Chapter 2: Tag Team

"You're a fucking psycho!" Patrick moved towards the guy, but his eyes started to glow red; The blood-colored light revealing worn lines and broken blood vessels around one of his eyes. Patrick stopped in his tracks. The kid's mouth widened into a grin just as the damaged roof caved in between them.

"Around. We have to go around!" Solomon shouted to Patrick. Patrick nodded and they sprinted back through the front of the door past Kelly who was now being attended by rescue workers and the team.

"He's getting away!" Patrick shouted as he ran past them all." The team swiveled to Solomon for an answer, and he felt their gaze fall on him like a pack of dogs on alert.

"Some freak is collecting body parts from the scene," Solomon shouted as Conlan took off after Patrick. Even with smoke and broken glass hounding their movements, their bodies broke through the chaos in a cohesive rhythm.

Another explosion sounded in the distance and they realized this same scene was playing out elsewhere in the city. Solomon had a horrible sense of direction, but he knew the blast came from downtown. He caught up with Patrick who was frozen in place, looking for signs of the psychopath they had found inside the florist shop just moments before – his eyes scanning frantically for any sign of his target. Solomon wasn't sure why he took to his side.

"I don't see him anywhere. Fuck!" Patrick yelled in torment as he kicked a stone down the sidewalk. Conlan and two other football players joined his frustration as well.

"Just follow the explosions, Pat," Solomon said pointing. "He went in the same direction didn't he?"

And just as Solomon said it, his eyes focused in on a kid in a black tracksuit running for the square – but shorter than the first. Was there another? He blinked and he saw five others running behind him in a line. The school sat on top of a hill and you could see down most of main street right to the court house which was on fire. The same courthouse his own mother worked in.

"Mom!" Solomon said loudly. Only Conlan turned to him. "My mom works at the courthouse."

Solomon started jogging towards it, whether they were going to follow him or not.

He was surprised that they fell in line behind him. Distance was his thing; He wasn't a sprinter, but he could jog for hours. The court house was less than a mile away, but everyone had worn themselves out in the florist shop so he had an advantage. By the time they got to the Court house, there were crews pouring all over it. The joggers disappeared below the city line as they descended the road down main street.

Solomon, Patrick, and the few members of the football team made their way to the backside of the court house which had been blasted open. The security entrance was torn apart and rescue crews were already clearing people. The police wouldn't let them inside or anywhere near. Nobody knew who had been taken to hospitals or who was dead. Solomon knew another way in – if they could keep from getting caught.

The court house used to have a special intake for mail on the first floor, a sort of dumbwaiter, that had been used to move stuff up quickly to the offices above. It was sealed and forgotten a decade before, but it led right up to the hallway next to where his mother worked.

"This way" Solomon said under his breath.

"What are you doing, tits?" Patrick said.

"I can get us inside. Do you want to find those guys or not?" Solomon asked impatiently. He hated these blockheads, but they might help him with his mother if they were still feeling chivalrous.

Patrick merely grunted, but followed. Whatever he felt about them, they seemed willing to stick their necks out for people in an emergency and that at least made them useful. He was too worried about his mother to consider the comradery might last.

Solomon led them around to the back of the courthouse, past the tapeline where nobody was looking. It was just a large blank wall. Except when you got close you could see the indentation of a steel door that had been painted to match the rest of the exterior. Solomon fumbled for the lever and flung it open, paint peeling back at the edges. It only took them a few minutes of crawling up the ladder to get to the second floor. In minutes he was at his mother's office, but the door had already been forced.

The building was on fire and there had been an explosion, but it seemed somebody had rummaged through this room before hand. A large note was taped to the front of her computer screen with the same occult symbol he had seen on the kid's silver carrying case earlier at the florist shop.

"Cease and Desist. You have been warned." Solomon clenched the note in his hands as he pondered his mother's fate. He didn't have even a second longer to think about it.

He heard two police officers coming around the corner of the office – more meatheads. His heart sank as he saw the faintest traces of a scuffle in the room and blood on the screen. With his father already gone, he wondered seriously for the first time if he might be alone in the world. He choked down bile as he began the long wait for answers and prepared to deal with people already familiar to him through his mother's job.

"Freeze. You're under arrest!"