Nick

Paula Reese, sharply dressed, thirty-four year old businesswoman is striding through the crowded New York sidewalk, returning to her office after an important business lunch. Paula just made a big deal, and the spring in her step makes her forget about the uncomfortable high heel shoes she is wearing. Paula is walking with her held high, shoulders back, her stride with purpose. Seemingly nothing can break-a her stride. That is, until a buzz swarms through the sea of pedestrians around her. There seems to be some sort of commotion up ahead, and the crowd, like a flock of sparrows, all move forward in unison.

Paula turns to a young man with shaggy brown hair and a corduroy sports jacket, and she asks him, “What is it? What’s going on?”

The guy with the shaggy hair shrugs and continues, lock-step with the crowd. Car horns begin beeping in the distance, and the crowd slows, the people forming a large semicircle on the sidewalk. People muttering and buzzing with excitement.

Paula uses her new confidence to cut through the crowd to the front edge, as if belonging there. After all, that’s what her boss, John Thompson told her: When in doubt, just act like you belong there. Paula looks up at the surrounding high-rise buildings, spotting countless people peering from their offices, their faces pressed to the glass windows.

Paula is now beside a young man with sunglasses, a backward hat, and earbuds cranking a deep buzzing base rift. “What is this?” Paula asks him.

“Huh?” the man says, yanking the buds from his ears, his base rift now a clear thudding.

“What’s going on?” Paula says.

The young man nods his head, gesturing across the street.

Paula spots the camera crew. The spotlights. The sound booms. Then she spots him. The most recognizable face on television. Nick Bishop. He is good looking, the gray around his temples only now starting to spread further into his dark hair. But today he looks more tired than usual.

The beeping horns intensify as cars crawl by, drivers rubbernecking.

Paula turns to the young man with the earbuds, “Uh-oh, who’s the unlucky person?”

Across the street, Nick is saying something to a man wearing a headset and the man in the headset scrambles about, talking quickly into the mouthpiece. The cameras turn toward the crowd, and a panicked murmur breaks out amongst the crowd, each person looking at the people around him and her, some craning their necks as if looking for someone in particular.

Paula says, “Who’s the—?”

The buzz runs through the crowd like a wave at a stadium, people turning their heads in one direction. Their heads turn toward Paula, and then the crowd, as one, steps away from her.

Paula has a sudden realization, and she begins to plead with the crowd, “What are…? No, wait… It’s not me.”

But the people continue to move away from her, looks of sympathy and thrilled anticipation upon their faces.

“It’s not me. Please. It’s not me.” Paul says. She darts toward another woman in a business suit. The woman flinches. Paula saying to the woman, “Please. It’s not me.”

The woman in the business suit says, “But he’s never wrong.”

Paula reels around at the crowd, begging them for assurance, but none can offer it. She begins backing away from them as they back away from her, Paula almost falling off the sidewalk as she steps into the street. She turns toward Nick and calls to him, “You got it wrong. You got it all wrong.”

Nick lowers his eyes, saying something to the man wearing the headset again.

Paula rants and strides in circles, raving at the passing cars. “It’s not me.”

At this moment, a man named Toby Strunk is driving his car by the ruckus, craning his neck to watch the camera crews. He doesn’t notice Paula ranting. And as Paula reels around, screaming and pleading, she trips in front of Toby’s car. The crowd cringes, gasping, some looking away as Toby’s tires drive over Paula, crushing her body.

Toby stops the car. The crowd is silent. Toby gasps, looking around, noticing Nick Bishop walking slowly from across the street toward his car. Toby says, “Oh, shit.” He then leaps from his car and darts to the front of his vehicle as Nick steps before him. Toby looks down at Paula’s broken body, then up at Nick. Toby saying, “I didn’t even see her.”

Nick tells him, “It’s not your fault.” He turns and looks at the crowd. They cheer.

Generally, he’d throw his arms up with showman exuberance, but now, he looks at the crowd as if seeing a crowd like this for the first time. He looks at Toby. Toby still staring down at Paula— her eyes open, blood trickling from her open mouth. The camera crew is suddenly blocking his view as they get a good close-up of the woman for the television audience.

Nick looks across the street at the man in the headset, his producer Brent Parker. Brent gives him a thumbs-up as the crowd of onlookers begin to disperse and continue on with their lives.

The camera turns from the woman and onto Nick. He says into the camera,“ Welcome to Death Watch.”

To Be Continued