Time Agency by Aaron Frale Page A

and pointed. The crowd gawked and stared. They pulled out their phones and began to record the incident. Jerry noticed how people’s first reaction was to document rather than help. The horn of the oncoming train blared and yanked the thought from his head. The train was visible now. He was seconds from getting crushed. He used all of his last might to jump to the edge of the platform. He didn't quite make it and held on the edge with his last remaining strength. He attempted to pull himself up. The train screeched to a halt as the driver slammed the breaks. A wave of panic washed over the onlookers. One man, one anonymous man, grabbed Jerry and pulled him onto the platform as the train shrieked by. The crowd sighed with relief, clapped, and cheered.
    Jerry puked and spat up blood. The anonymous man had disappeared before the crowd drew close. A businesswoman patted Jerry on the back. He regained his breath as the people stuck their phones into his face. Some others shooed the crowd away to give him space. After he somewhat recovered, Jerry looked down at his clothes. A lot of the blood was gone. His clothes had cleaned themselves. He felt his hair, and it felt combed.
    Jerry looked up at the crowd. They took a step back. Their expressions turned from pity to fear. Even the woman patting his back moved her hand away. On several monitors built into support beams, there was a security alert. Jerry's 3-D imaged face rotated on the screen. Under his face, it was listed that he was wanted on suspicion of murder and the number to call with information. One person from the crowd began to dial their phone. Jerry jumped to his feet and pushed himself out of the crowd toward the exit.

Event 8 – R
     
    I didn’t have much time to find the train station. The police would watch the security footage from the bookstore. Being arrested would give a time traveler a time, date, and private location to find me. The people from the future were coming for me. I just didn’t know when or where. I needed to make it to the locker. There had to be something. At the worst, I’d be at a train station, and I would be able to hop a train out of the city. I could disappear in a small town.
    It took a couple of tries, but a person eventually was able to explain the location of the remodeled train station. I arrived at the station without incident. I made sure to watch for police while I walked. I still hadn’t figured out the well-dressed man’s stake, and whether or not he was an ally. The identical bookstore clerks and the fact that he was covered in blood made me doubt him. The fight with the well-dressed man was clunky. Again, I wished I were a secret agent. A historian wasn’t cut out for this work. I guess it’s too much to ask to be a ninja historian.  I should have told my younger self to go to ninja school. 
    The train station was old, very old. But it was restored to its former look. People bustled on their tasks. I glanced around the great chamber. There was a giant clock, ancient pillars, and tiles. The station looked like the set of a historical novel, but people and vendors mismatched the architecture to the era. It was like the people should be wearing top hats and walking with canes. Instead, they wore skirts and suits. They talked on phones and tapped on touchpads.
    The lockers were near the back. I pulled out the key and inspected it. There was no number on the key or at least anything to indicate what key went to what locker. I was half tempted to start testing out lockers when I saw a sign that said: “Locker Rental” and a bored employee. I approached the employee and proffered my key with a sheepish look. “Excuse me. I seem to have forgotten my locker number.”
    “ID?” The employee said.
    I pulled out the blank ID card from my wallet. Hopefully, it will be the right one. The clerk began to type on the computer when a security alert flashed on the screen and the monitors in the station. For a brief moment, I froze.