Page 73 of Jacob Michaels is Dead

“Thanks, Tom!” The field reporter spoke into her microphone as she looked into the camera.

Behind her, the smoke and wreckage of Main Street created a harrowing scene with which to frame her story. Plumes of blackish, sooty smoke rose from Barkley’s Hardware Store. The firefighters were still putting out small clusters of fire that were still burning in the First National Bank of Point Worth. The Sunny Side-Up Café was nothing but rubble. Men—naked for some reason—lay in the middle of the street, badly battered and bruised. A crack ran down the center of Main Street, nothing but darkness and cold below. A woman, partially covered by a sheet, was lying in the street, her heels with red soles sticking out from the bottom. The reporter gestured towards the scene behind her.

“As you can see behind me here, Tom, and our viewers at home,” She waved, shaking her head sadly, “the town of Point Worth, a small community within walking distance of the shores of Lake Erie, is in ruins. No one knows what caused these fires or many of these buildings to collapse, or what happened to these poor people behind me. The police are canvassing the town as we speak, looking for any citizen of Point Worth who might be able to shed some light on what happened in this little berg. The anonymous person who called the Toledo Police Department this morning merely said that there were problems in Point Worth, but failed to elaborate, give a name, or even stay on the line long enough for the dispatchers to thoroughly question him.

“What we do know is that whatever happened here could possibly happen anywhere in this great state of ours. That is why the police are trying to put the pieces together and find anyone who might be able to let them know what happened. It’s in all Ohioans’ best interest to know if this was an isolated incident, or maybe even an act of terror. But—”