Ovid 21 The Answers free porn video

Ovid 21 - The Answers By The Professor I awoke from an unplanned nap with a start. In spite of the pleasant sounds of an early summer day - the barking of a dog several yards away, the sounds of the sprinkler watering the yard next door, and the muffled sound of a baseball game on TV coming from inside the house where Jerry was watching a KC Royals game, and the soft buzz of a pesky fly - I had awakened in an agitated state. I had been dreaming as I lay on the comfortable chaise lounge on our shaded patio. It was a very, very bad dream, for I had been dreaming I was a man. Odd that I should think of being a man as bad, I smiled to myself. But there it was. How differently I now thought, I mused, considering that I had been born male and had always been very happy of it - until The Judge turned me into a woman. I had been a woman - a wife and a mother, no less - for several years now, ever since The Judge had turned me into Cindy Patton, his assistant. I had come to not only become accustomed to being a woman, but to actually embrace it as well. I had become used to dressing in skirts and heels and enjoying the looks men gave me. Sure, I could stand to lose a pound or two, but I was blonde and well endowed, and I could have probably passed for no more than thirty, although I was, in fact... well, that's nobody's business, really. The experience of being forced into a new life in Ovid was a familiar one to almost all of us who lived there - or at least those of us who had been transformed by The Judge and were fortunate enough to retain our original memories. We all went through the same trial by fire, learning to deal with who we had become - often having to accept a new age, race, sex, or some combination of all of them. And we all went through the same stages of disbelief, denial, anger, and acceptance until we at last became happy with who we had become. So you see, awakening from a dream in which I had regained (or perhaps never lost) my original sex was now unsettling and distasteful. I was a woman - now and forever - and I wouldn't have given up my new life and my wonderful new family for anything. There was, however, one thing which gnawed at me - at many of us in Ovid for that matter. The burning question which many of us yearned to have answered was short and simple: why were we here? No, that wasn't a metaphysical question; we all wanted to know why this change had been forced upon us. The gods of ancient Greece and Rome had established Ovid for a purpose; that much seemed clear. However, no one seemed to know what that purpose was - except the gods, of course. There was no doubt we were all a part of that purpose, but what was it? Susan Jager and I undoubtedly knew more of the gods' purpose than anyone else in town, but when you got right down to it, even we didn't know very much. Again, I asked myself, why are we here? Little did I realize on that warm, early summer day that my burning question was about to be answered. I had closed my eyes again - not to sleep, but to listen to the summery sounds, aware that soon Ashley would awaken from her nap, the twins would be home after visiting their friends, Jerry would awaken from his well-deserved nap in front of the television, and the house would erupt into the loving chaos that was a family night at the Patton house. I smiled at the thought, disturbing dreams of being saddled once more with a penis scattering from my mind. "Now all you need is a cold lemonade," a woman's voice floated on the warm air. I turned my head to see Diana, my goddess friend, a frosty glass filled with pink lemonade in her hand. Gratefully I accepted the glass and sipped. It was the best lemonade I had ever tasted. I was tempted to ask her for the recipe, but something told me that some if not all of the ingredients would be a little hard to come by. "Fantastic!" I breathed. Diana sat next to me in a patio chair which had been on the other side of the deck less than a second before. She was smiling as she looked at me, but her eyes spoke of concern. "What's wrong?" I asked. "You're needed in The Judge's chambers," she informed me gently. "Right away," she added. "On a Sunday?" I sat up. "Is there something wrong?" The Judge was good about not interrupting my weekends unless there was an emergency. Given that some of the latest emergencies had meant peril for my family, I was instantly alert, the taste of the lemonade suddenly sour in my mouth. Diana laid a gentle hand on my bare shoulder. "Don't worry. It's nothing like that." I knew she couldn't read minds. None of the gods could exactly do that, but she had known me long enough to be able to read my expressions and body language. She paused for a moment. Then she asked, "You know what's happening tomorrow, don't you?" I nodded. Yes, I knew tomorrow was to be a big day in Ovid. Well, not exactly in Ovid, but what was to happen would have a significant effect on our town. Tomorrow in Tulsa, where most outsiders believed Vulman Industries was headquartered, our town's biggest employer would announce the Freedom Engine. The Freedom Engine was the accomplishment of Vulman's engineers, created as only it could have been with the seemingly-endless resources of the gods. It was so called because it ran for hundreds of thousands of miles, fueled by light itself, and the only petroleum products it required were small amounts of oil whose job it was to lubricate the mechanical workings. The Engine was as revolutionary as the Wright Brother's airplane, or the atomic bomb. Overnight the demand for oil would drop drastically, and the price of petroleum products with it. Oil stocks would suffer catastrophic collapse, and leaders in the Middle East and other oil- producing areas who had had their own way for decades would be ruined. Just the announcement of the Engine would cause all of that. Then once the world learned that Vulman planned to license the new device for a fraction of its true value... well, the results according to the Oracle would be immense. Unfortunately not all of those immense results would be positive. I knew, of course, that the gods had a plan for the chaos that would ensue. Without a plan, the entire Moslem world was in danger of slipping into revolution and catastrophic war. But although I knew more about the actions of the gods than any other human in Ovid, I was still in the dark as to what they would do. "We need to make certain that things are... on track," Diana told me as I started for the house to get changed. "On track?" I asked as she followed me into the house. I looked over at my husband who was asleep on the couch. I knew my younger daughter would still be asleep, too. Diana often spelled them to sleep when The Judge needed to see me on short notice. I didn't worry about them, though. Somewhere, a godly guard - probably Officer Mercer - would be watching over them to ensure that no harm befell them. "Yes, on track," Diana repeated, but she didn't elaborate. As long as I had been in Ovid, she and I had been good friends, but the secrets of the gods were just that - secrets. There was no way she would tell me what was so important to their project. When we arrived in The Judge's chambers, I was not surprised to see several of the more senior gods there as well: the Marches, actually Mars and Venus, were seated together on the leather couch. Betty Vest stood beside them, looking every inch the college president, but of course I knew her to be Vesta. In one corner, Eric Vulman sat in a large leather chair, the only physical attribute which might have identified him as Vulcan being the way he held one leg slightly stiff. Ms. Miner, the Superintendent of Public Schools sat on the arm of his chair, looking as wise as one would expect of the goddess Minerva. To my surprise, Susan Jager was also in the room, seated in one of the other leather chairs. My best friend and colleague smiled warmly at me, and I smiled back. She looked very content and very happy, for she had just learned the previous week that she was pregnant again, this time with her second child. I was glad to see that Joshua would have a sibling to play with. And finally, my eyes turned to The Judge. He looked confident and not at all worried as he reclined in his large leather swivel chair situated behind his desk. He wore an expensive dark suit, white shirt, and conservative red tie, which was his usual attire. Silently he motioned me to the chair just in front of his desk. When I was seated, he said, "Thank you, Cindy, for coming in on such short notice." "No problem, Your Honor." And it wasn't. I had been asked on any number of occasions to come in at odd hours. I suspected the gods never slept, and no one seemed to know where they lived and played in their off hours, so I was used to the situation. "Now that we're all here," The Judge continued, "we can begin our final check before the Engine is introduced tomorrow. Cindy, I would like for you to review the case of Joan Sheppard." "Joan Sheppard?" I echoed. "But she's been here since last fall." Almost invariably, I was asked to review the case of a newcomer to Ovid, just to make certain they were fitting in well. Joan's case had never been reviewed though, and I would be the one to know, since I was the sole repository of their stories. Joan Sheppard had been around long enough that she had blended in well, often coming to my house when Myra Smithwick was babysitting for me. "When you've finished with your review, I believe you'll understand why this is so important," The Judge told me. He looked over at Susan and back to me. "For the past few years, you two have performed invaluable services for our community. I realize you must have been curious about our motives, and the time had now come for you to learn of our plans. As you review Ms. Sheppard's case, the truth of Ovid will unfold for you - as I know you have been curious about for several years. Then when we are done, I'll fill in any of the blanks which still exist. Is that satisfactory?" We both nodded. I was excited, and I could see from Susan's expression that she was, too. We had speculated from the time we had become friends as to what the true purpose of Ovid was. We knew the Engine was a big part of it, and we knew that a devastating war could be in our future if the gods failed, but everything we had already learned had told us that whether or not the Engine was introduced, the war would still happen, unless.. Unless what? We hadn't been able to figure that part out, but apparently the gods had. In recent months, we had found our own families under siege, but we had reasoned that that was because of our association with The Judge and the other gods. However, recently we had come to realize that the reason for enemies of the gods targeting us might be more specific. Were we really about to learn the answers? "Then let's begin," The Judge ordered. That was all it took to start me into my trance. Slowly, the room began to fade, and I began to lose all sensation. Instead I could feel myself in a dreamless sleep, in darkness, yet moving as if... *** I was awakened at the sound of a "thump" as I experienced a teeth- jarring shudder that nearly threw me out of my seat. It happened so suddenly that I took a few moments to remember exactly where I was. The sensation of movement and the occasional light whizzing by outside the tinted window which amplified the darkness of the night reminded me that we were on my bus, cruising through the middle of an Oklahoma night toward Bartlesville, our next destination. "What was that?" a groggy voice called out from the row of seats across from the row where I had been trying to stretch out and catch at least a couple of hours of much-needed sleep. "Pothole," a voice called back from the front of the bus. As if to emphasize his remark, the bus shuddered again, only this time not as violently. "The road's full of them. Must be the spring thaws. All that ice on the road in these parts last winter chewed up the asphalt something fierce. I guess they didn't have the money to fix 'em this summer." "Then slow down a little," Aden Cross called out in his clipped British accent from the row just behind me. "We need to get some rest." He was right about that, I thought. If I had realized when we were setting up our tour just how arduous this portion of our schedule would be, I would never have agreed to it. We were required to pack up late at night in Broken Bow, Oklahoma, and travel all the way to Bartlesville overnight to set up for a big Friday revival meeting there. It was bad planning, I'll admit, but the money we were being offered by a large church in Bartlesville was just too much to pass up. We were offered a guarantee of eighty-five percent of the take, plus lodging for our entire staff. Deals that good didn't come in every day. Besides, our TV show - God Sees You - was broadcast locally in Bartlesville, so the audience would be a lot more responsive than most of the smaller towns on our revival tour. That built-in audience, plus the expected turnout from the sponsoring congregation, spelled a big weekend. We were going to be doing meetings both Friday and Saturday, plus I would be taping my TV show for the following week from the sponsoring church on Sunday afternoon. Most of my staff was excited about the prospects - even if it meant traveling the back roads of Oklahoma on a supposed shortcut north in the middle of the night. The staff had loudly thanked God for the opportunity when it was announced. I, however, had remained silent. After all, of all of my staff I alone seemed to know something they did not: There was no God. Don't be so shocked. Any number of evangelists are hypocrites to one extent or another. Look at all the ones who rise to power in the big mega-churches, preaching damnation for infidelity, homosexuality, drug use, and every imaginable "sin" short of bad breath, only to fall from grace, weeping from the pulpit about how sorry they were when caught cheating on their wives with a gay lover while taking drugs. At least I didn't do any of those things. I lived a pretty puritanical life when you got right down to it - no drugs, no gay lovers, no expropriation of funds, although I do admit to living fairly well. But I must admit, I was as hypocritical of any of my wayward counterparts in that one respect: while they mostly believed in God in their own warped ways, I had lost my faith the night my wife and unborn son perished. Oh, it wasn't just that incident. Rather, the deaths of my wife and unborn child were merely the straws that broke the proverbial camel's back. Before that, I had watched helplessly as many of the faithful who followed me died slowly and painfully of a myriad of maladies - including my own parents. By the time I was left alone in the world, my parents, brother, and wife and soon-to-be born child had all been taken from me. Whose faith wouldn't be shattered after that? I nearly left the ministry. Morally, I should have, but what was I to do? It was all I had ever known. I had been the son of a Lutheran minister, stern and dictatorial in managing my mother, my brother and me. I had grown up seeking my father's approval as had been drilled into me from the moment I could walk and talk. There was no doubt that I, Hans Groenwald III would follow my two namesakes into the pulpit. That's right - my grandfather was a Lutheran minister as well. He emigrated from Germany after the Second World War. From him, my father inherited an authoritarian style which fortunately was not passed down to me. No, I vowed I would treat my son with respect and not drive him away as my father had driven my younger brother Henry away. Henry joined the Army as soon as he could and died in Baghdad early in the occupation. My thoughts of my departed family were interrupted by yet another jolt as the bus shuddered and then stopped. The engine was still running, but we weren't moving. "Edgar, what's wrong now?" "I don't know," Edgar, our driver, called back. "That last hole was pretty good-sized. I think we may have broken an axle." That brought groans from nearly all twelve of us on the bus - including me. A broken axle out in the middle of nowhere wasn't good. We'd be late into Bartlesville for sure, perhaps without enough time to set up properly. "I thought you knew this shortcut," Aden grumbled to our driver. "I thought I did," Edgar replied, obviously not too happy with himself. "I think they changed the road, though. This one doesn't look like it's been maintained for a long time. It doesn't look like we'll be going anywhere for a while." As if to emphasize the point, he shut down the engine. "Better open a door," Marlin, our organist, called out from a few seats back. "When you shut down the engine, the air conditioning stopped." "No!" Aden called out. "We won't get any circulation. It's still hot outside and cool in here." No one realized it at the time, but Aden's perfectly sensible statement would nearly cost all of us our lives. What we found out later was that the damage hadn't been caused by spring thawing. Rather unusually heavy summer rains had played havoc with the road our driver had chosen. Had the road been an important one, emergency repairs might have been arranged, but the road wasn't used much anymore. Before dozing off, I hadn't noted more than a handful of cars going the other way. Unbeknownst to our driver, the road had been downgraded to county maintenance, and since it was used only by a few local farmers, it had a very low priority. That was why there were potholes the size of tank traps along its length. Worse yet, there were several unmarked - or under-marked - hazards along the road, including a railroad crossing exactly where the bus had stopped. While most railroad crossings had gates and/or flashing lights, the one we had stopped on had neither, since the track was only a spur with two trains a day. Of course, I learned all of this much later. "Do you hear something?' Annabelle Mason's sweet voice asked in the darkness. Everyone had been talking at once, blocking any outside noise. I suppose since Annabelle was our female vocalist, she may have had the most acute hearing. The area around the bus was heavily wooded, and the track took a sudden bend about a hundred yards from the crossing, so perhaps we can be excused for not hearing the train or seeing its lights until it was too late. Someone in the back of the bus screamed, as we all looked to our right to see the approaching lights of what we at once recognized to be a train. It wasn't moving terribly fast - probably under fifty miles an hour, but it would reach us in a matter of scant seconds. Given its momentum, the bus would be scrap metal in seconds, and as for its passengers... It's impossible for me to describe everything that happened in the next few moments. Urgent screams and shouts seemed to come from everywhere. Edgar was trying to get the bus door open, but in the panic-inducing darkness, he must have hit the wrong switch, for the door remained closed. Outside, the wail of the diesel's horn became louder and shriller, compressed by the Doppler effect until it hurt our ears. They say a person's entire life flashes before him at the moment of certain death. I wouldn't say that to be true, though. The only thing that rushed through my mind was relief. My life had become empty and meaningless, my family dead and my ministry a sham. I didn't look forward to being reunited with my loved ones in a better world, for I didn't believe in one. I merely wanted the pain to end but had never had the courage or determination to end it myself. The crushing blow of the train would be my salvation. I simply stared in fascination into the bright lights as they came closer and closer. Then something happened... I didn't understand what was happening at the time. None of us did. How could we? We were facing certain death, and then the bus lurched at the very moment the train should have hit. The train's horn dropped in pitch as darkness replaced light behind the bus. We stood in disbelieving silence as the cars of the train rumbled past us in the night. "The train must have pushed us off the tracks," Aden theorized softly. "It must have," I agreed, equally softly. "God was looking out for us," he pronounced. "He has a plan for us." "Amen!" Marlin called out. Annabelle began to sing in her strong soprano: "To God be the glory, great things He has done..." The others chimed in at the second line: "So loved He the world that He gave us His son..." I hoped they noticed that I wasn't singing. I didn't feel like singing praises to a non-existent deity. Even if He did exist, I had no reason to sing of his praises, for He had deprived me of the escape from this life that I so desperately craved. My staff's joy was short-lived, though. As soon as Edgar managed to start the engine back up, he turned on the cabin lights. The singing stopped in mid-stanza as we looked around. When we had all boarded the bus, there had been fifteen of us representing all of the non-technical people in our crew. Now there were only five of us. "Where's everybody else?" Marlin asked, voicing what we had all been thinking. "They must have gotten out through the emergency door in the rear," Aden suggested. Edgar squelched that idea in a hurry. "I'd have a light on the panel indicating the door had been opened," he told us. "There's no light, though." "But they had to have gotten out somehow," I pointed out. "People don't just disappear." "Oh my God!" Annabelle murmured. "You don't suppose they got out through the rear and were hit by the train, do you?" We all looked at each other in shock. Then Edgar opened the front door of the bus and scrambled out, the rest of us following closely on his heels. I was afraid we would find the bloody remains of our friends scattered along the path between the rear of the bus and the nearby railroad tracks. I tried to suppress the image of my wife's body among the supposed wreckage of human flesh, as I had seen in my mind her after her own accident. I was afraid our friends would look much as she had looked when the truck hit her broadside, leaving her as a heap of unrecognizable carnage. I had been spared the actual sight of my dead wife immediately after the accident, but I had often imagined the image of her torn body in my mind. To our surprise, there was no sign of the remains of our friends. The rear emergency door on the bus was undisturbed, and there was no evidence of any foot traffic behind the bus. To both our puzzlement and our relief, there were no mangled bodies to be seen. We stood silently, the only sound being the chirp of insects and the distant rumble of the departing train. I don't think any of us had the slightest notion as to what had happened to our friends. How could we? Even if we had known, we wouldn't have believed it - then. "I'm calling for help," Aden finally announced, breaking the silence and whipping out his cell phone. He punched in 911 and waited for a reply. A moment later, he frowned. "No answer. There must not be any cell service here." "Just exactly where is here?" Marlin asked, looking around uncomfortably at the gloomy darkness around us. "That's Edgar's department," I told him. We all looked at Edgar, who could only shrug. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I think we must have missed the right road a while ago. I haven't seen any road signs for the past thirty minutes, and nothing around here looks familiar." "Come look at this!" Annabelle called from the bus. While we had been looking around, she had returned to the bus, probably to avoid the expected carnage from our missing friends. We piled back on the bus. Annabelle was in the back of the cabin with a puzzled look on her face. "What's wrong?" I asked, unable to see anything wrong. All we were staring at was empty bus seats. "Don't you see?" she asked plaintively. "I don't see anything," Aden said, looking around. "That's just it!" she returned. "There's nothing here - no evidence that there was ever anyone here. There's no suitcases, no personal belongings... nothing." "Maybe they took everything with them," Edgar theorized. "Not likely," I commented, looking under one of the seats for some evidence of recent habitation. "We only had a few seconds of warning. Even if they managed to open the emergency door and get away, they wouldn't have had time to gather all of their belongings." "Or close the rear door," Aden added. "It's a miracle!" Annabelle declared. "Praise God." Sorry, I thought, I don't believe in miracles, but of course I didn't tell her that. I just murmured "amen" with the others. And while I didn't believe in miracles, I had to believe the evidence of my own eyes. Ten people had seemingly disappeared - or had they? We were all tired that evening - exhausted really. Had we just imagined that ten more of our number had boarded the bus with the five of us who remained? Mass delusions were possible; that was a proven fact. There was no other answer, really. Ten people and all of their belongings could simply not have vanished from the back of the bus. But that begged the question: where had the other ten gone? If they had never boarded the bus, where were they? Perhaps Edgar had mistakenly thought they were ensconced in the darkness at the back of the bus when he pulled out of the site of our ministry in Broken Bow. Of course if that was the case, why hadn't they called us? Surely the cell phones worked in Broken Bow. Perhaps they had opted to go on the other bus - the one loaded with all of our props and equipment. That bus would be a couple of hours behind us. Maybe there was some miscommunication which made them think they were supposed to take the other bus. That would explain why they hadn't called us. They were probably sleeping peacefully on the second bus, unaware that we were concerned about them. It had to be that, I reasoned. There was no other reasonable solution. I told the others as much. Annabelle and Marlin looked rather crestfallen at the suggestion that the answer was less than miraculous. Aden agreed, though. "As much as I would like to witness such a compelling miracle, I have to agree with Hans. Perhaps we should just be happy with the miracle we did indeed witness - our deliverance from an accident with the train. Only God's intervention could have caused the train to push us away like that." "There's another miracle as well," Edgar called out from outside the bus door. None of us had realized he had even left. "I just checked the rear axle. I could have sworn it was broken, but it's just fine. When the train bumped us, it must have somehow shaken everything back into working order." "Then we're not stranded?" I asked hopefully. Edgar shook his head. "It doesn't look like it, but as soon as the shops open in Bartlesville tomorrow, I'd better take the bus in. If the axle is bent rather than broken, we'll get some uneven tire wear and a real bumpy ride." In short order, we were moving again, but I doubted if any of us got any sleep. The road was too rough for sleeping; Edgar even had to swerve occasionally to avoid some of the larger ruts. Besides the rough, rocky ride, each of us was undoubtedly thinking about our missing comrades. Sure, we knew if had to be just a mix-up. They had to be on the other bus. There was no other logical explanation. How were we to know that logic had been stranded by the side of the road the moment we had turned off the main highway? Eventually, the road smoothed out, and the countryside began to change, even in the darkness. Instead of negotiating tight curves through forested hills, we were back on a smoother road with the trees sufficiently thinned to give us a view of the lights of farms. It was too late (or rather too early in the morning) for the farmers to be up, but we could see security lights passing by our windows. It felt good to be back in civilization. I took the jump seat behind Edgar. "Any idea where we are?" "Not the foggiest," he replied. "We need to get a GPS before our next tour." "It looks like there may be a town up ahead," I told him, pointing at a cluster of lights ahead and to the right perhaps three or four miles away. "Yeah. Then I can check the map and see where we are," he said. "Maybe we should cancel tonight's service in Bartlesville. Everyone is going to be dead on their feet." "I wish I could," I sighed, "but we need Bartlesville if we plan to make any money on this tour." Attendance had been less than anticipated. There were just too many evangelists in the business anymore, especially with the ones on TV and resident in the large city churches. Our take had been dropping for the past two years. It was only our own TV show that kept us in the black. "There's a sign," Edgar nodded to our right. "'Welcome to Ovid,' it says." "Where's Ovid?" He shrugged. "Don't know. I thought I knew every town in the state. It must be pretty small." But it didn't look that small. Oh, it wasn't a city certainly, but it looked to be a town of several thousand people, judging from how spread out the lights ahead were. "At least the road is getting better," I noted as the lanes split forming a divided highway. Small roadside businesses were beginning to appear, reflected in the light of sodium vapor street lights. They were closed, of course, but they looked well-kept enough to indicate that during the day, they did a brisk business. None of them appeared to be national franchises though, so I suspected the town wasn't quite as big as it looked. "Looks like they roll up the sidewalks around here," Edgar commented, running a hand through his dark, thinning hair. "We seem to be the only vehicle on the road." The roadside buildings became more clustered, until they were finally continuous. Traffic lights began to sprout up as well, and side streets sported awnings of trees - mostly oaks, that sheltered neat, modest houses reflected in the beam of the streetlights. "Nice little town," I said to Edgar. He seemed about to reply when seemingly out of nowhere, a siren wailed and Edgar's balding head was reflected in alternating red and blue lights. Edgar looked to his left. I followed his gaze to see a police car at our side. "Where did he come from?" Edgar wanted to know. "Must have come in from a side street," Aden mused. Maybe so, I thought, but wouldn't be have at least seen his headlights, or maybe the cruiser reflected in a street light? I had been looking down the side streets and had seen no sign of any traffic. I supposed it was possible that his lights had been out for some reason, and that he had been further back, out of the light. Edgar pulled the bus to the curb, and we all felt the vehicle shudder as it had when we had found ourselves stranded at the railroad crossing. He cut the lights, opened the door and began rummaging around to find our registration. As for the police car, it had pulled up in front of us and cut the engine, but left the intimidating lights on. The figure that emerged from the police car was tall and slim, wearing a dark Stetson and an immaculate uniform consisting of what could have been either a gray or light blue shirt (it was hard to tell in the darkness) and dark trousers. But most surprising was the fact that although it was still night, he was wearing mirror shades with wire rims just like small town police always did in the movies. He stepped onto the bus with what I thought was a foolish lack of caution. For all he knew, the bus could be loaded with a gang of desperate prison escapees, armed to the teeth and ready to cut him down before he could get both feet inside the door. "G...good evening, Officer," Edgar stuttered. The officer nodded, turning his gaze away from Edgar and toward me. "Your bus has a bent axle," he informed me laconically. "We hit a large pothole just a few miles out of town," I explained, relieved that he was just alerting us to the sorry condition of our axle - or so I thought. "It's illegal to drive a seriously-damaged vehicle in Ovid," he informed us. "I'm going to have to take you in. The Judge will want to see you." "Officer," I began, "we're in a terrible hurry. We're due to conduct a prayer meeting in Bartlesville this evening. If you'd just issue us a citation and tell us where we could rent say... a van to get to Bartlesville, you'd be helping us do the work of the Lord." "Sorry," he responded without pausing even an instant to think about it. He didn't sound sorry, though. Apparently he believed in the letter of the law more than he believed in the Lord. Given my own views on the subject, I supposed I couldn't blame him. Another police car pulled in just in front of the officer's car. In my sleep-deprived mind, I giddily imagined a team of officers bounding out of the car, guns drawn with one screaming, "Drop that Bible and back away slowly!" Instead no one got out of the car, but its presence was soon explained. "Reverend Groenwald, if you, Reverend Cross, and Ms. Mason will come with me, your other staff members can ride in the other car." He knew our names? Oh, of course. The name of our program, "God Sees You" was emblazoned on the side of the bus, and the officer probably watched the show and knew who we were, I reasoned. Marlin was not as well-known, since the cameras would only briefly pan on our organist, and of course there was no reason why he would know our driver. But as I was soon to find out, it was very likely that the officer - Officer Mercer we would soon learn - knew more about everyone on the bus than we could have ever imagined. The three of us sat together in the back seat of the police car for the short drive to see this judge. We were all from small towns, although Aden's small town was in England, so his experiences may have been different. Annabelle, from her center seat, and I exchanged knowing glance, though. We were familiar with the expression "speed trap." Small towns throughout America were often the home offices of such activities. A crooked judge and at least one greedy police officer were all that were required to fleece unwary motorists. We would be presented with trumped up charges and be offered to opportunity to pay a "fine" that would never be entered in the records, but rather would be split between the judge and the police once we were out of town. The locals never minded much - as long as the scam didn't involve arresting and fleecing them. I only hoped that the fine was halfway reasonable. Since the officer had recognized us, there was a very good chance that he intended to shake us down more than the average motorist. Our current tour hadn't been terrifically successful as it was, so a substantial fine would be felt sorely. To take my mind off the ritual fleecing we were about to endure, I looked out the window at the town of Ovid. It was hard to tell much so late at night - or so early in the morning if you will. The houses we passed were dark, as all the good little Ovidians had to be snug in their beds, unaware (or unconcerned) regarding out plight. From what little I could see in the pale light of the streetlights, the houses were neat and well maintained. I made a mental note to consider Ovid on next year's tour, since any small town where the houses were well-kept was probably a prosperous small town that would welcome our message with open wallets. It wasn't long until we were pulling up in front of an impressive public building. It, too, was dark - except for a few lights near the entrance. We were escorted into the building, and to no surprise, the lighted area turned out to be the Police Department. No one was tending the reception desk, and we soon realized that the officer who had arrested us would also be checking us in. Convenient, I thought. He would probably keep us in a holding area while he got his judicial counterpart out of bed for a quick and speedy trial that would see us on our way a number of dollars lighter before the local employees staggered into work - none the wiser that the shake down had even occurred. Marlin and Edgar looked a little unsettled as the officer retired to an office, presumably to get some paperwork. "What's wrong?" I asked Marlin, careful to speak softly so as not to be overheard by the officer. "The cop who brought us down here..." he began. "What about him?" I prompted. "He's the same one as the one who brought you in," he finished nervously. "Maybe he has a twin brother on the force," Aden suggested. "Let's just hope he's a triplet and that his brother is the judge," I grumbled, looking at my watch. It was nearly three in the morning. I had a lunch meeting with the senior pastor of our sponsoring church in Bartlesville. At this rate, I wasn't going to get any sleep before our meeting. I'd be fortunate if I had a chance to shave and change my shirt at this rate. I recalled an old movie where the judge was called in wearing his nightshirt to hold a speedy trial. I sincerely hoped our judge would be equally anxious to shake us loose from our money and shoo us on our way. The officer finished whatever he had been doing and called to us, "This way." Any hope I had of being led immediately to a courtroom was dashed when I saw he was guiding us into a small, brightly-lit cell block. Disheartened, I rushed to the officer's side. "Look, Officer..." "Mercer," he supplied, staring at me through his ever-present mirrored shades, his face expressionless. "Officer Mercer," I acknowledged. "We have a prayer meeting in Bartlesville this evening, and really would appreciate it if we could just... pay a fine and be on our way. You see, I'm - " "I know who you are, Reverend Groenwald," he broke in using that same neutral tone. "The Judge will hear your case first in the morning. That will be at nine." "Nine! But I have to be in Bartlesville by noon!" I almost thought I saw a thin smile on the officer's face. "I wouldn't worry about that, Reverend. Now if you'll step inside this cell..." Sighing, I obeyed. At least we all were given individual cells, and the way the doors faced, most of them offered a reasonable degree of privacy. Only Aden and I had cells that faced each other. "At least we'll get some sleep," Aden sighed, sitting down on the small but clean bed. I did the same, surprised to find it was fairly comfortable. "Do you think we'll have to call off the Bartlesville event?" "Let's hope not," was all I could reply. I tried to get some sleep, but I was too keyed up from the night's events. Of primary concern, of course, was Aden's question. The Bartlesville event was to have been the crowning jewel in an otherwise mediocre tour. Rescheduling was out of the question. Summer was the best time for our events, and summer was all but over. Oh, we'd make do without Bartlesville, but it would be a long winter. There was another concern keeping me awake, though. I could still see the train bearing down on us, its lights strobing into our crippled bus, its horn blaring a warning which could not be heeded. Since the death of my family, I had always thought I was ready to die. Oh, I had no illusions about meeting them in a non-existent heaven. I merely felt there was nothing to live for. But when the train missed us, mingled with the disappointment I had felt at not having the misery of my life end, I had felt something akin to relief. My conscious mind told me there was nothing to live for, and I had abided by its dictates since the deaths of my wife and unborn child. But the relief had come from someplace deep within me - someplace where a part of me wanted to live. Or at least someplace where a part of me was afraid to die. I had believed, once upon a time. People want to believe in a supreme being and a life eternal. Without them, the universe is without meaning and life had little purpose. The work I did as an evangelist was easy work, for people wanted to believe what I said - even if I didn't believe it myself. But most people don't just believe for believing's sake. They believe because there's a promise of a life beyond this one. It's quid quo pro really: Hey God, I'll believe in you and say the right prayers and sing the right hymns and you can assure me a cozy afterlife. Yes, I had believed that, too, once upon a time, but no more. The upside of that was a sort of spiritual freedom to go my own way. But the downside of it, as I had learned as the train bore down on us, was that some day, without any warning probably, my life would be over and there would be nothing beyond. Eternal rest? Bah! Eternal nothingness awaited me. Maybe, I rationalized, I was doing good work. I was convincing the rubes that there was something to look forward to after our lives. That would at least make them feel good, and when they died - nothing! But they'd take their dying breath waiting to be carried up to their Lord. Not a bad deal, really, and I helped them think that way. Looking back on my vigil that night, my thoughts were cynical and perhaps a little vain, but how was I to know how my beliefs - or rather lack of beliefs - were about to be shattered? I did finally manage to doze off, but it was not a restful sleep. I was awakened shortly after the sunlight began to filter into the jail from an overhead skylight. The light was weak and indirect, so I suspected it was shortly after sunrise. Officer Mercer called out to us, warning us that breakfast would be served in thirty minutes. I heard groans from the other cells. "Can we get a shower and something to shave with before we go to court today?" I called out. He turned to face me with what I believed to be a thin smile on his lips, but since his eyes were still covered my the sunglasses, I couldn't tell if he was amused by something I had said or not. "You won't need to shave. You'll be fine as you are." "It's like some third world jail," Aden grumbled. When I looked at him quizzically, he continued, "If you deny the prisoner any dignity before dragging him into the courtroom, you keep him off balance. He'll be tired and uncomfortable, and to any spectators, he'll look more like a shiftless bum than one of them. It makes it easier to intimidate him and easier for everyone else to see him as unlike them." "But this isn't the third world," I pointed out. "It's Oklahoma." "Same thing," Annabelle commented, lifting our spirits just a little with her humor. She had once told me that down in Texas, where she was born and raised, they tell Oklahoma jokes. We each chuckled just a little, and I could hear running water from the small sinks in our cells. I, too, did my best to refresh myself. Wiping the water over my stubbled face made me once again wish for a razor. I had never liked facial hair and often wished that I didn't have to shave my face. Well, as Oscar Wilde once said, be careful what you wish for - you might get it. I don't know about other people who have stumbled into Ovid over the years, but I, for one, was able to tell the exact moment when things went tilt. I was pretty hungry, so I was listening carefully for any indication that our breakfast had arrived. My nose detected our breakfast first though, as someone was apparently arranging trays on a cart to serve us. I could smell bacon, cinnamon, and fresh coffee, and my stomach began to growl in anticipation. But the minute I saw the girl who was serving us, I forgot my hunger at once. Now up until that moment, everything had seemed pretty normal to me. To my mind, we had just gotten scooped up in some small town speed trap, and had been jailed over night to make us more amenable to making a deal just to get released. All that was irritating but not entirely unheard of in the small towns that dotted the Bible Belt. But this... The girl who cheerfully slid our breakfast trays through the narrow slot in the door was young and attractive, red hair arranged in a neat ponytail and casually dressed in a denim dress with a short, fairly tight skirt. She smiled as she slid my tray to my awaiting hands. It was all very normal and comfortable, except for one thing... The girl was transparent. That's probably a bit of an overstatement. It wasn't as if I could see Aden through her, so much as I could see Aden in spite of her being in the way. It's hard to explain to anyone who hasn't experienced the phenomenon, but there it was. The look on Aden's face was every bit as incredulous as mine. He at least had a moment to recover though, so by the time the girl had delivered his tray to him, he was more curious than shocked. He inspected the girl carefully. "I thought you were all men of the Lord," she drawled in the distinctive Oklahoma accent. "Should you be looking at me like that?" "I...I'm sorry," Aden stammered. I know he wanted to ask her about her condition, but how do you ask someone why they are semi-transparent? There didn't seem to be anything to say. Once she had served all of us and left, Aden and I looked over at each other, our trays balanced on our laps as we picked at the food. "Did you see that, too?" Aden asked. "See what?" Myron called out from his cell around the corner. "The girl," Aden managed to say. "Very attractive," Myron returned. "Sure is!" Edgar chimed in. "You men!" Annabelle exclaimed. "No," I broke in, since Aden seemed to be unable to say it. "Aden means did you notice you could see right through her? - sort of?" "Reverend, that's not a very nice thing for a man of God to say," Annabelle chastised. Seeing what she meant, I hurried to say, "No, that isn't what I mean. Didn't you notice? She was nearly transparent." "Yes!" Aden managed, looking relieved that someone besides he had noticed. Our clarification was met by silence. "We...didn't notice a thing," Myron replied hesitantly, speaking it seemed for everyone but Aden and me. The proverbial chill went racing up and down my back, and a glance at Aden told me he was experiencing something very similar. His eyes told me there was no sense in discussing it further until we could talk in private. Otherwise, our friends would just assume that too little sleep had addled our brains. That opportunity came very soon. We had no sooner finished breakfast until Officer Mercer entered the cell block. By my watch, it was a quarter until nine, and I suspected he was coming to take us to trial. The walk to the courtroom was short, but Aden and I fell back a little from the others where we were rewarded with a few moments to discuss what we had seen. "Do you think... it's the work of the devil?" he asked. I knew Aden believed fervently in our ministry, so it wasn't much of a reach for him to assume that God and the devil were actively at war in our world. Frankly I believed even less in the devil than I did in God. Sure, there was good and evil in the world, but mankind didn't need divine beings to put it there. "I don't think there's evil involved," I replied in a low tone, matching Aden's. At least, my response was truthful. That sweet girl who had delivered our meals didn't look as if she had an evil thought in her head. Besides, none of the others had noticed anything wrong - only Aden and I. It was possible, I had to admit to myself, that the girl's transparency was merely a trick of the light, or perhaps our exhaustion had led to the illusion. But if that were so, how had Aden and I both noticed the phenomenon? I didn't have much time to think on it, for at that moment, Aden and I followed our friends into the courtroom. I was suddenly too busy taking in my surroundings. The room was far better appointed than I would have thought likely in a small town like Ovid. Fine, expensive green carpet covered the floors, and oak wainscoting graced the walls. The judge's bench looked imposing, raised above the room in a stately manner. Even the defense and prosecution tables were of well-turned oak, and the chairs provided were plush with cushions of the same green shade of the carpet. The room was practically empty. Although not an attorney, I knew that was not uncommon. Many - if not most - trials have no spectators at all. Ours, it appeared, was to have only one. An attractive blonde woman, probably in the mid to late thirties, was seated primly in the back row. From her attire - a conservative gray suit with matching heels, I assumed her to be an attorney herself, probably there to file a motion or something. The other woman in the room sat at the defendant's table. She was attractive and probably mid-thirties as well, but with her darker hair drawn up in a professional style and her well-tailored navy blue suit, I had no doubt that she was an attorney. "Susan Jager," she announced, holding out a feminine hand for me to shake. "I'll be your attorney today." "Do we really need legal representation?" Aden asked as I shook her hand. "Surely this is a minor offense." "Yes," I agreed. "We'd like to just pay whatever fine the court feels reasonable..." - in other words, whatever the going rate for small town speed traps was - "and be on our way. You see, we're due in Bartlesville today." Ms. Jager seemed to be stifling a smile. "I'm afraid you're unlikely to get to Bartlesville today," she informed us. "But we must!" I insisted. "It's very important. We need to minister to a large number of Christian worshipers this evening." All right. I was shamelessly appealing to her religious instinct, but it came out sound like Dan Akroyd's "We're on a mission from God." "Reverend Groenwald," she began slowly, "you'd do well to be less insistent when The Judge comes in. He's been in a rather poor mood lately. Please let me speak for you." "Impossible!" I said, somewhat petulantly. "Admittedly, we're at your mercy here, but a sham trial is unnecessary. Just ask this judge how much the fine is, we'll pay it without a whimper, and be on our way." "All rise!" a voice intoned from one side of the bench. It was Officer Mercer again. Apparently he acted as bailiff - probably so the take would have to be split among fewer people. "Municipal Court of Ovid, Oklahoma, is now in session, The Honorable Judge presiding." I realized we would gain nothing now by arguing. With our attorney and my associates, I turned to face what I suspected would be a crotchety old small-town municipal judge with avarice clearly reflected in his expression as he prepared to shake down yet another unsuspecting group of strangers. At least, I thought hopefully, the process would be short and sweet and we'd soon be on our way. To my surprise, he looked nothing like I would have expected. He was younger than I expected - early middle age and no more, judging by his dark hair and neatly-trimmed beard salted with flecks of gray. He wore glasses, and I recognized the frames as expensive gold rims. In his black robe, he looked more like a distinguished Federal judge rather than a municipal magistrate, and I found myself wondering what such an imposing individual was doing holding court in a town so small that none of us had ever heard of it. "Be seated," he intoned in a voice that seemed to command obedience. As one, we all sat, as if we were children under the tutelage of a stern headmaster. It seemed so natural, I didn't think much of it at the time. Now of course, I know better. The Judge (for I now began to think of "Judge" as more than just a title; he was The Judge) looked down at the papers before him. Grunting, he looked up. "Call the defendants." Officer Mercer formally called, "The court calls Hans Groenwald and associates before the court." Ms. Jager rose promptly. "Your Honor, I represent Mr. Groenwald and his associates." "Do you have a plea?" I sighed. This was all way too formal. Why not just get on with it and fine us? I shifted impatiently while our attorney, without any input from us, entered a "Not Guilty" plea and soon completed all the formalities with The Judge. It all seemed as if it were a set piece - some charade conducted for our benefit to make it seem valid. It was a ritual - yes, a ritual, just like the opening of church services. They, too, were nothing more than a charade when I thought about it. In a way, then, I was on familiar ground. I relaxed a little as at last, we were ready to get down to the case. "Reverend Groenwald!" The Judge said sharply. When I looked up, he motioned for me to stand. "Yes, Your Honor?" I asked once I was on my feet. "Do you understand the nature of the charges?" We had been charged with driving an unsafe vehicle, as well as a couple of other minor traffic violations associated with our crippled vehicle. It was all proper - or appeared to be so. I said the only thing I could think of to get the proceedings moving along smartly. With any luck, we would still make Bartlesville in time for a late lunch with our sponsor. "Yes, I do, Your Honor." "Do you have anything to say in your defense?" "Not really, Your Honor," I sighed. "I would just like to change our plea to guilty and pay our fine. It's very important that we be in Bartlesville tonight. We are doing the Lord's work there." There, I thought. That should get him moving. In my experience, few people - even judges - chose to interfere in religious activities. I suppose it was all the separation of church and state business. Unfortunately I had guessed wrong this time. The Judge frowned. "The Lord's work?" His tone was derisive. I hadn't expected that - not for a second. Well, in for a penny in for a pound. It would be just our luck to draw a man who was possibly the only atheist on the bench in the state of Oklahoma. I didn't realize at the time that it wasn't God he was sneering at. "Yes, Your Honor. Perhaps you didn't realize it, but I am -" "I know exactly who you are, Reverend Groenwald," he broke in, his tone bordering on angry. "But why should I be solicitous of a man who hides behind the name of a god he does not believe in?" I heard loud gasps from my party, and I had to fight down the urge to gasp myself. Nothing though, could have prevented the icy shiver that sped down my back. The Judge was right, of course, but how could he know? Perhaps he was guessing; perhaps he had seen something in my delivery on my program and surmised that I had lost my faith. I felt I had no chance but to bluff my way out of this situation. It was, of course, the wrong thing to do, but obviously at that point I had no idea who I faced. "God knows who the faithful are," I pronounced carefully, hoping that he hadn't noticed that I had neither confirmed or denied his accusation. I stood stiffly, as if affronted by his remarks. I only hoped my associates would take the red flush on my face to be one of righteous indignation rather than the blush of embarrassment. "Indeed God does know," The Judge agreed with evident sarcasm. "Your Honor," our attorney interposed, trying vainly to achieve some modicum of control over what appeared to be a rapidly deteriorating situation, "perhaps we should review the facts of the case." "I believe I understand what's happening here," The Judge snapped, but while his remarks were aimed at our attorney, his gaze was fixed on me. Just our luck, I thought to myself. Even an atheist would have been better. An atheist might have been more cautious dealing with a religious leader. Instead we had to draw a Bible-thumping judge with an agenda. If word of his accusations got outside that courtroom, I'd be ruined. The media loves nothing better than to bring down a fundamentalist minister over either sex or money. While I hadn't exactly misused the funds I had collected in my ministry, I had lived fairly well. To expose my hypocrisy would be the fresh meat the media craved. "I find the defendants guilty!" The Judge growled, surprising all of us with his abruptness. I was actually a little relieved though, for although his self-righteousness would probably give him a reason to substantially raise our fine, it meant we could be on our way. "Sentence is to be carried out at once." With that The Judge's eyes bored into us, and he began to speak in what at first I thought were tongues, but I was familiar enough with the practices of Pentecostals to realize that what he spoke was something else. It sounded a bit like Latin, but not the dull, lifeless language recited by Catholic priests. Instead the words were rich in texture, invoking exactly what I couldn't say, but the words were causing my skin to tingle. I looked around at my associates, and got my first inkling that something terribly wrong was happening. Myron, Edgar, and Annabelle were becoming smaller as I watched. Their eyes were glazed over, as if they had no understanding of what was happening to them. Aden, on the other hand, was actually becoming larger, but his features were changing. His hair was changing from a sandy brown to a coal black, and his skin was becoming darker. He looked more Mediterranean than English. Also, his clothes were changing - not radically, but I could see his white shirt darkening and becoming a t-shirt, while his khaki slacks were changing into denim. It was at that moment that I realized I, too, must be changing. Mustering as much mental resistance as I could, I tried to keep my body from altering. At first, I thought I was actually succeeding, and perhaps, I reasoned, I did delay the effects somewhat. In retrospect, I think The Judge was intentionally slowing my changes until he could speak more with me. "Remove them from the courtroom," The Judge ordered Officer Mercer, but when the policeman started to take my arm, he amended, "No, take the others. I'm not finished with our 'evangelist' yet." I managed to turn my head enough to watch the strange officer usher a tall, dark young man in a dark red t-shirt and jeans, followed by three children who all appeared to be about ten. One was a boy, who looked on in disgust as two pre-teen girls walked just ahead of him, giggling and looking back at him with girlish interest. None of them paid any attention to me - except for the dark young man, who managed to glance over his shoulder to look back at me for just a moment. But where were my people? Who were these strangers and where had they come from? The Judge either anticipated my questions or read my mind, waiting only until the door had closed behind the small procession before explaining, "Those people were your associates." "What have you done to them?" I asked, my voice suddenly sounding too high-pitched. The Judge shrugged. "I've given them new lives. Their old ones are no longer appropriate." "And what was wrong with their old ones?" I returned, trying in vain to pitch my voice lower. Yes, I knew I was transforming as well, but I was too frightened and too angry to worry about my own changes. "Left on your own, you would have been hit by a train," he explained calmly. "The train would have split your bus in two, the back half being pushed away from the tracks with all of its passengers virtually unharmed. The front of the bus, where you and your friends here today would have been was torn apart. There would have been no survivors. We rescued you. Now don't look so skeptical. You don't really think your driver was able to perform a miracle and get your damaged bus off the tracks, do you?" I said nothing, but now that he mentioned it, it seemed unlikely Edgar had been able to move us out of harm's way. He had seemed as shocked as any of us when the train missed us, assuming that the train had somehow pushed us to safety. "Your lives belong to Ovid now," The Judge continued with an ominous tone. "Someone will come looking for us," I reminded him. "There were other people on that bus who survived. They'll tell the authorities. And we were expected in Bartlesville..." "No one remembers you," The Judge countered. "As far as the world outside Ovid is concerned, you never existed. The other riders on your bus who would have survived the accident have had their lives altered so that they were never with you on that bus. They never worked with you. In fact, they never even met any of you, for none of you exist in their world." When I said nothing, he continued, "I have something special in mind for you - something very appropriate." I could feel hair trickling down my neck now, and something was rising up on my chest. Although I couldn't move enough to look down, I realized I was growing breasts. From the weight tugging on my chest, I estimated them to be good-sized. Quick, sharp pains erupted in my earlobes, and I could feel something tugging ever so slightly against them. I supposed I was too stunned to really think about what was happening to me. Instead all I could do was note the sensations as they occurred. My sex was being changed as I stood there; there was little doubt of that. In moments, I would be completely female. Strangely my body reacted to this thought, and to my shame, I became very hard - as hard as I had been in years. That sensation changed as well though, ebbing almost as quickly as it had begun, and I felt... different between my legs. So what sort of a woman was I becoming? I could tell I was getting shorter, but I didn't seem to have lost so much stature as to be considered a child again like most of my friends. Then I felt the same type of pain coming from my belly button that I had felt moments before in my earlobes. So my navel was now pierced as well, indicating to me that I was probably going to be a younger woman. Not many matronly women of my acquaintance had pierced navels. In fact, my stomach seemed bare, exposed to the open air as my shirt crawled up my body and my pants seemed to settle lower. I could feel air on my legs as well, and it didn't take much thought for me to realize I was now wearing a skirt - a very, very short skirt from the feel of air well up my thighs. Then the sensations of change happened so quickly, I couldn't keep up with them. My hair seemed to be growing longer, covering suddenly bared shoulders. Something was pushing against the front of my shirt, if what I was now wearing could be called a shirt. My new breasts were growing uncomfortably larger. A quick look down confirmed that. They were pressing against what I saw to be a red halter top, and the speed with which they were swelling made me fear that they might burst right through the material. Given the skimpy nature of my top, a significant amount of smooth breast flesh was now exposed, and I had cleavage that would be the envy of many a girl. Overlaying the physical sensations that were rippling over my body was the sound of my mind screaming that none of this was possible. Yes, I know, some fundamentalists are convinced that there is evil magic - the Devil's magic - out there in the world, competing for the souls of men. If I had chosen not to believe in a god though, I had certainly chosen not to believe in a Devil. And I certainly didn't believe in magic... So that's when my mind snapped. No, I didn't go into a catatonic state, but suddenly, I felt as if none of what was happening could possibly be real. My faith in the lack of gods, devils and magic was rooted in years of practice. This could not really be happening, regardless of what my senses told me, but since I couldn't deny what my senses were relaying to my overtaxed brain, I did the one thing I could do to reconcile the contradiction. I passed out. I awoke slowly. I was lying on a bed, confirming to my jumbled mind that I had just awakened from the most bizarre dream of my life. It was an unfamiliar room, but for anyone who has spent a significant portion of his or her life traveling, it was not a unique experience. Lying there in what appeared to be the dim light of early evening, I concluded I must be resting in a hotel room in Bartlesville, making up some of the sleep I had lost in our harrowing overnight trip. I tried to recall getting into Bartl