Gil doesn't see a familiar ten-year-old with a knife running through the streets of Gloucester. No, he sees Malcolm, adult and wild with panic, and he swears under his breath. He's not as fast as the kid by a long shot, but he still hauls himself into a run, calling out with the commanding tone that usually works on Malcolm. When he's panicking, anyway. When he's not panicking, no tone in the world will get him to pay attention when he doesn't want to.

"Malcolm! Stop!"