John Gilstrap - Nathan’s Run

Again, his sense of distance had betrayed him. “Just before the turn” worked out in reality to be about a half mile down the road. By the time Nathan drove the Beemer into the church lot and parked it in the furthest space out, the eastern sky was already beginning to burn red. He had no idea that dawn came so early. It wasn’t a time of day that he frequently witnessed firsthand. To his growing list of obstacles, he now had to add time.

Once out of the vehicle for the last time, he hid the keys under the mat on the driver’s side, locked the door, and closed it as quietly as he could. He hoped that maybe it really wasn’t stealing if you gave back the keys.

Sprawling before him was Saint Sebastian Catholic Church, looking more like a grounded flying saucer than it did a house of worship. For a brief moment, Nathan considered going inside for a brief chat with God—and Saint Sebastian, for that matter, if he was in the mood to listen in—but thought better of it. He was running out of time. Besides, God seemed to be listening so far.

About the time that Nathan was watering the plants, Denise Carpenter was pacing her kitchen, waiting for the limo to arrive. Enrique sat with her, propped up in a hard-backed chair, wishing with all his might that he could trade his boss in for one who was sane. For the past hour and a half he’d issued positive reviews for no less than six different outfits, this on the heels of a previous hour rating hairstyles. If he’d told her once, he had told her a thousand times that she was a beautiful woman, that it didn’t matter what she wore because she looked good in everything. It was close enough to the truth that no one could call him a liar.

More by default dictated by the ticking of the clock than by rational decision, Denise had settled on a very professional, understated kelly green suit with a gold bead necklace and matching earrings. She decided to wear her professionally straightened hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, which Enrique didn’t particularly like, but he would have cut his tongue off with a pair of scissors before he’d have said anything. Besides, she didn’t listen to any of his fashion opinions anyway, which led him to consider the option of just shooting her and moving on to a better job.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled my hair back,” Denise whined.

Enrique lowered his head onto the kitchen table and closed his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Denise, why don’t we just shave you bald and you won’t have to worry about it at all anymore?”

Her eyes shot darts, but they never got through the force field of her producer’s exhaustion. “Come on, Rick,” she begged. “Stay awake with me. Here, have some more coffee.” She refilled his mug, emptying their second pot since midnight.

Enrique sat up straight again and gently gripped her elbow. “Den, listen to me,” he said lightly. “You look great. You’re going to do great. The only thing you have to worry about is staying awake through your radio show. America is just going to love saying good morning to you.”

Denise smiled and ran her hand through Enrique’s hair. “Thanks, Rick,” she said. “You’re such a good friend to put up with me.”

His reply was a warm, if tired smile.

“The red outfit looked better, didn’t it?”

Enrique’s head made a loud thunk when it fell back onto the table.

As the darkness lightened and the shadows turned gray, traffic started to pick up, and Nathan was forced further from the roadside and deeper into the woods. Another planning failure. He had no business being outside in the daylight where people could see him and recognize him. At least he wasn’t driving anymore, he consoled himself.

It took him every bit of forty-five minutes to make the trek back to Little Rocky Creek. Deadfalls, creepers and briar bushes all conspired to slow his progress.

It wasn’t yet six o’clock, yet the air was thick with humidity and the temperature was approaching ninety already. His clothes were soaked with perspiration, his hair matted to his forehead and the back of his neck. The hike was taking long enough that if he hadn’t just driven the route, he would have sworn that he’d made a wrong turn.

Finally, through the underbrush, he could see the turn for Little Rocky Trail. He turned parallel to the new road and soon was crossing behind back yards. It was the time of morning when people let their dogs out. One of them, a German shepherd, spied him through the slats of his fence and barked ferociously, baring its teeth and lunging against the pickets, thus igniting a chorus of barking dogs throughout the neighborhood. Nathan barked back at the dog and flipped him off. Nothing like a six-foot oak barrier to help a guy feel brave.

Back yards seemed to stretch on forever as he traipsed through the woods. Even in the comfort of his borrowed Reeboks, the cuts and bruises on the soles of his feet were reasserting themselves. In time, he reached the end of the existing construction, and could see before him where a new section of town-homes would be built. At that spot, the woods ended, opening up into a huge open swath of dirt, excavated basements and construction materials.

Forty-one twenty was at the end of the cul-de-sac located on the other side of Little Rocky Trail from where he was right now. His plan had been to make entry from the rear of the house, accessing it by walking in a big circle through the woods until he wound up where he needed to be. Now, he realized, the construction made that impossible.

He faced a new set of choices. If he crossed through the construction zone, he’d be sure to be seen, probably by some security guard, and this game would be over. He rejected that option first. Another possibility would have been to stay in the woods and walk all the way around the periphery of the construction cut until he ended up where he needed to be. Problem was, he couldn’t tell how long or how far that would take him. From where he stood, he couldn’t see the far edge of the construction.

Nathan decided it was time to be bold. He straightened his shoulders, combed his hair with his fingernails, and just walked out of the woods, looking for all the world like he belonged there.

Todd Briscow tossed the wad of paper towels into the kitchen trash, then stared at his hand as though to figure out where to throw it out next. His wife, Patty, was busy looking for the carpet stain remover while their six-year-old son and one-year-old Labrador cowered together across the room.

“Dammit, Peter,” Todd cursed as he washed his hands in the kitchen sink, “how many times have I told you to put away food after you use it?” The dog had just barfed up an entire jar of strawberry preserves that young Peter had left out on the counter after fixing himself some toast. And, of course, because they were finally able to afford the Persian rug they’d been saving to buy, that was the precise location the dog had selected as its vomitorium.

Peter wisely chose to say nothing, staying well out of range, and well protected by his only friend in the family right then.

When Patty returned from the basement with the stain remover, she was lockjawed with anger. Todd checked his watch for the hundredth time this morning and said exactly the wrong thing, not because he wanted to, but because he had to.

“Patty, I’ve really got to go. It’s nearly six, the Reischmann proposal begins at eight, and I’ve still got view graphs to print.”

“Why, of course you have to go,” Patty replied icily. “There’s work to be done around the house, isn’t there?”

Her words were a blatant attempt to pick a fight, leveraging the neverending argument centered around the you-never-do-anything-I’m-always-stuck-with-the-rotten-jobs theme. The premise of the argument was as true as it was false. His work as an account executive for the telephone company kept him working most nights and weekends, but he tried his best to factor in family time. It was the major frustration of his life that he no longer controlled his time—the one element he valued most over all the others. What time he had left after doing his job was controlled by Patty and her assigned chores. To be sure, there were hours left at the end of each day, but his body demanded that he dedicate those to sleep.