Rushville looked worse when you returned to it.
From the passenger seat of Barry's car, John Stewart watched a pair of workers carry broken furniture out of a building that had once been somebody's home. New construction barriers lined the street, and several storefronts remained boarded up. The town was trying to move forward, but the destruction left by the Manhunter had made that difficult.
John rested his head against the seat and exhaled through his nose.
"Three weeks ago, I was trying to get as far away from this place as possible. Now I'm sitting in a car with a CSI, watching the Macon family fall apart all over again. I should have known this town wasn't going to let me leave it alone."
Barry kept his eyes on the building across the street. "You don't have to enjoy being here. We just need to find out whether there's something we missed."
"That's easy for you to say. You didn't watch this place get torn apart. You weren't the one who had to deal with Zoe, Hal, and everything that happened afterward." John shifted in his seat, frustration creeping into his voice. "And now Hal's in prison, William is dead, Zoe is dead, and Billy is left trying to figure out what remains of his family. I don't particularly enjoy coming back here to investigate people who have already lost enough."
Barry glanced at him. "I understand that. But if there's another Manhunter out there, leaving the investigation alone won't make the possibility disappear. We need to know what happened, not because we want to blame someone else, but because we can't afford to overlook another threat."
John looked across the street.
Billy Macon sat alone on a bench outside a small building near the ranch entrance. His shoulders were hunched, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. He wore a dark jacket, and his eyes remained fixed on the ground as people passed around him. Nobody stopped to speak with him.
He looked like a man who had run out of things to say.
John followed Barry's gaze. "That's Billy. His father and Zoe were killed during the Rushville disaster. Whatever you think of the Macons, losing both of them in the same incident would leave anybody struggling."
"I know." Barry studied Billy for another moment before reaching for the folder resting between the seats. "I've also been thinking about what you told me regarding Kerry."
John's expression tightened. "Kerry isn't your Manhunter. I made sure you understood that before we came here, and Hal confirmed it. Whatever her history with Zoe, she's human. She was involved in protecting Zoe, but that doesn't make her one of the Guardians' creations."
"Agreed. We can take her off the list of potential Manhunters." Barry flipped through the papers. "That leaves Billy and Noah as the two people whose family connections deserve closer examination."
John shook his head. "You're still working from the assumption that one of them has to be a Manhunter. Billy is a lawyer. Noah is a kid who plays football. Their family has secrets, but so does everybody in this town. You're going to have to give me something more convincing than their last name."
"I'm not saying their backgrounds prove anything. I'm saying the evidence hasn't given me a reason to dismiss them." Barry tapped the folder against his knee. "There's another problem. Manhunters are creations of the Guardians. They're manufactured, not born. If we're dealing with another one hiding among humans, there has to be an explanation for how it got here and how it managed to remain undetected."
John turned toward him. "Which means Billy and Noah shouldn't even be candidates if their histories are accurate."
"Exactly. Unless something happened that we don't know about. Someone could have been replaced, their records could have been fabricated, or the technology involved could be capable of something we haven't seen before." Barry paused, considering the possibilities. "I'm not saying any of those things happened. I'm saying we shouldn't assume a convincing human history settles the question."
John stared at him for a moment, then looked back toward Billy.
"I hate that you're making sense."
Barry gave him a faint smile. "I get that a lot."
"No, you don't."
"Not usually, no."
John opened the car door and stepped outside. He straightened his jacket, then looked back at Barry through the open window.
"I'm going to speak with Kerry. She's the sheriff, and she knows this family better than either of us. I want to make sure we're not walking into something we don't understand. You stay here for a few minutes, and don't start questioning Billy while he's sitting there trying to put his life back together."
Barry raised both hands. "I can be patient. I'll sit here, observe, and avoid doing anything that might make this investigation more complicated."
John gave him a skeptical look before shutting the door.
Barry watched him walk toward the sheriff's office. Then he turned his attention to Billy again.
The man hadn't moved much. Every so often, he rubbed his palms together or looked toward the ranch, as if expecting someone to emerge from the entrance. Barry knew very little about him beyond the information in the case file. Billy had lost his father and stepmother, his marriage had fallen apart, and the town he'd grown up in had been devastated by an event he couldn't simply put behind him.
Barry knew what loss could do to a person. He had lost his parents once, and even though his own circumstances had eventually changed, the memory of that grief had never become something he could dismiss.
He opened the car door and stepped out.
John had told him not to question Billy, and Barry had no intention of turning the man's grief into an interrogation. He crossed the street at an ordinary pace, keeping his hands visible, then approached the bench.
Billy noticed him when he was a few steps away. His eyes lifted briefly before returning to the ground.
Barry stopped beside the bench. "Mind if I sit here for a minute? I won't keep you long."
Billy shifted slightly, leaving space.
Barry sat down beside him, leaving enough distance that he wouldn't crowd the grieving man. For a while, he said nothing. The sound of passing traffic filled the silence, along with the distant noise of workers clearing debris from a damaged building.
Eventually, Barry spoke.
"I'm sorry for your loss. I know those words probably don't mean much when you're the one left dealing with everything, but I wanted you to hear them anyway."
Billy's hands tightened together.
Barry looked out toward the street rather than forcing him to meet his eyes. "I lost my parents once. I know what it's like to have the people who made your life feel familiar suddenly gone, leaving you trying to figure out how you're supposed to keep moving. Everyone else carries on with their lives, but you're still trying to understand how yours became something you barely recognize."
He paused, allowing the words to settle without demanding a response.
"I'm not going to pretend I know exactly what you're going through. Everybody handles loss differently, and I won't tell you there's some simple way to get past it. I just know what it's like to sit with that feeling and wonder how everything changed so quickly."
Billy finally turned his head toward him. His expression remained guarded, but the emptiness in his eyes had shifted into something more attentive.
Barry offered a small, sympathetic smile.
"I'm Barry Allen, by the way."