John Gilstrap - Nathan’s Run

Billy had watched the news that morning. It took him five seconds to put it all together.

“You’re Nathan, aren’t you?” Billy said.

Nathan nodded and swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving the angry beast. “I-I w-won’t hurt anybody,” Nathan declared.

“What are you doing—”

The dog…”

“You killed those guys.”

Nathan shook his head frantically, never moving his eyes from the snarling mutt. “No. No, I didn’t, honest. I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m not the one.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Nathan swallowed again and jumped when Barney moved his head. “Cops. Th-they’re looking for me.”

Billy studied the other boy for a long moment. “So I hear,” he said.

“Could you… The dog…”

Billy hesitated for a few seconds, then stooped down to rub Barney’s ears. “Be cool, Barney. Let’s hear what the dude has to say for himself?’

“How come you know who I am?” asked Nathan.

Billy snorted out a chuckle. “You’re in deep shit, man. Everybody knows who you are. You were on Nightline last night.”

Nathan’s eyebrows shot up as he felt a rush of pride. You had to be somebody to get on Nightline. Hell, the president had been on Nightline! Then again, so had Charles Manson.

“What’d they say about me?”

Billy shrugged. “Half the world thinks you’re a murderer and the other half thinks you’re some kind of hero.”

“I’m no hero,” Nathan said, shaking his head. “But I’m no murderer either.”

For the first time, Billy made long eye contact with Nathan. Billy had adult’s eyes, Nathan saw. They were the eyes of someone who’d seen his own share of adversity; hard and warm at the same time.

“Until this morning I might have agreed with you, bro. But those dead cops they found last night didn’t keel over from heart attacks. How do you explain that?”

“I didn’t kill anyone!” Nathan declared, missing Billy’s use of the plural. “A cop killed that cop. Then he tried to kill me.” It took a few minutes to tell the story. Billy seemed to accept it as fact.

“So, who killed the second cop?” Billy asked at the end. Nathan scowled. “What second cop?”

Billy explained.

Nathan gasped and sank slowly to the floor. He ran a hand through his greasy hair. “Oh, shit, they think I did all that?”

Billy nodded. “Yep. And they’re talking serious shit about not letting you get away with it.” Then he laughed. “Like they were just gonna let you get away with killing the guy in Virginia. You did kill that one, right?”

“Yeah… well, not until he tried to kill me.”

Billy’s attitude turned suddenly skeptical. “So how come everybody’s trying to kill you?”

Nathan tossed his hands in the air. “Damned if I know. It’s worse than that. Not everybody is trying to kill me, only cops.” “Who’d you piss off?”

“I don’t know! But I sure did a good job of it.”

Another long silence followed. “What are you gonna do next?” Billy finally asked.

Nathan studied the other boy before answering. “I don’t know. What are you gonna do?”

“Well, I ain’t gonna call the heat, if that’s what you mean. Too many of them suckers around here as it is.”

Nathan considered his next question for a long time before asking it. “Can I hide in your place for the day?”

Billy’s answer came easily, as though he’d been anticipating the request. “Sure, why not?” he said. “Don’t got much to eat, but we got a TV and I got some games and stuff?”

Nathan winced. “Watching TV’s gotten pretty depressing for me recently?”

Billy laughed again. “I bet.”

“What time is it?” asked Nathan.

Billy shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. It was about eight-fifteen when I came downstairs. Why? You got an appointment?”

Nathan smiled and shook his head. “No, but come ten o’clock I got a phone call to make.”

By the time Warren arrived at the Pitcairn County Sheriff’s Office, the place was a media circus, with satellite trucks parked nose-to-tail down the last quarter-mile of Main Street. Approaching the front entrance, he saw two network reporters whom he recognized from the evening news broadcasts. Jesus, he thought. They’re bringing their New York staffs into this thing.

His gold badge granted him unimpeded access into the building, through the crowds of reporters and citizens. Just as he opened the glass doors to enter, one of the reporters recognized him and called his name. Warren didn’t even break stride.

The first face he saw belonged to Petrelli, who was already holding court in the hallway, issuing instructions to people over whom he had no authority, but who nevertheless seemed to be listening. Warren could tell from the body language alone that he was in the middle of one of his “let’s-go-out-and-get-’em” Knute Rockne pep talks.

With too little sleep to his credit and way too much caffeine in his system, Warren knew he was ill-prepared to encounter Petrelli just then, and he tried to become invisible as he passed the crowd. It didn’t work.

“Lieutenant Michaels!” Petrelli called in his most officious tone. “Can you come here a minute, please?”

Warren stopped, sighed, and then worked his way through the knot of police officers to stand next to Petrelli.

“This is Detective Lieutenant Warren Michaels,” Petrelli announced to the group. “Notwithstanding a bit of trouble getting a handle on this particular case, the lieutenant is one of Braddock County’s finest police officers. I’ve asked him to travel here to New York to assist in our efforts to catch Nathan Bailey.”

Warren shot a withering look at Petrelli. Nobody had asked Warren to do anything. He was in Pitcairn County of his own volition, and he was none too certain how the chief was going to respond when he heard.

“Sorry about fumbling the ball, there, J.,” Michaels mumbled, just loud enough for Petrelli to hear. “We can’t all be as successful as you’ve been these last few days?’ This was Petrelli at his finest: center stage, big case, hungry audience, and manufacturing facts at will.

A pro at selective hearing, Petrelli ignored the comment. “We all know what’s at stake here,” he concluded. “Now let’s work together to stop this animal before he can hurt anyone else.”

“Have we got the green light to take him out if we have to?” asked one of the deputies. He looked maybe twenty years old. “I mean, he’s just a kid. I don’t want to have to spend the rest of my career in a courtroom if it comes down to him and me and I win.”

The rumbling murmur through the crowd indicated that it was a shared sentiment.

Petrelli was ready. “I’ve said all along that I think we should treat this monster as an adult. Clearly, he’s capable of unspeakable violence. But that’s really not my call to make, Deputy. Sheriff Murphy’s got to make that decision.”

All eyes turned toward a bald, heavyset man standing on the other side of Petrelli from Michaels. Till now, the man had looked distracted, as though his mind were elsewhere, like a platoon leader who’d just lost his troops in combat. With attention now focused on him, Murphy set his jaw and faced his men.

“Two wonderful families lost fine husbands and fathers this morning,” he said softly. Though barely audible, his voice was the very essence of strength. The hallway grew silent as he spoke. “Those men were friends of mine, colleagues of yours. A murderer took these peace officers from us in cold blood, and I have no intention of seeing him take any more. To answer your question, Deputy, yes, you have the green light. If you feel threatened, you take him out.”