresh note of boldness. “He did exactly what you told him to do - make him go back.”

  “No one is that stupid,” the rat said, on its feet now and glaring down at No. 3, who backed off from the platform slightly.

  “Your instructions just weren't clear. In fact, your intentions are not clear to any of us. You know you can't get anyone back. He met himself for goodness' sake! What if the universe rejected him?”

  “Universe reject him?” Two’s contempt was obvious. “He put himself and all of us in danger.”

  Ensuring a good, solid stone column was between them, Number Three cut in with uncharacteristic force, “We’re all in danger, thanks to you! I notice you didn’t go yourself!”

  The rat-like one raised an eyebrow in surprise and took an imperceptible step forward, “I haven’t sent anyone. Should I send you to see for yourself?”

  Fumbling, his sense of caution under threat, Three hissed, “We only have your word for what happened in TL1.”

  The rat knew when to hold back. Keep quiet, wait...

  “And we know what you’ve been doing to Gum TL3: you got in his head man! You thought you’d just get into someone's brain?” Disgust and anger pushed this usually cautious Elmo to drop some of his restraint. “You thought that you’d have a look around the inside of Gum’s head and out through his eyes? We know you did it!”

  How much did they know? Number Two wondered. He truly hadn't sent the covert Elmo back to timeline one, but he had considered it. He slunk around the column, steadily closing the gap.

  “He’s just a copy. A lone, deranged Gum in a degraded timeline is of no consequence. But far more importantly, how do you know that?”

  Flustered, three said, “They’re our friends whatever time they’re from! We know you got in First Elmo too, when he was asleep, he’s timeline one! You got into his brain! Elmo TL1! Whilst he slept! You erased his dreams. You have no limits!”

  The rat was only about half the size of Elmo number three, yet his sinewy form looked capable of employing teeth and claws in ways that Three didn’t want to imagine. It was steadily circling the column separating them, pink eyes fixed on Elmo’s.

  “Ah, the phage programme,” Number 2 hissed softly, “You joined the dots.”

  “Why would you want to wipe their dreams unless you were covering your tracks?”

  Three had said ‘their dreams’. Did he know about Mist too? That Mist's dreams had been exploited? And if he did know, did he know just how far?

  The rat then did something Three hadn’t expected: “Guards!” he called, “Krrr!”

  Were there guards? Sure enough, within seconds, two Elmos in skin-tight, spigot-and-wire punctuated suits burst in and peered around, assessing the situation. Three saw he had only moments in which to act; he dodged the nearest guard Elmo and lunged for the circular tunnel at

  the back of the chamber. It was closed off with prison-like bars from top to bottom.

  “Get him you wastrels!” Two screeched. The guards closed in.

  “You forget, I helped design this room,” Three announced, shouldering the bars, “I know your escape tunnel.” The bars swung wide enough for Three to squeeze through. Disappearing inside, he yelled, “You won’t catch me; the autolock holds for ten minutes. How do like me now?” As he slid out of sight, he found himself wondering why he had to say that, why not just get on with escaping? Maybe he had watched too many films. “You dirty rat!” he yelled finally as he fled.

  Regarding replacement chapter introductions...