Jacob had become completely numb, not even realizing when he got to the police station. He was seated at a small desk, Deborah's presumably, sitting in silence as a veritable mob of onlookers and other potential witnesses were brought in to piece together what they had observed. The station was a madhouse, filled with the dreadful din of the panic-stricken witnesses, but Jacob remained utterly detached. With hands in his lap and eyes on the floor, he tried to make sense of what had just happened, replaying the day from the moment he got up to his present situation. Nothing seemed amiss--everything had been par for the course. His uncle had been his usual, clumsy self nearly setting the room on fire--ok, bad analogy, but nothing felt like things should have taken a turn like this. Had his uncle even made it to the apartment before then? If not, then where in the blazes...again with the analogies.

  Off to the side, Deborah stepped out of the interrogation room, needing a moment. Several of the witnesses were people she had known since she was small, all of whom had lost so much. There was a personal stake for her, too. This had been the apartment where Deborah grew up with her family when the boardwalk still thrived. Accepting this harsh reality was difficult, as another piece of her childhood vanished, but her concerns didn't compare to what must have been going on in Jacob's head. The rubble was still being investigated, but so far no bodies had been found—in fact, casualties were at a minimum. From the preliminary investigation, it appeared an anonymous bomb threat had been called in before the blaze. There were several burn victims and various smaller injuries, but the warning granted enough time for everyone to escape. Still, that begged the question of where Jacob's uncle was.

  At that moment, Commissioner Doyle, a balding man two decades past his prime, entered the room with a sullen look beneath his walrus mustache and a glint in his glass eye. He was a man built for slow days and quiet offices. The fact that it wasn't even lunchtime yet and the entire office was in a dreadful uproar promised to show the ugliest side of the least pleasant-looking man in the entire precinct. Trailing behind was the acting chief of the station, Merideth Wimple, a petite redhead who appeared on the verge of throwing up, fainting, and dying all at once.

  "Detective Sackett!" the commissioner seethed as he marched over. "Why is it whenever I have an overwhelming migraine, you always seem to be the first thing I see?"

  Deborah rolled her eyes, and she adopted a relaxed stance.

  "Good morning to you too, Harry."

  "Don't take that tone of voice with me, detective! He struck again, didn't he? The LowTown Bomber! You promised me you were on his trail and that he'd blown his last fuse!"

  Another eye roll.

  "Cops don't make promises, Harry. You taught me that during the academy. Besides, for all we know, this isn't the bomber at work."

  "Anonymous phone call, minimum casualties, starting the fire to weaken the supports before detonation for a clean fall: that's the bomber's MO clean and simple."

  He had her there. This criminal--she refused to even think of the corny name scripted by the local paper--had made several hits in the last six months, but it was always the same: only collateral damage and minimal injuries. The caller was always using a voice synthesizer, making identification impossible, especially on the station's budget. Whenever they managed to get a trace of him it always went to a payphone with no signs of evidence. The targets also appeared random, and they appeared to have no strategic value for destruction. Deborah assumed this was why the FBI was never brought in, though she had other concerns about that potential dilemma.

  "Was the call traced?" she finally asked, though she already knew the answer.

  "To a payphone in Midtown near the library," Chief Merideth piped in. "No witnesses, and cameras were down."

  "Another power surge I'm assuming." Deborah mused. "Meaning he can't be working alone."

  "Well, that's more than we had before," Merideth added cheerily.

  "Well ain't that just the bee's knees?" the commissioner growled spitefully. "Once we thought we were just dealing with one maniac, now we've got two?"

  "We might have an idea on who one of them is, though," Merideth went on. "Many of the witnesses mentioned a man that's been causing a ruckus the last couple of months, and several say he was the last person to enter the building before the call went out."

  Deborah's blood ran cold. No, surely they didn't mean...

  "YOU!!!"

  The outraged cry made all three law enforcers jump when a swarthy-looking man, the building superintendent if Deborah recalled correctly, made a beeline for Jacob while swatting away restraining officers. He had grabbed the aloof youth, literally shaking him back to reality.

  "YOU AND THAT UNCLE OF YOURS!!! YOU'VE RUINED ME! I PUT EVERYTHING IN THAT PLACE! MY GRANDCHILDREN LIVED THERE! ALL GONE THANKS TO YOU AND THAT CRACKPOT LARAMIE! YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS, ALL OF THIS, I SWEAR! BY CASH OR BY BLOOD!!!"

  A pair of officers managed to grab him and yank him away, but the damage had been done. Jacob was now locked into the commissioner's vision, and his gaze was questioning. Deborah tried to step around, hoping to fix him up, when Chief Meredith spoke up.

  "Laramie. I think that's the name of the man from the witness reports. Come to think of it, that's a name that's been bounced around a lot, lately. A number of complaints about him borrowing large amounts of money as well as pilfering parts from the junkyard and dumpsters. Several have called for his arrest, though there has been no straight evidence of wrongdoing prior."

  "Is that so?" the commissioner hummed before looking to Jacob.

  "Now hold on!" Deborah quickly cut in while stepping into his path. "I won't deny a pattern when it forms, but this is all circumstantial."

  "Is it?" the commissioner growled. "You said he's from Lowtown, right? He even looks like the typical gutter trash you'd find down there."

  Deborah's eyes narrowed angrily.

  "Sir, with all due respect, I was born in Lowtown."

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  "Then you know how that garbage thinks. Take him to an interrogation room and get what you can out of him. That's a direct order."

  There were several ways Deborah knew she could legally fight this, but that all required time she didn't presently have. The commissioner was clearly out for blood. If she didn't do this he would take over, and this was a man not revered for a gentle touch. She shot a look over at Jacob, the poor boy positively bedraggled and looking ready to bolt for the door at any moment. If nothing else, maybe she could calm him down, and, if she could, get some information that could at least point her in the right direction. She nonetheless sent an emergency text on her phone before taking the boy by the hand. Still numb and understandably mortified, Jacob offered no resistance into the room. It was only when he sat down that the full implications of what was happening struck her.

  "My uncle didn't do this!" he declared, rising from his seat and slapping the table. "He can't even tie his shoes without hitting his head against his butt! He isn't some mad bomber with delusions of destruction! You gotta believe me! He's not..."

  Deborah rested her hands atop his, and she fixed him with her gaze. Her violet eyes were almost entrancing, drawing in his full attention and holding it there. She also steadied her breathing, and Jacob seemed to mimic her. After a few moments, he had calmed, if only a little.

  "I'm not accusing your uncle of anything," she said gently. "We won't even talk about him. For now, we'll just talk about you. Is that ok? Would you be comfortable with that?"

  Very shakily, Jacob lifted and lowered his chin in a nod. He sat back down, and Deborah did the same. She took a calming breath before taking out a pen and a small notepad.

  "Ok, let's try something small," she said. "How long have you been living in Grummsdale now?"

  Jacob hummed as he let his thoughts settle before taking a deep breath.

  "Three months, two days, five hours, fourteen minutes, and fifty-two seconds."

  Deborah blinked at him, prompting the teen to blush.

  "I'm a numbers guy. You already know."

  "Indeed," Deborah said with a small giggle before writing on her pad. "Three months. Must've seen a lot of the city in that time. Ever stop by the botanical garden or take a dive at the beach?"

  "No and no," Jacob said. "I don't make any sort of habit of getting to know a place well."

  "Oh?" Deborah asked. "You move a lot?"

  "All the time. Uncle Laramie has a van that we travel in. A 1960 Volkswagen Type 2 bus, to be specific. Like the mystery machine from Scooby Doo."

  "Jinkies." Deborah quipped, and finally, Jacob's face broke out into a smile. "Cartoon fan. I'll remember that. What about money? Did your uncle work?"

  "Odd jobs, mostly," Jacob replied, his stance softening. "He used to be a college professor, but they kicked him out."

  "How come?" Deborah pressed, only to get a shrug.

  "He never liked talking about it. Always said that small-minded people tended to be put in charge, or something to that degree. In truth, I don't even know what he taught. He was always hushed up about it."

  Red flag! Deborah thought to herself grimly. "Did your uncle have any sort of enemies? People that might've held a grudge against, or vice versa?"

  Jacob adopted a watching eye, his defenses going back up.

  "No, and I don't like the implication."

  "Basic throw-away question," Deborah replied swiftly. "Forget I asked it. That said, several people have made mention of him borrowing money."

  Jacob nervously drummed his fingers against the table.

  "Yeah, that's...for his project. An old thesis from his university days. He would always tell me that it would make our lives better once he got it working, but from what I understood it required a lot of parts. A lot of power, too. The last place we lived in before coming here blew out every fuse in the building. Suffice to say, we were never allowed in Atlantic City ever again, but he had made great pains to never do that again."

  "And just what was this...project, exactly?" Deborah pressed.

  "Honestly, I have no idea," Jacob said. "I tried to get a peak at it once or twice, but he'd always either cover it with a blanket or stuff it in his steamer trunk. He claims he's made a lot of progress lately, but frankly, I think he just likes to tinker."

  "He's good with machines?"

  "I guess you could say that. Had to be to keep our van running all those years, especially when we had to sleep in it, so I suppose he at least picked up the trait."

  None of this was making Deborah feel any better. Her reservations against the man had only grown, and it made Jacob's outward appearance that much harder to ignore. Worn-out clothing, minimal soap for proper cleaning, evident signs of malnutrition, and she could count at least three cavities just from when he spoke. DHS would have a riot, but that was still the least of the boy's problems.

  "Jacob," she said evenly, "are you aware that the explosion in your apartment wasn't unique? It's happened twice before, and all within the last three months."

  All of the color left Jacob's face, as did any sign of trust or belief. But Deborah had already stepped on the land mine. She had to push forward.

  "Jacob, I'm not accusing him or you of anything, but there is a string of evidence: the time frame, many complaints that seem to be directed at your uncle, the fact that he disappeared shortly after the collapse, and now your testimony for engineering. Now before you panic, even I can see that it's immensely circumstantial, but the truth is that this is the closest to a suspect, never mind a genuine lead, we've managed to find. I'm only asking one more question, and that'll be it."

  She wrote down some words on her notepad, and she passed it over to him.

  "Jacob, these are locations that were hit along with your apartment. The damage wasn't near as extreme as your apartment, but an MO of someone calling in the threat and allowing for evacuation before detonation could be found for all three. Jacob, did your uncle ever have jobs at these locations?"

  The boy almost didn't dare look down, but his chin felt as though a ball and chain had been latched to it. Before he knew it, his eyeballs were hovering over the scrawlings, and he read Manfield's Pizzeria and Floral Fragrances, two names he was familiar with from a night of free pizza and weeks of odious flower stench. Jacob's stomach lurched as a migraine split his skull. All at once, he was on his feet, and he raced for the door. Deborah moved to pursue, being a hair too slow as she tripped over her chair and Jacob swung open the door. There was the commissioner and all his grizzled anger, though he looked no less victorious.

  "There's a guilty look if ever I saw one." he sneered as he grabbed Jacob by the shoulders and gave him a harsh shake. "Where is he hiding? What other targets does he have?! Talk you worthless piece of Lowtown slag!"

  "Doyle, let him go!" Deborah thundered as she grabbed the back of Jacob's shirt, trying to pull him back.

  "Stand down, detective! Let me show you how a real law enforcer does it!"

  He yanked Jacob back, hoisting him into the air before slamming him into a wall. The act knocked the air out of Jacob's lungs. He was seeing stars, spots, and red flashes, but he no less kicked and flailed as he tried to get out of the large man's fingers. The commissioner was screaming at him as Deborah tried to peel him away, and suddenly the entire police station had erupted into a thunderous clamor of officers pooling around them, some trying to help Deborah and the rest aiding the commissioner. Jacob's ears were ringing off his head and he tasted blood in the back of his mouth.

  It was all too much for his brain to stand, and all he wanted was a quiet place to think.

  He wanted a moment of peace to compile his thoughts.

  In short, he wanted out.

  He had to get out!

  Suddenly, the star-shaped pendant around his neck began to glow. The key point bounced around as Jacob thrashed before stopping in midair, and then it turned. Before anyone could react, there was an explosive burst of light that sent everyone back. All about, windows shattered and computers imploded in showers of sparks. The entire building was suddenly cast into darkness as the clamor and chaos were brought to an immediate and abrupt halt. After a while, Deborah was at last able to rise, her head throbbing as she looked to where Jacob had been.

  All she saw was an outline of his shape burned into the wall, and nothing more.