Arnesto Modesto: The World's Most Ineffectual Time Traveler

On the Run

Boston, Massachusetts

Monday, April 15, 2013

10:15 a.m.

Beantown. Home to some of the country's most irate drivers and the country's oldest marathon. April 15, 2013. Patriot's Day, aka Marathon Monday. Arnesto pushed his way through the crowd near the finish line.

He tried to look excited in order to blend in, but being jostled around by a mob wasn't his idea of fun even when there weren't bombs present.

As was often the case when he couldn't remember a niggling little detail like the exact time of the explosions, he had arrived way early. Now he had nothing to do but wait. Wait and try not to look suspicious. He lingered toward the back of the crowd, able to keep an eye out for the suspects while appearing to watch the race. He also took note of the police nearby.

Once the initial anxiety began to wear off a little, he almost started to enjoy himself. It was exciting. He was right near the end of a 26.2-mile course that many had trained for months to attend. It was something he himself would never attempt, of course. He was starting to feel the effects of middle age and besides, he liked his joints too much.

Then he remembered why he was there. He vividly remembered the recording looking back from just beyond the finish line. It showed runners finishing then all of a sudden, BOOM, an explosion on the right side from behind the stockade which was itself behind a line of national flags.

Not this time. Not if he could help it.

He hung out in one spot for a while, then moved further down Boylston Street and back. He moved whenever he felt he had been in one place too long or when he found himself too close to someone smoking or shaking a cowbell. The hours crawled by. He spent more time watching the marathon than some of the runners spent running it. And with time came his old enemy, self-doubt.

Did he have the right marathon? It was definitely the right city. Like it did to so many other Bostonians, this attack felt personal. Was it the right year? Yeah, it had to be. Right event, right place, right date. The only unknown was when exactly it would happen. Shouldn't it have happened by now? Maybe something had changed. Maybe somehow he had prevented this. After all, it wasn't far from where he, the epicenter of alternate timelines, had grown up.

Right, wishful thinking. Either way, he couldn't leave. Just in case.

He began walking even further west down the street when he caught a glimpse of exactly what he was waiting for.

A white hat.

He couldn't see the wearer yet but could tell he was heading his way.

Arnesto quickly found a place to stop and observe. Mere seconds later, his view of White Hat became unobstructed. He fought off a chill as he immediately recognized the young man's face as he had remembered it from Rolling Stone. The magazine had put White Hat on the cover after he was caught, creating much controversy. As nonchalantly as he could, Arnesto dialed 911.

"Nine-one-one, this call is being recorded, what city?" the responder asked.

"Boston."

"One moment."

After a few seconds, another responder answered. "Hi, what's the emergency?"

"Hi, can you patch me through to Officer Maris?" Arnesto asked, recalling the name of an officer he had taken note of earlier. "He's working at the finish line of the Boston Marathon right now. This is an emergency."

"What's happening? Is there something I can help you with?"

"No, I can only talk to Maris, Officer Maris, can you put me through?" Arnesto realized he sounded strained. Maybe that was a good thing. The clock was ticking.