He waited anxiously in the park, snow falling in his completely white hair. Twenty years ago he had looked younger than his years; now he looked ancient. He looked around frantically. Was he too late? Where was she? He had to stop her before-

He saw a figure walking toward him and pulled back, afraid of being seen before it was time. It wasn't the girl he was waiting for, but the man, the fiend. Twenty years ago, a chain of events had been said off that had ruined the white-haired man's entire life. He wasn't going to let it happen to the young man whose life he'd come to change.

Suddenly, from the other direction, he heard a voice that made him want to laugh and cry at the same time. Then he heard another voice, one he hadn't heard in years and was not particularly pleased to hear. Even after twenty years, this man had the capacity to make his blood boil.

The two talked briefly, then the man went on his way and the girl continued towards his direction, towards the fiend who was waiting for her. He couldn't let this happen.

Another man saw her and began to speak to her. She was afraid of him; she thought he wanted to hurt her. She scratched him and got away, but was still running directly into the path of the fiend.

"Help!" She cried, and the fiend came running.

The other man, the one she'd thought would hurt her, was gone now, having run back the way he'd come. The white-haired man was her only hope now.

She stopped when she saw the fiend who really wanted to hurt her. She stared at him, her face going as white as the snow that was still falling and sticking to the ground. She knew who he was and had clearly not expected to see him.

The White-haired man waited nervously, afraid to act immediately, but even more afraid of acting too late. He waited until he saw the other man pull something out of his pocket. Knowing what it was, and seeing the terror on the girl's face, he rushed to save her.

"No," she cried. "Help! Please, stop!"

The white-haired man rushed at them. He didn't take the time to stare at the girl; he needed to act quickly. He raised the hammer he'd brought with him and caved the killer's skull in.

He and the girl stared at each other for a few seconds, neither knowing what to say.

"Thank you," she whispered, still trying to catch her breath after the fear-driven adrenalin rush.

He fought back tears as he stared at her. He nodded, swallowed, then looked her in the eyes.

"You'll be OK now, Georgie. Diego Alcazar will never be able to hurt anyone again."

"How do you know my name?" she asked, her relief now mixed with a tinge of suspicion.

She looked deeply into his eyes. There was something familiar about them, but she couldn't put her finger on it. They reminded her of someone.

"Do I know you?"

"No."

She had a feeling he was lying. She didn't know why she thought so, but she was almost positive.

He looked and saw someone walking slowly toward them. Knowing who it was, he panicked. This was the last person who could see him; he could wreck everything.

"I have to go now," he said suddenly. "I've stayed here too long already."

"Wait; we need to-"

"I can't stay. You need to call the police and tell them about him. I'm sorry; I wish I could do more to help you, but it's too risky, too dangerous. I need to get out of here. You're no longer in danger, but I might be if I stay here. Wait for Spinelli; he should be coming soon."

"You know Spinelli?"

"Yes, but he doesn't know me."

"What?"

"I'm sorry; I don't have time to explain and couldn't even if I did."

"At least tell me your name!"

He looked back at her for a long moment.

"Just call me jack," he said, and ran off, still holding the bloody hammer he had used to kill the Text Message Killer.