Short Story

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In the Details

James McNally

 

Nathan Colby walked with his head down as he made his way through the alleyway near his home. He walked that way because of Billy Shaw. He’d been an ordinary kid waking through the halls at school, looking where he was going and enjoying himself, when he saw Billy standing there with his fly down. It made him laugh. “See something funny, jerk?” Billy asked.

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“Your fly is down.” He snorted a laugh but immediately realized his mistake. Billy was one of the popular kids, and didn’t like being laughed at by a loser like Nathan. Trying to disappear into the crowd, Nathan slunk away.

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Billy wouldn’t have it. Once his red face faded, and he had zipped his fly, he flew at Nathan, knocking his books out of his hands. He shoved Nathan to the ground. Then Billy walked away, bragging to his friends.  After that, Nathan found it easier to get through the hallways if he didn’t look at the other students.

 

His head was down when he came out of the alleyway, and if he had continued to keep his head down, only looking at the ground directly in front of his feet, he might not have seen what he saw; but he looked up and saw the murder.

 

The knife flew out in an arc, glinting in the sunlight, and caught the second man in the throat. Nathan watched, too scared to move, as the injured man clamped a hand over the wound, but it did no good. Blood flowed freely through his fingers. The victim turned his gaze from his attacker to Nathan, watery eyes begging for help.

 

Nathan shivered. His skin suddenly felt cold, but still a light sheen of sweat broke out all over his body. He saw the man with the knife turn and approach him, but his legs refused to obey. Run, run away. But still he stood in place as the attacker came for him. He tried to form lifesaving words, but he couldn’t get enough wind behind them to utter the sounds.

 

The injured man dropped to his knees, and the man with the knife stopped to look back. The dying man folded over and lay quivering in a puddle of his own blood.

 

People in stores, and who had been otherwise busy with their own lives, began to scurry over and see what the commotion was. The attacker turned, gave a warning glance at Nathan, then fled in the other direction.

His paralysis broke as other people started to arrive, but still he couldn’t run away. People crowded around him. He heard their voices, but couldn’t make out the meaning of their words. certain words did ring out with jarring clarity.

 

“In shock.”

 

“Ambulance…”

 

His knees gave out and he toppled, but hands—strong and comforting—caught him. They helped him down into a sitting position. His body shook as he looked around at the people hovering above him. They looked like disconnected heads—balloons—floating in the air around him. He couldn’t make out any of their faces. His vision swam in and out of focus. I’m going to pass out. More hands caught him before he hit his head on the sidewalk.

 

“Someone get the kid a soda. He’s in shock. Maybe the sugar will help him. He needs to focus when the cops come.”

 

Cops? He shivered again.

 

“Give a statement—”

 

“—could have been him—”

 

After a moment, someone slapped a cold can of Pepsi in his hand. He struggled to open the top, so someone helped him. He closed his eyes and took a long swallow from the can. As he lowered the can. Ah, refreshing. And the sugar helped him focus. He could already feel his tense muscles relaxing.

 

When the police arrived on the scene, he felt his muscles tensing up again. The first cop to arrive was a rookie, and he cried out when he saw the body.

 

“Oh my God. I’ve never seen anything like this, oh God.  Oh God—”

 

The cop quickly composed himself, however, and directed the crowd to back away from the scene. When help arrived, the second cop took him into the back of the police cruiser. Other policemen cordoned off the crime scene as he watched from the back seat.

 

“Help me out son, did you see who did this, or not?”

 

When he realized the cop had been talking to him, his rheumy eyes focused on the face of the cop squatting down in front of him.

 

He took a sip of the soda. “Yes, I saw him.”

 

The cop stood, wiped sweat from his palms onto his pant legs, and then squatted back down again. “This is great. We’ve been after this guy for months. You’re the first lead we’ve had in this case. Tell me what you saw.”

 

He took another sip from his soda, using its sweet taste to ground him, clearing his head. He focused on the cop. “He was a tall man, with short, brown hair. He was clean-shaven. And he had a tattoo on his left arm.”

 

The radio on the cop’s uniform squawked, and he reached for it, turned it off.

 

“What else, kid?”

 

Nathan lifted the can to his lips. His hand shook but he managed to take a swig of the drink anyway. “Should I be talking to you without my parents present? I’m a minor.”

 

The cop let out a raspy laugh that turned into a phlegmy cough. “You’re a witness, not a suspect. You don’t need your parents for that.”

 

“Oh.” Nathan took another drink.

 

“Now, what else can you tell me?”

 

Nathan thought for a moment. His eyes widened as another detail came to him. “He had big round eyes and a big nose, like the beak of a bird. And crooked teeth; teeth that looked rotten. He snarled at me; that’s when I saw his teeth.”

 

“Okay, good.” The cop scribbled on his pad. He stood up and glanced around. “Someone call in a sketch artist for me. This kid got a really good look at the perp.”

 

He stretched out in the back of the police cruiser as he waited for the sketch artist. He watched as the body of the victim was taken away. A female cop covered the puddle of blood in sawdust from a burlap sack. It was all so clinical.

 

This is how order is maintained. Nathan managed a little half-smile at the thought.

 

The sketch artist arrived and set up a little easel next to the car door where Nathan sat. He greeted Nathan with a handshake and a smile.

 

“My name’s Tim,” he said. “What’s your name?”

 

He thought the guy probably already knew his name, and was simply making small talk, but he said his name anyway.

 

“Nice to meet you. Mind if I call you Nate?”

 

No one calls me that. “All right.”

 

“So all this attention must be pretty exciting, huh, Nate?”

 

“I guess.” In truth, he was enjoying the attention. His father never showed this much interest in him at home, and he would prefer not to receive it in school. He had started the day trying to avoid drawing attention to himself, and now practically the entire neighborhood and half the police force focused only on him.

 

Yeah, he was enjoying the attention.

 

“Should we get started then? Tell me about the eyes.”

 

“They were small eyes. Beady little squinty eyes. And his nose was small, too. And a little crooked, like it had been broken before.”

 

“An interesting detail. Thank you for remembering that.”

 

Nathan tried to think of what other facial characteristics he could make up. “He had bushy black eyebrows and a scar above his right eye.”

 

The sketch artist allowed Nathan to look at what he had drawn so far. “How does this look?”

He studied the picture. He tried to imagine the real person the picture was supposed to represent. The shape of the head was too close to the real thing. “He had a more oval shaped face, and side burns.”

The artist made a few corrections and showed him the picture again.

 

He almost laughed.

 

He hadn’t realized it until now, but he had been describing his math teacher, Mr. Ogden. He added the last few details that ensured the picture looked just like his teacher. When they were finished, the artist thanked him and allowed him to return to the on-duty officer.

 

“How did it go?” the cop asked the sketch artist.

 

“Very informative. He has an amazing memory.” The artist held out the sketch.

 

The cop smiled. “So this is our infamous killer. I think this is the break we’ve been waiting for. Thank you, young sir.”

 

He tried not to let his smile waver. He felt bad for misleading them, but what was done was done. He couldn’t tell them the truth.

 

“Oh, one more thing.” The cop gripped him by the shoulder before he could bolt, and he gasped.

 

“You seem tense.” The cop squeezed his shoulder. “Should we have you see a psychologist? This was a very traumatic experience for you.”

 

Nathan took in a deep, cleansing breath. “No, I think I’m okay. You wanted to know something else?”

 

The cop let go of Nathan’s shoulder. “Ah, yes. You mentioned he had a tattoo on his arm. Do you think you could describe that, too?”

 

The artist flipped his sketch pad to a clean sheet.

 

Nathan flicked his gazed quickly from the cop to the artist, and back to the cop again. “Oh, that. I think what I saw was a shadow across his arm, not a tattoo. Besides, he had on a long sleeve shirt. I forgot.”

 

The cop’s brow furrowed.

 

Nathan took a step back, ready to run if the cop tried to grab him again. They figured out I’m lying.  He felt cold again, convinced he would hauled off to jail.

The artist closed his sketch pad. “If there won’t be anything else, I’m going to get this out on the wire, get it circulating.”

 

The cop nodded and the artist walked away.

 

The cop turned to Nathan again, head lowered. “You sure you told us everything you know?”

 

Sweat beaded up on his forehead. He tried not to reach up and draw attention to it, but as it rolled down his face it tickled his skin, and he thought he would go mad. The cop continued to study him.

 

Finally, the cop laughed. Nathan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

 

“Do you need a ride home or anything?”

 

“No, sir. I can walk. Can I go now?”

 

“Yes, but before you do I want you to go see that pretty lady officer over there and give her your name and address. We might have questions for you later.”

 

“Okay, sir.” Nathan walked slowly, heading toward the female officer. He checked to see if the cop was still watching him. When another officer demanded the cop’s attention and he turned away, Nathan bolted.

 

He ran down an alleyway to another street and then cut over to the opposite side and ran down another alley. He didn’t stop to look back until he had weaved in and out of five different streets. Heaving, he leaned against a brick building and waited to see if he had been followed. Confident no one was in pursuit, he finished his walk home at a leisurely pace.

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He walked up the front walk of his house and ascended the porch steps. He entered the house through the screen door and stood in the cool interior. He waited.

 

After a moment, he found his voice. “Dad, I’m home.”

 

Nathan’s dad strolled down the stairs to the living room where Nathan stood.

 

“You’re late.” His dad’s voice was gruff. “What kept you so late?”

 

“I had to talk to the police. About what I saw today.”

 

“What is it you think you saw?”

 

“I saw someone get killed. They wanted me to describe the killer.”

 

His father gripped the railing so tight his knuckles turned white. “And did you? Did you give them what they wanted? Did you describe the killer?”

 

“I lied to them.” He stared into his father’s large, wide eyes. He moved his gaze to his father’s large beak of a nose, then settled on the tattoo running down his father’s left arm. He focused in on the spots of blood covering the dingy white muscle shirt.

 

He and his father stared at each other for a moment longer, before the man turned and headed back up the stairs to finish cleaning himself up.