WHEN THE HOUSE BLEW we were crouched behind the cover of a black-and-white, barely a hundred feet away.

There were bold orange flashes as the windows exploded. Then the house seemed to lift off its foundation, a fiery cloud ripping the whole thing apart through the roof.

"Get down!" Molinari yelled. "Everybody down!"

The blast hurled us backward. I took Cindy, who'd been standing next to me, down to the ground, shielding her from the force of the blast and the shower of debris.

We lay there as the searing gust lifted over us. A few cries of "Holy shit" and "Are you all right?"

Slowly, we got back up. "Oh, God... ," Cindy groaned.

Where a second ago a white clapboard house had been standing, now there was only smoke, fire, and a crater of blown-out walls.

"Michelle," Cindy muttered. "Come on, Michelle."

We watched the fire rise as the wind whipped the flames. No one came out. No one could have lived through such a blast.

Sirens started up. Frantic radio transmissions filled the air. I heard cops shouting into walkie-talkies: "We have a major explosion at seven twenty-two Seventh Street...."

"Maybe she wasn't in there." Cindy shook her head, still staring at the devastated house.

I put my arm around her. "They killed Jill, Cindy."............