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At approximately 9 A.M. on Friday, March 11, Brian Nichols, a defendant in a rape and sodomy case in Atlanta, overpowered the deputy who was guarding him, stole her gun, and then allegedly shot the judge who presided over his case. Before fleeing the courthouse, he also shot the court recorder. On the street, a sheriff's deputy pursued him. In front of several witnesses, Nichols turned and shot the deputy five times. In less time than it takes to seat a jury, he killed three people in cold blood.

Nichols entered a downtown parking garage, and for the next half hour he became a serial carjacker, stealing a tow truck and two cars and pistol-whipping a local newspaper reporter, the owner of the second car, a green Honda Accord.

The local news stations interrupted programming for the rest of the day, devoting coverage to a manhunt for the killer in the Honda who was now terrorizing the city. I found myself glued to the television, deciding my errands could wait. I feared parking lots—they are prime carjacking locations in Atlanta.

I was relieved that my son's school had already planned an early dismissal. When I picked him up, I found the school was on restricted lockdown. Extra teachers were monitoring the carpool lines. As I waited in line, I listened to radio reports of false sightings of Nichols. He could be anywhere.

As I drove home, I studied cars and drivers.

I parked in the garage and closed the doors, not something I usually did. My husband called and said the streets near his office were closed and his building was on lockdown. The fear settled in my stomach. Constant broadcasts kept me fixated in front of the TV for the afternoon. Where could he be?

During the 11 P.M. news, reporters announced police had found the green Honda, but not Brian Nichols. The trail had grown cold. No one knew where Nichols was or how he was traveling. Had he carjacked someone else? Had he driven to another state? Was he hiding in plain sight?

I went to bed, and at 2 A.M. I awoke to the sound of my 10-year-old crying. A nightmare about Nichols had disrupted his sleep. He'd seen more of the television coverage than I realized. I let him crawl in bed with me.

The next morning I turned on the television. Two visitors to Atlanta had been mugged Friday night near a local mall. According to the police, the victims were sure the perpetrator was Nichols.

Police began to trace Nichols's movements through the night when they found another body. This time it was an Immigration and Customs agent. He had been working alone on his new house. The agent's gun and badge were missing, along with his blue truck. I worried about my son's baseball practice in a few hours. Where was Nichols? What would stop him?

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