New York City, USA. November 2008.

Like her quarry, she was a running fool.

Angie Messina had completed thirty-three different marathons in her thirty years of life so far. She liked to run at least three marathons a year and train hard the rest of the time. Every morning she ran at least five miles. On Saturdays and Sundays she ran at least ten. The only exceptions were rare scheduled days of rest. She frequently took part in 5Ks, 10Ks, half-marathons and other races preparing for the marathons that were her objectives. Angie had been doing this since high school. If you were to call her a fitness enthusiast, you would be right.

She did not run for exercise, although that was a side benefit. She ran to challenge herself instead. Before she died, Angie wanted to finish every major marathon on Earth she could. When she got too old to run anymore she would publish her memoirs and donate the proceeds to charity. She believed others would surely be inspired by this. Thus Angie left her native Texas three times a year to complete marathons all over the world.

Angie had run marathons in Dallas, Chicago, San Francisco, London, Rome and many other places. If a city had a marathon she wanted to run it. The Austin marathon was her first and thirty-two others had followed in the twelve years afterwards. She liked to alternate between a race inside the United States and one outside. Her last race had been in Mexico City and the one before that in Seattle. Today Angie was running in New York.

Several thousand other people ran around her, huffing and puffing. Millions more cheered on the sidelines, shouting names and passing water or Gatorade to runners who got close. As always, the presence of these other runners and spectators kept the route of the race clear in Angie's head. It did not matter that Angie had never run it before. She had been delaying participation for a special moment. This year had been that time.

"Shake that tail, baby!" a man with a Brooklyn accent called out.

Angie ignored him. For all she knew, he wasn't yelling at her. She could not let herself be distracted.

It would be cool if he was watching me though, Angie thought. Her running kept her body tanned and toned. Her breasts were small, her legs long and firm, and her hips slim. Her body was accented well by her white "I Heart New York City" t-shirt and blue shorts. Her hawk-featured face and doe brown eyes showed the best of Tejano heritage. Long black hair spread out behind her in a loose ponytail, bobbing as she ran. Every inch of her body was exuding sweat yet nonetheless she looked determined. Her heart pumped as she let out pant after pant.

Yes, Angie Messina was a vision. The same could be said of most anyone else in the race, though. Looking around, she could spot thirty or more people in the immediate area that looked just as good as she.

Running on... the voice of Jackson Browne sang from her I-Pod. Running on, empty ... Running on ... Running blind...

A smile touched Angie's lips at the song. Her I-Pod was set to her marathon mix and had been playing random tunes from it for the past three and three quarter hours. Most of the songs were about running and all of them were chosen to keep her focused and alive. Not every song had "run" in the title but most did. The Jackson Browne tune playing at the moment was one of Angie's favorites. The mix also included "I Run for Life" by Melissa Etheridge, "Running down a Dream" by Tom Petty and "Run" by Fefe Dobson. Angie let these songs and the others echo in her mind as her body moved.

The race is almost over now, she told herself. I've been through all five of New York City's boroughs, crossed five bridges and passed many landmarks. A minute or so ago I ran through Columbus Circle and for the second time entered Central Park. At my current pace I should finish just shy of four hours even. Not bad. I'm not a speed demon by any means, I'm more about endurance. I run for completion, not for a win.

Come on, Angie ordered her body, feeling it start to falter. You can finish this. Once you complete this race you will have done all five World Marathon Majors. You did the Marine Corps Marathon in Arlington, Virginia two years ago and the Great Wall of China Marathon three years before that. Both were more difficult than this race. Keep your chin up. Come on!

She looked around her as she ran, eyes open for a certain co-participant. Angie knew this would be her last chance to see him. Everybody around her was speeding up now, second winds kicking in as they approached the finish line. Faces dashed past her and she was forced to push herself harder to keep up. Where is he? Angie wondered. Where is my beloved famous man?

Celebrities frequently took part in the New York Marathon for challenge and charity. Several Olympians competed each year along with one or more entertainers. Puff Daddy, Katie Holmes and Lance Armstrong were just a few of the famous entrants. Another celebrity runner, David Lee Roth of the band Van Halen, was singing in Angie's ears right now. None of these was the person on her mind though.

"Ryan," she whispered as she sprinted across the Sheep Meadow. "Ryan. Must ... find ... Ryan!"

Ryan Reynolds was Angie's favorite actor. His TV show "Two Guys and a Girl" had entertained her all through college and his films such as "Van Wilder" and the upcoming "Wolverine" had taken over afterwards. Ryan was a hunky veteran of comedy and action and Angie enjoyed watching him in both. When she heard that he was running the New York Marathon this year, she knew it was her year to run too. Ryan's participation had been heavily hyped, aided by his confession to the press that he was a "running joke" and also his elopement with an A-list Hollywood star the day before the race.

I will meet him in this race, Angie prayed. I will say hi to him and exchange smiles with him as we cross the finish line together. I'm running for Parkinson's disease research just like him. He will be pleased when he learns this and fall in love with me at first sight. Ryan will leave his wife, actress Scarlett Johansson, and marry me!

Okay, maybe he won't do that last thing, but I can dream, right? I know it's a dumb idea. It will probably never happen with the nature of random chance and all these runners. Finishing the race is more important anyway. I want it to happen, though. Please, just let me see him! I'll never meet him otherwise, I know it. Please!

The finish line at Tavern on the Green came into sight. Angie shook her head in frustration and keyed a button on her I-Pod. The instrumental version of "When Johnny Comes Marching Home" replaced David Lee Roth at once. This tune had been carefully chosen for Angie's final dash. It was the triumphant theme music from her favorite movie set in New York City, "Die Hard with a Vengeance". Throughout history people had used it to propel themselves towards glory in the arts, athletics and war. Angie grinned and set her jaw, upping her pace as the tune's horns broadcast their chords.

Boom ba da ba da, boom ba da ba da, ba dum, ba dum ... Boom ba da ba da, boom ba da ba da, ba dum, ba dum...

Oh my God! Her mouth fell open as the music hit a crescendo. There he is!

A tall and fresh-faced man was just ahead of her, the other participants parting to give him room. Runner's etiquette always applied in marathons, double when it came to celebrities. Ryan Reynolds's brown hair and muscular physique were drenched in sweat and so were his white t-shirt and red shorts. A large tag bearing his name and charity on the back of his shirt identified him to the crowd.

Several other runners who had recognized him were forming a loose perimeter about their icon just in case something happened. Angie could tell they were only fans, though, not security. None were watching the area or crowds, so they all had to be athletes like her. They didn't even blink as Angie moved through their ranks.

Ryan wheezed and looked at her as she came alongside him. His eyes lit up and he gave Angie an approving smile. Angie nodded back. Then she heard someone cheering Ryan's name and felt jealousy creep across her spine.

"Ryan!" a voluptuous blonde woman in a black blouse and jeans was jumping up and down and screaming amongst the crowd. "Over here! Ryan!"

"Hey, Scarlett!" Ryan shouted and waved in reply.

Damn you Scarlett Johansson, Angie thought, glaring at the blonde. Why did Ryan have to marry you? Sure you're the idol of millions in beauty and career. Sure you have lots of hit movies under your belt including "Match Point", "Lost in Translation" and "The Spirit", which I'm looking forward to seeing this Christmas. Your fame doesn't matter though. Nor does the body you have which I will never have. Ryan loves me, darn it! He could if he would just look at me! Turn around! Ryan!

"Ryan!"

Yelling his name, Angie turned and leapt into Ryan just as they both crossed the finish line. His arms went up as he came to a stop and hit the ground. Angie's tackle had struck him in the waist. She gasped and cursed as she saw Ryan's forehead impact on the pavement. Scarlett was staring at them from the crowd, her jaw and eyes wide as her bodyguards kept the other spectators back from her.

"Thirty-four," Angie mumbled, lying on the concrete beside Ryan as she watched him slump unconscious. Just like the original marathoner, Angie thought. She could feel her own twisted ankle and skinned knee. Thirty-four marathons, she reflected, and now her first injury. Shit!

Then a karate chop walloped the back of her neck and she knew no more.

Boom ba da ba da ba dum!

Beep! Beep!

Angie opened her eyes and stared at the hospital monitor machine. Its sharp tone had intruded on her dreams and awakened her. She looked around and exhaled. She was in a hospital room lying in a bed with her left arm and right leg in restraints and bandages all over her body. The last thing she could remember was the final chords of "When Johnny Comes Marching Home" pounding in her head as something hard struck her and several more impacts followed afterwards. It was unclear to Angie how long she had been out.

A petite brunette angel of a woman dressed in a white coat slipped into the room. Her features showed a mix of Irish and Italian ancestry. Angie blinked in surprised recognition and Dr. Contessa Winfield's halo disappeared.

"Good morning," the physician greeted her. "Do you know me?"

Angie grinned and nodded. "Hi, Tess."

The doctor was a friend of Angie's, one of several who had cheered her on from amongst the crowd during the race. They had first met five years ago when Angie did some building design work for her ex-boyfriend, Tess's employer Doug Ramsay.

Angie was a Dallas architect and University of Texas teaching assistant when she wasn't running. Doug Ramsay was a former Austin area law enforcement officer whom Angie had first met in college. They had dated for a brief time and broken up shortly after graduation. Then he became a cop and saved twenty-nine bank robbery hostages with negotiation and a single gunshot, winning a Medal of Valor. Doug retired nine months after that and opened his own London nightclub, "Inside Out". Angie was one of several contractors who helped him design the place.

Doug was the one who told me Ryan Reynolds would be taking part in the New York Marathon this year, Angie recalled. He sponsored me in the race, pledging twenty thousand dollars to charity as I requested. He couldn't come cheer me on himself, but he did send Tess and a few other friends. I'm glad she's here.

"Hi," Tess said. She moved over Angie, checking her temperature and other vitals. Angie responded as the doctor asked her for her name, her mother's, and that of the current United States President. "Barack Obama," Tess corrected the latter answer. "At least he will be President in two months after the current term ends."

Angie blinked. "I've been unconscious for several days?"

"Three days," Tess replied. "If you ask me, you probably needed the rest. I know how much you exert yourself."

Angie sighed, looking over her injuries. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Tess showed her a copy of the New York Post. "Race Riot!" proclaimed the headline. Angie gaped, seeing a photo of her tackling Ryan Reynolds under the words. She read the article as Tess held it up to her face.

"This is all wrong!" Angie said, shaking her head. "I don't look anything like Alanis!"

"Yes, you do, Angie. You better be happy you do. Several of that singer's fans pulled Ryan Reynolds's impromptu rescuers off you seconds after you knocked him out and the runners near him began pummeling you. If Alanis fans hadn't been there amongst the crowd and mistook you for Ryan's former fiancée, you might be dead now."

Angie read the article further. Alanis Morissette was a rock star who was once engaged to Ryan Reynolds. Their relationship had lasted four years and enjoyed a lot of media exposure. Angie resembled Alanis slightly and she supposed Tess was right: that had saved her life. Tess flipped the page at her prompting cough and Angie read on.

"So I'm not in jail?"

"Nope. I told Ryan about you and he agreed not to press charges. The charities are still getting money from both of your efforts since you were over the finish line when you fell."

Angie stopped reading, looking up at the physician. "Did you just meet Ryan at the race or... ?"

"No," Tess interrupted. "He's one of the famous folk who visits Doug's club on a regular basis. I've given him a physical many times."

Doug has always been surrounded by celebrity, Angie recalled. He was the adopted child of diplomats and a bestselling fiction writer. He used that background and his police medal to win a date with legendary softball pitcher Cat Osterman. Now he ran a nightclub that was also a semi-secret international swingers' haven. Tess was in charge of the clinic there. Why hadn't either of them ever told Angie Ryan was a member before?

"I pulled some strings to be put in charge of your treatment here at St. Vincent's," Tess filled her in further. "It helped that most of the other doctors in New York are very angry at you right now and I did my residency here. You have a twisted ankle, a skinned knee, a sprained arm and a few other injuries. There's nothing serious besides the bump on the head that put you down. Nobody else was critically injured in the riot you caused either. There are a lot of reporters, runners, and other people who want to meet you. Asher and a few of our other comrades have been helping me keep them at bay."

Angie nodded at the name of Tess's companion Asher Stravjan, a Polish janitor and former soldier. "Is Doug here?"

"He arrived yesterday. As you can imagine, he's upset with you. The same is true for a lot of people. Talk show hosts are arguing over whether you should be called a stalker or just an insane fan."

"We're all a little insane!" Angie snapped. She took a breath, recovering herself. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I saw Ryan and I heard that bitch cheering his name..."

Tess cut her off. "Scarlett Johansson is not a bitch. She and Ryan are paying for your stay here. This hospital doesn't work for free and neither do I. Scarlett has been my patient longer than her husband. I know her quite well." Tess leaned down and kissed Angie on the forehead to emphasize her words.

"What?" Tess asked the shocked Angie when she pulled away. "Did you forget I lead the doctors who treat Inside Out's clients? Did you think I wouldn't indulge with others the way I did with you?"

Angie blinked. She liked to date both men and women, though she preferred the former. Tess had enjoyed an on-again off-again relationship with Angie since the day they met. She was reminding Angie of that now.

"Jesus Christ!" Angie cursed, realizing what else she was saying. "I didn't know you..." She stammered, unable to form words.

"I like to get close to my patients," Tess said, "especially celebrity couples where the wife goes both ways. I've been with both Scarlett and Ryan many times."

"You never told me!" Angie was hysterical.

"Quiet yourself, Angelina. I'm authorized to tell you now by Doug, Ryan and Scarlett." Tess kissed her forehead again. "This was Doug's idea. He thought your stunt at the race might create a good opportunity for you. Call it his sense of humor."

A cough came from the doorway before Angie could answer. She looked and saw Ryan Reynolds standing there with Scarlett Johansson just behind. Both celebrities wore dark suits now. The wizened albino figure of Asher Stravjan was holding the door open for them. All three were sending smiles at Angie, their faces bemused.

"We heard you were awake," Ryan spoke first. "Doug called us." He held up a gigantic get-well card with several dozen signatures. The names of Paula Radcliffe and the other two women who had won the 2008 New York Marathon competition were at the top beside Scarlett and Ryan's names. The signature of the noted actor and Parkinson's disease victim Michael J. Fox was nearby.

"Scarlett and I have been going around getting these," said Ryan. "We're trying to get people to calm down about what you did to me. It's not working that well, but..." Ryan trailed off and shrugged.

"Hello," Scarlett said, stepping around Ryan and towards Angie's bedside. "I think you know who we are already. May I have your name please?"