The radio was playing the oddest song. “What the hell?”
“Don’t curse, Timmy.” 37-year-old Colleen Quinn looked ten years older, particularly when she was scolding her 16-year-old son in the living room of their worn down tenement flat in the middle of New York’s “Hell’s Kitchen.”
Timothy Patrick Quinn thought he’d heard the last of those strange news stories coming out of the radio after it told him about a 14-year-old newsie named Alexander Luszock who was supposed to be murdered by another crazed killer, this one named Carl Panzram. It had happened to him before, almost a year ago. That’s when he started hearing news stories from the future. This last time, he didn’t try fighting Panzram himself, though he had to give his Mom and his foreman at work an excuse why he had to take the bus to D.C. and visit for a day or so. He had to be near the crime scene to make an anonymous call to the cops, and then stay nearby to make sure they stopped Panzram’s attack on Luszock in time. That worked out a lot better than when he did this once before.