After lunch, things were substantially quieter. Al had disappeared again and Alan had gone outside to do some yard work. Sam buckled down.

The knock on the door finally broke Sam's concentration. He looked up and saw it was already getting dark. A man in a suit entered. He was maybe early thirties, handsome, short hair, thick neck. "Hey, Charlie," he said.

"Hey, Colby," Sam answered, remembering his conversation with Charlie's brother earlier. "Don said you were going to stop by with the data on the latest victim."

"Yep, here it is." Colby handed Sam another file. "This guy is really getting out of control. I haven't seen anything this bad since the war."

"You were over in Iraq?" Sam asked.

Colby furrowed his brow. "No. Afghanistan. You know that."

"Oh, right," Sam said. Al reappeared near the couch and Sam turned his attention to him. "Afghanistan?" he whispered.

Al toyed with the Ziggy interface for a minute before responding. "You've missed a lot, Sam," was all he said.

"Yeah, Afghanistan," Colby continued. "In war you see things you can't even comprehend. Stuff you just have to put out of your mind and process later."

"I know," Sam said, thinking about the time he had leaped into Magic, a member of his brother's unit in Vietnam.

"You know?" Colby asked, looking a little offended.

Sam suddenly remembered who he was now. Charlie lived in the insulated cocoon of academia, a cocoon Sam himself had crawled into for many years. "I just mean that I understand," he said.

Colby grudgingly seemed to accept that. "Listen, I gotta go. Just call us when you have something," he said, leaving.

"Well?" Al demanded. "Do you have something?"

"No, I don't have anything," Sam hissed. "And, even if I ever do have anything, what makes you think I'm going to come up with a different answer than Charlie did?"

"No me, Sam," Al answered. "Him." He pointed straight up. "God or fate or time or whatever. He's the one who thinks you can save Martin Brewster."

"Yeah, well, he just might be disappointed this time."

Alan stuck his head in. "Come on, Charlie. Take a break. Dinner's ready and Survivor's coming on in a few minutes."

Sam put down the chalk. Food, relaxation, and a fresh start tomorrow sounded like just what he needed. "Sounds great. I'll be there in a minute."

Alan nodded and left.

Al looked horrified. "You're just going to leave all this and go watch television?"

"I need a break."

"What if this guy kills someone between now and then?"

"Does he?"

Al consulted Ziggy and looked deflated by the results. "No. But Sam... this kid. We need to get him out of our hair."

Sam ignored him and went outside, walking to the house. Al followed him, pleading. "He's messing around with your equations, Sam. Your theories!"

"Great," Sam snapped. "Get him to figure out how to get me back." Al didn't seem to have a response to that. "Besides, they're his equations. He wrote most of them."

"It's starting!" Alan called through an open window.

"It's starting," Sam echoed to Al. He turned and went into the warm kitchen. Al opened his blue doorway of light and stepped through.

Sam sat, lounging on the sofa and watching TV with Alan. The show, which seemed almost horrific at first blush, turned out to be quite the chess game played with humans. Sam could see Charlie's attraction to it.

Shortly after it ended, Don called. "Tell me something, buddy. Anything." Don sounded exhausted.

Sam weighed in his head what to do. If fate or God or whatever had a higher purpose for this leap, Sam decided to call its bluff. "I've got a hot zone," he answered.

"That's what I want to hear!" Don said, excitedly.

"It's centered on the Brewster Estate."

"Yeah," Don said, thoughtfully. "Martin Brewster. He's a suspect. I've liked him since the beginning."

Sam suddenly understood what had happened the first time. Don already had Martin in his cross-hairs. Once Charlie's equation confirmed his suspicions, he never looked at anyone else. "Don," Sam said. "I don't think so. I don't think he's the guy."

Don laughed. "Charlie, no offense, but I don't think you're in a position to say something like that. Just stick to the math, okay?"

Sam cringed. Charlie was so easy to rely on. And so easy to dismiss. "Okay, right," he said through gritted teeth.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? You did good on this one."

"Yeah, okay. Bye." Sam hung up the phone. He had been here for a day and a half and all he had managed to accomplish was to force things to progress in basically the same way they had the first time. He had to do something. He headed to the door.

"Where are you going?" Alan called after him.

"The garage."