Kissy's dress is a knockout, or maybe it's the girl inside.

Sometimes you need to backtrack in order to go forward.

That’s what I decided when I ran back to the building and the balcony where I’d left Miss Ponytail’s mechanical avatar for dead.

At sight of her broken body lying on the wrecked balcony, I briefly dropped to my knees and almost cried tears of joy mingled with relief.

Then I bounced back onto my feet, and I hurriedly pulled her body into the apartment.

Domination
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

The slap bought me back to consciousness with a stinging pain on my cheek.

“Wake up, Doctor Daly.”

My eyes had real trouble focusing as my surroundings seemed so unreal. In front of me was a attractive middle aged woman dressed in traditional dominatrix style, a sort of vinyl outfit with fishnet stockings and heels, her dark hair pulled back from her snarling face.

“What is this? What is going on? Who are you?” I gasped in disbelief.

This next story is a bit personal for me. It's one I'm still having trouble coming to terms with. One one hand, it could have been a trick of the mind. I was on some pretty powerful painkillers at the time. My life too it seemed had fallen apart, like a piece of priceless china that had been dropped on the floor. The tiny porcelain shards scattered to the four winds. I guess I should start at the beginning of the story.

A new case for Rowntee & Terry and the Odd Squad, dealing with the local aristocracy, expensive cars, witness protection, and changing lives, all with their usual whimsical humour.