Nathan's Run (1996) Read Online Free Page B

blood. Lots and lots of blood. Ricky's blood.
    In an instant, his hunger disappeared, replaced with an urgent need to go to the bathroom. He found one in the main hall, across from the stairs, with exactly no time to spare. In the darkness, he purged his bowels with a single liquid blast.
    Finished, Nathan closed the door and flipped on the wall switch. With no windows in the bathroom, he could safely turn on a light. The image of the boy in the mirror frightened him. That boy looked sixty years old. His eyes were dark hollows, one of them severely swollen. His blond hair was brown with grime and matted to his head, pushed in every direction. He looked frail in the drooping coveralls, the shoulders of the garment hanging nearly halfway to his elbows. And the blood. He was soaked in it. When he moved, little chips of coagulated blood flaked off like powder and drifted to the floor.
    Using both hands, Nathan pulled the lapels of the coveralls apart and ripped the zipper from its stitching. More than anything else in the world, he wanted out of those clothes. He moved quickly and clumsily, as though the prison uniform were covered with spiders. With his shoulders clear, he dropped the collar to the floor and quick-marched free of the pantlegs.
    There was blood on his underpants, too, which he ripped off and tossed onto the pile. Staring at the mess on the floor as though it were some kind of beast, he retreated into the corner near the bathtub. He crouched in a ball near the floor, wondering how he was going to get past the pile of clothes without touching it.
    It still was not off of him! Ricky's blood had soaked all the way through his clothes and stained his skin. His skin.
    Nathan jumped to his feet. With one hand he tore open the shower curtain, while the other turned the shower knob all the way to hot. He didn't even wait for the water to run warm before he stepped inside and closed the curtain.
    At first the frigid water took his breath away, cleared his mind. Nathan stood unmoving as the water pelted his face, moving past warm and into hot. Not until he felt that he would be scalded did he reach out to normalize the temperature. He found a bar of soap in the dish and slowly, deliberately began to wash away the nightmare. Behind closed eyes, he tried to revel in the simple pleasure of the hot water, a privilege he had been so long denied. But the darkness brought demons instead.
    The image of Ricky Harris lurked behind Nathan's eyelids. He watched the man die all over again. Nathan saw his own hands covering the hole in Ricky's belly, trying desperately to slow down the bright red spurts, only to have them leak through his fingers. Nathan replayed the horrible sounds that Ricky made; the horrid gurgling, choking sound as he sought a breath that wouldn't come.
    Then he saw Ricky's eyes, angry and frightened. He felt Ricky's bloody hand around his throat . . . .
    The pictures stopped when Nathan opened his eyes. As the water and grime ran down his body and swirled into the drain, he wiggled his toes in the soapy froth and tried to smile. A smile makes the saddest man a little happier, his father used to say, but had he ever felt this much sadness?
    "God, I miss you:' Nathan said aloud, his voice a whisper. He turned his face toward the ceiling. "I'm in so much trouble, Dad. Please help me. You've got to help me."
    The emotions Nathan had fought so long to control broke free all at once. He started to cry, silently at first, and then, dropping his chin to his chest and covering his eyes with his palms, he gave in to long, miserable sobs.
    Outside, a hard summer rain pounded heavily, providing nourishment for the ground, swelling creeks to their banks, and forever washing away the trail of a frightened twelve-year-old boy.

    Chapter 7
    Men me what we know, Jed," Michaels invited, leaning back in his i squeaky vinyl desk chair. It was morning again, the day after the Fourth of July, and Michaels wore a lightweight khaki suit