Thus Always to Murderers

April 14^th, 1865. The Confederacy had fallen only a little over a week prior, and celebration was still widespread. Union supporters were ecstatic over the end of the war and the end of the bloodshed. However, an evil plot brewed in the darkness, one that could change the course of history forever. Confederate allies, enraged by the loss of their army, schemed to exact their revenge on the Union stealing their way of life from them. The man who wanted the biggest part in it all? John Wilkes Booth. Booth knew that President Lincoln, the head of the Union, would be watching Our American Cousin at Ford’s theatre tonight. His plan was simple: a .44 caliber derringer aimed for the back of Lincoln’s head and a bullet with his name on it. 

            Booth snuck in the theatre through a back door. From there, he slowly but surely found his way towards the Presidential Box where Lincoln was watching the play. Luckily for Booth, Lincoln’s bodyguard had been given leave because of the lack of danger the President was in. Ironic. Quiet as a mouse, Booth snuck over to the entrance to the box. And there he was, sitting next to his wife and watching the play, oblivious to how little time he had left. Booth pulled the revolver from his coat, heavier than any ordinary revolver not because of build, but because of the weight of the man it was destined to kill. Booth took a steadying breath and leveled the pistol at the back of Lincoln’s head. One second is all it would take. 

One second. 

That second was all that he needed.

Like lightning, a man previously concealed by darkness in the corner of the box kicked the revolver out of Booth’s hand. In the same smooth motion, the previously hidden man drew his own derringer, and pointed it at Booth’s head, whose eyes were now wide with fear and a mouth agape. As the gun clattered to the ground and the unknowing President turned, he saw Booth standing there, arms raised in fear and a man clad in a dark cloak with a gun pointed at him. “What is the meaning of this?” the President exclaimed. As soon as he heard it, Major Rathbone, who was sitting to his left, turned and stood between the President and the mysterious man. The man left the President’s question hanging in the air and instead motioned to the gun he had kicked from Booth’s grasp. Rathbone quickly grabbed the gun, eying the mysterious man all the while. Rathbone knew that if his true intent was to assassinate the President or himself, he would have done it by now, and surely not motion to where Rathbone could find a weapon of his own. “Booth plotted to assassinate the President,” said the unknown man. “That gun is his. Take him into interrogation to uncover the whole story.” 

“Who are you and how do you know this?” asked Rathbone. Before he could get the words out of his mouth, the man in the cloak had fitted his pistol back to his belt and strode towards the balcony. Without hesitation, he promptly stepped onto the ledge and threw himself towards the stage. As he hit, he rolled to avoid injury and popped up quickly. The audience gasped. His cloak did not fall from his head, even as he lifted his head back to address the audience. “Sic semper homicidis !” cried the man. Before the audience could react, he was sprinting towards the back door, into the cool April night. 

            At the time, no one knew the man’s true identity. They guessed that he was an informant who knew about the plot to murder the President. Others guessed he was a guardian angel, sent from Heaven to keep the peace here on earth. Yet, none of these guesses were correct. Little did they know, this man had come from the future. A future where there was rampant distrust between races. A future where the fight for equality was not over. A future that is more real than anyone realizes. 

After dashing out of the theatre, the man ran several blocks to a hidden alley where a machine was waiting for him, humming gently. He stepped up to it and entered a code on the top of the machine. As he did, it whirred even louder and began to emit light. In this light, it was possible to see the man shedding his cloak from his shoulders. No one would recognize him. No one from that time, that is.

As the machine hummed louder and louder and the light got brighter and brighter, so did the smile on the man’s face. He knew that when he got back, he would return to a world where he would not have to live in fear of others. Not a perfect world, mind you, but a better one. 

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