1. Street Justice: The Naked Heist

It was a dark and stormy night when the old man stumbled into our camp. He looked bedraggled, his clothes torn and dirty, his face unshaven. He stood swaying for a moment, then collapsed at my feet.

“Who’s that?” one of the men called out.

I bent down to check on him. “I don’t know,” I said, “but he’s alive.”

We dragged him up and sat him by the fire. He shivered uncontrollably as we wrapped him in blankets.

“Thank you,” he croaked through cracked lips. “Thank you.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

He looked at me with rheumy eyes. “My name is Samuel. Samuel Clemens.”

The men exchanged puzzled glances.

“You mean Mark Twain?” one of them asked.

The old man nodded weakly.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I’m… running away.”

“Running away? From what?”

“Myself.” He paused to cough up phlegm. “And from her.”

I handed him a canteen of water which he drank greedily.

“You’re running away from your wife?” another man asked incredulously.

He gave a feeble nod. “She’s driving me crazy! Always nagging, always complaining about something I did or didn’t do.” He took another drink of water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So I had to get away from it all, just for a little while.”

“And how did you end up here?”

He sighed heavily. “I got lost in the storm, wandered around for hours, until I couldn’t go on anymore.” He pointed at me with a shaky finger. “Then I saw your light and stumbled over here.”

“Well,” I said with a smile, “you’re safe now.”

But even as I said it, something about his story didn’t ring true. I’d been a trapper for many years and had seen all kinds of men in the wilderness, but this one seemed different. There was a haunted look in his eyes that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“You’re not going to send me back to her, are you?” he asked with a tremor in his voice.

I shook my head. “Of course not.”

He gave me a grateful smile, then leaned back against a log and closed his eyes. In no time at all, he was fast asleep.

The men settled down and soon their snores filled the air. But I couldn’t sleep. My mind kept going back to the old man by the fire. Who was he really? And why did he seem so familiar?

I got up quietly and walked over to him. He was still sleeping soundly, but there was a pained expression on his face as if he were having some kind of nightmare.

“Samuel,” I whispered, “wake up.”

His eyes fluttered open and focused on me.

“What is it?”

“I need to know the truth,” I said softly. “Who are you really?”

He sighed wearily. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

He looked at me for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

“All right.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m… from the future.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “From the future? You mean like in science fiction stories?”

He nodded again.

“But… how is that possible?”

“It’s complicated,” he said with a wry smile, “but let’s just say that time travel will be discovered someday.”

“And you’ve come back here… to our time?”

“Yes,” he said quietly, “to escape my troubled life for a while.”

I thought about this for a moment, then asked, “So… are you the real Mark Twain?”

He chuckled softly. “Yes, I am.”

I was about to ask him more questions when a sudden gust of wind blew out the fire and plunged us into darkness.

“What was that?” one of the men called out.

“It’s just the wind,” I reassured him. “Go back to sleep.”

I relit the fire and sat down next to Samuel. The storm was still raging outside, but inside our little camp, it was warm and cozy.

“I don’t know if I believe your story,” I said quietly, “but somehow it doesn’t matter.”

He looked at me with surprise. “Why not?”

“Because you needed a friend tonight,” I said simply, “and that’s what I’m going to be.”

A grateful smile tugged at his lips. “Thank you,” he whispered.

We sat in silence for a while, listening to the wind howl through the trees. Then he turned to me and said, “You know, someday people will read my books and think they know all about me.” He shook his head sadly. “But they won’t have any idea what my life was really like or how much pain I carried inside.”

“I understand,” I said gently.

He gave me a sad smile and reached over to squeeze my hand.

“Thank you for being here for me tonight.”

“You’re welcome,” I said softly, “anytime.”

Then we lapsed into silence once more as the storm raged on around us.