Ernst had been switching back and forth between the city and the Long Island stations, waiting for news of an incident from somewhere between the Hamptons and Montauk. Exactly what that incident might be, he had no idea, but he'd know it when he heard it.

He fairly leaped toward the screen when he heard an announcer mention a "live report from Nuckateague." A pretty woman reporter wearing a hooded parka stood in the swirling snow and spoke into a microphone while firefighters, lit by flashing lights from their trucks, milled back and forth before a large pile of smoking rubble.

"I tell you, Evan, it's like a war zone out here. A waterfront mansion in this quiet, well-to-do hamlet has been razed to the ground after reports of multiple explosions. The detached garage has also been reduced to ashes and the car within appears to have been ripped apart by a bomb. Take a look..."

Ernst stared in wonder as the camera panned across the scene. The Order had owned the property for decades. Ernst remembered spending a weekend there a few summers ago. How shocking to see what had become of it.

Jack, Jack, Jack ... I do believe I underestimated you.

The reporter went on to mention the three bodies that had been found in a garage across the street - two women and a man, all murdered.

Georges and Gilda, no doubt. But who was the second woman?

Jack had taken no prisoners, apparently.

But where was the most important body? What had happened to the One? Had Jack destroyed him so completely that no trace remained? Were his ashes mixed with those of the house?

Ernst hoped so. For that would mean that the Change would be postponed indefinitely. Perhaps forever. Certainly for his own lifetime.

And his own lifetime was all that mattered.