Twelve Past Noon

TWELVE PAST NOON

“Excuse me, ma’am, what time is it?”

“It’s twelve past noon. Quick, here he comes!” The woman said, pointing towards the road.

Ryder tilted his head back in frustration. Twelve past noon? He was supposed to be here by 10:30. Part of him was expecting this; his boss had given him the oldest, most overworked, raggediest time-jumper in the hangar. All of his years working with this company, all of the vigilante time-travelers he’d stopped from ruining all of history, and they couldn’t even reserve him a time-jumper that was somewhat decent.

It didn’t matter, anyways. He had his mission, and he was going to carry it out.

“Ryder!”

“There you are,” Ryder said, turning to his partner. She pushed her way through the crowds of people towards him, “The jumper malfunctioned. Zyra, it’s already past noon!”

“Past noon? How!? We set it to 10:30!” Zyra grumbled, smacking her palm against her forehead.

“Yeah, well, that jumper’s older than I am. It doesn’t matter now. The car’s coming, we have to go!” Ryder said, grabbing her arm. He looked around desperately, searching for anyone who looked just as out of place as they did.

“What did the report say about him?” Zyra asked.

“He’s nineteen, obsessed with President Kennedy, last seen wearing white sweatpants, a dark blue sweatshirt, and black tennis shoes.” Ryder said, “But we can’t count on his clothes. He may have changed to blend in. He definitely knows we’re after him.”

He stopped for a moment, looking back and forth through the crowd. The older ones were always the hardest to catch. Most of the vigilante time-travelers Ryder and Zyra encountered were teenagers. But the most fun catches were always the older, more experienced ones. Those catches were much more rewarding. And they were the ones that gave Ryder his notoriety as a time-traveler. He hoped that catching this one would boost his reputation enough to get him his own jumper. Then he wouldn’t be stuck in situations like this one.

“Time…time! What time is it, Zyra?” Ryder asked. She pulled the ticker out of her pocket. He sighed a sigh of relief. He had been worried that it had somehow gotten lost through the wormhole. The ticker was their last advantage on this guy. It was their interdimensional clock; it was synced to their wormhole so that it told them the exact time, no matter what century they were in.

“12:15. We’re running out of time.” She said, taking off closer towards the road.

“Mr. President! Look, there he is!”

Ryder glanced towards the road. In the distance, he could see the famed black convertible making its way down the road. He hated how close they were cutting this capture.

“I don’t see him anywhere. Everyone here looks like they belong here. Even if he is here, there’s way too many people here to find him. He’ll.” Zyra said, eyes darting between the ticker and the crowd.

“Okay, we have to think like him. He’s been planning to get here for the past couple of years. It’s been his entire life for all this time, and now he’s here. What’s he doing here?” Ryder asked.

“Seeing JFK. Right?” Zyra asked in response.

“Seeing JFK. But he’s obsessed with him, right? He’s not just here to see him, then.” Ryder replied, “He’s here…”

“To save him.” Zyra grumbled. Ryder nodded in response.

“So, if he’s trying to save JFK, he’s either going to try and remove him from the car or take Oswald.” He said, looking back and forth between the tall building to his left and the road to his right.

“Let’s split up, then. I’ll watch the car; you go watch Oswald.” Zyra said, moving towards the road.

“Zyra!” Ryder said, “What time is it?”

“12:20. Here!” She said, tossing the ticker to her partner. “Go!”

Ryder turned on his heel and sprinted in the opposite direction. The Texas School Book Depository. It was only about 70 feet from the road, which he knew he could cover in a few seconds. That wasn’t the hard part; the stairs were. If he was correct, Oswald was positioned on the sixth floor. Six flights of stairs normally wouldn’t have been an issue for Ryder, but he’d injured his knee tackling a guy who was insistent on stopping the Watergate scandal just a few weeks prior.

He pushed the door of the building open, searching for a stairwell. His eyes fell on the door in the corner of the room. He ran towards it. It pushed open with ease, and Ryder began skipping two, three steps at a time. He fumbled the ticker out of his pocket. 12:22. No, 12:23. He hurried up the stairs, pulling himself up by the railing. His eyes caught on the sign. Third floor. Halfway there. He kept going. He tripped on a concrete step, his knee colliding harshly with the unforgiving material. He winced at the pain. He was sure he could feel the bruise growing already. He got up. He could see the sign indicating the fourth floor. He limped up the stairs, his injured leg dragging him down. He glanced at the ticker again. 12:25. He pulled himself up the stairs. His knuckles ached from clinging onto the metal railing. Almost there. He was almost there. It was practically in his reach. Fifth floor. One more. Just one more. He could do that. One more flight of stairs, and then he’d get this capture, and go home and take a nice, long, nap. Each step felt like a million years. He would never take his ability to climb stairs for granted again. Just a few more steps. He was so close. He lifted the ticker. 12:28. His legs pulled themselves up the last step, looking down the hallways to an open door. He leaned against the wall and limped towards the open doorway. He saw the figures in the doorway. He felt the adrenaline start to take over. The aching in his knee had disappeared. The soreness of his entire body was non-existent.

The only thing that was left was a sense of urgency in his legs.

He took off towards the figure, grabbing his taser out of his belt. He’d only ever used it on a few squirmy captures. He hoped this wasn’t that. He wasn’t sure he could handle a difficult arrest. Especially not with Zyra stuck in the crowd, looking for a man from the future. He grabbed the figure from behind. Both of them fell to the ground with an unpleasant thud. The man kicked and tried to escape Ryder’s grasp for a few moments before eventually giving up. Moments later, the gunshot rang through the room. Ryder felt the man’s shoulders slump.

“Let’s go. You’re not supposed to be here.” He mumbled, pushing him towards the door.

“No—no! He’s not supposed to-“ The man began, eyes darting between Oswald and Ryder.

It wasn’t long before Zyra was hurrying up the stairs, eyes locked with her partner in relief. She grabbed the man out of his hold. Her eyes wandered down to his uneven, painful stance.

“What happened to you?” She asked, offering her arm to help him down the stairs.

“I learned that I can no longer skip multiple steps.” He grumbled, stretching his leg out in an attempt to ease the pain, “What time is it?”

She reached into his pocket and grabbed the ticker, “12:32.”

“In and out in 20 minutes. I wonder if that’s a record.”

“Maybe.” Zyra sighed, “But all I know now is that it’s time to go home.”