For Richard Kimble, the mind’s eye is always open. Scanning the nightmare landscape for his pursuers. He wakes from brief dreams of tomorrow’s reprieve, but they are only dreams and he runs on.
Parking attendant: a job for food and shelter, a place for rest. Another temporary haven for a man on the run. Richard Kimble, known in this place and to these people as Bill Garrison.
Safe, for one more night. Richard Kimble continues along the twin paths of the hunter and the hunted. Continues along, without the knowledge that either road will lead to freedom.
Wyler City, a rugged frontier town in the mining country of northern Montana. To the ordinary man, a place where he can test himself against the harsh demands of nature. To the Fugitive, a corridor of danger.
A fugitive’s life is not measured in years. It is measured in moments won, a day gained. Richard Kimble has won another day. Tomorrow, he must win it all over again.
Big cities breed indifference to the problems of others. But some men cannot remain detached--men like Richard Kimble--and involvement can lead to danger.
A fugitive lives with many emotions. Hope, gratitude, loneliness. But among the emotions, one stands out: fear, and every day it’s embedded a little deeper. Each step taken a little faster as the contest continues to take its toll.
Richard Kimble, fugitive, for whom there are no neutrals, only enemies or friends. To such a man, a stranger's whim, a decision to lend a helping hand, means the difference between freedom or death.
To Richard Kimble, the fugitive, the respite of love is brief: the end of love, a necessity of survival. In flight from the numberless enemy, darkness and loneliness are harsh but sheltering friends.
A fugitive, if he is innocent, is sustained by hope. It is more necessary to him than food or shelter. But, paradoxically, the greater the promise of that hope, the more agonizing it becomes.
For Richard Kimble, a moment of safety ends, and the long search must continue. For he knows, the only true sanctuary lies in the elusive proof of his innocence.
For Richard Kimble, a squawking radio phone has become a warm voice, a sympathetic human contact, a release--if only for a while--from the terrible ache of loneliness.
Barbara’s sentence will come finally to an end. But for Richard Kimble, there is no calendar on which to mark the days. Loneliness once again stretches ahead, is apparently endless as the city streets.
For some people, a railroad terminal is a weight station on a journey. For Richard Kimble, the Fugitive, every escape route can be a trap, every move an unforeseen step toward capture.
A fugitive is a man in exile. A woman’s love can remain with him only long enough to remind him of his loss. For Richard Kimble, it is the price of freedom.
