Has Anyone Seen Jessica Jenkins?

by Liz Kessler

  “Jeez.”

  “Yeah. So that was that. To be honest, at that point, James had lost all his fight anyway, and the research had more or less stalled. So we packed up our stuff and went back to our day jobs. James worked every shift he could to make sure he kept the house and gave Max everything he needed. Max was all that mattered to him.”

  I thought about the way Max had described his dad’s double shifts. As if the hospital were what mattered to him. Turned out he couldn’t have been more wrong.

  “And what happened to Oscar Finch?”

  “I’ve no idea. He probably found some other sucker to make him rich.”

  I thought for a moment. “So I’m guessing this guy is the one you meant by ‘the wrong hands,’ then?”

  Nancy turned to me. “He’s a dangerous man, Jess. You don’t know how relieved I was to find the crystals this morning. If Oscar found out about any of our latest research . . .”

  She didn’t need to finish her sentence. I’d probably already pictured all the worst things she could imagine. Not only the tabloid headlines and the experimenting cage; now I also had a picture of me being sold off to the highest bidder and used by terrorists in some kind of superpowered war.

  Nancy glanced at me. “Hey, there’s no need to look so scared,” she said. “We haven’t seen Finch for years. He’s completely out of the scene — and no one’s been breaking into the lab.” She reached out to pat my hand. “There’s really nothing to worry about.”

  We’d been sitting down the road from the school gates for ten minutes. It was time to go. But I couldn’t move. Something was bugging me, and I couldn’t ignore it. I didn’t want to ask, but I knew I had to . . .

  “Nancy,” I said nervously. “What did he look like?”

  “Finch?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Nancy allowed herself a smile. “You know, I had quite a crush on him when we first met him. He was so handsome. Over six foot tall, immaculate sandy hair — always combed and parted to perfection — and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen.”

  My gut did a backward somersault. “Blue eyes?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

  “Yes — so intense you felt he was seeing right into your soul when he looked at you.”

  “Mm-hmm,” I murmured. I couldn’t trust myself to say anything else. I swallowed hard. Eventually, I found my voice. “And how did he dress?” I asked.

  “Oh, he was the sharpest person you’ve ever met. You could wear your best clothes and you’d still feel scruffy next to him. In fact, I don’t think I ever saw him out of a shirt and tie. Nice dresser. Smooth talker. An evil, cold, and calculating person.” Nancy stopped and looked at me. “Jess, are you OK? You’ve turned white.”

  “I — I just realized I’m late,” I said. What else could I say? I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t. She was so happy that everything was resolved at the lab. The doctor was happy, too. She’d already told me how good he was feeling now that he was working on his research again. I couldn’t take it all away from them. And I couldn’t betray Max. But what could I do?

  All I knew was I had to get away. I needed to find Izzy and Max and tell them the news — that I was almost positive I now knew who we’d seen at the lab last night.

  And that things were about as bad as they could possibly get.

  Except, as it happened, I was wrong about that. It turned out things could get much, much worse.

  I started looking for Max as soon as I got through the school gates. We still had five minutes till the bell rang for homeroom, and I was sure he’d be in the athletic field next to the school yard, hanging out with his soccer friends near the goalposts.

  But he wasn’t with his soccer friends.

  I searched for him when the bell rang and we formed lines for our classes. I was sure he must be at the back of his line.

  But he wasn’t in line.

  I darted out of homeroom as soon as Ms. Forshaw finished taking attendance then I ran along the hall to his homeroom and peered through the window.

  He wasn’t in the classroom.

  He wasn’t anywhere. He wasn’t at school.

  I bumped into Izzy in the corridor outside Mr. Martins’s classroom. We had English first thing. “Iz, Max isn’t here,” I breathed.

  Izzy looked at me blankly. “So? He’s probably just late. Or home sick.”

  I hadn’t had time to fill her in on everything Nancy had told me, so she had no way of knowing why I needed to see him so urgently.

  “Are you OK?” she asked.

  “I’ll tell you everything when we meet up at lunch, but I need to speak to Max as soon as I can,” I said. “Can you tell Mr. Martins I’m going to be late? Think of a good excuse.”

  “Of course. I’ll tell him you’ve got a bad headache and you’ve gone to see the school nurse.”

  “Perfect,” I said, already turning away and getting my phone out. “I’ll be there as soon as I’ve made contact with Max.”

  Except I didn’t make contact with him. I phoned. No answer. I texted. No reply. Finally, I gave up and went to English, clutching my head to make my excuse seem authentic.

  I faced the front and did my best to concentrate on the lesson. It wasn’t easy. My mouth was saying things like, “Yes, Mr. Martins, it’s a really good poem and I like the way the poet uses metaphors and similes,” but my head was busy wondering what on earth had happened to Max and where all of this was going to lead.

  At lunchtime, Izzy and I headed up to the art room to meet the others. I filled her in on everything as we walked. Maybe Max would already be there.

  He wasn’t.

  “I’m really worried, Iz,” I said as we entered the art room. The others weren’t there yet. “I’m afraid there’s something seriously wrong. I just don’t think he would ignore all my calls and not turn up at school if everything was OK.”

  “I don’t know. There’s probably a logical explanation,” Izzy said. “Let’s not assume the worst yet.”

  Izzy had a point. A week ago, Max hadn’t even known my name. Who was I to say that keeping an arrangement with us was going to be his number-one priority now? “You’re right,” I agreed. “I’m blowing things out of proportion. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

  Which was the moment my phone pinged to say there was a message from Max.

  And it turned out that we did have something to worry about, after all. In fact, we had quite a lot to worry about.

  I clicked on Max’s name to open the message. In big letters at the top of the screen were the words “Max has sent you a video using Hula! .” Beneath that was a square box with a big arrow on it and the message “Click HERE to see the video.” Izzy shuffled closer so she could watch as I clicked on the arrow.

  After a few moments, Max’s face appeared on the screen. He was sitting on a chair in a room that looked like an office. I didn’t recognize it. I hit PLAY.

  Max stared woodenly at the camera. Then he turned to talk to someone offscreen. “Do you want me to start now?” he asked. There was a muffled reply. Max turned back to the camera.

  “Hi, J,” he said. That was the name he’d used for my contact on his phone. Did that mean the video was only being sent to me?

  “J?” the off-camera voice questioned.

  “Yeah, J. James. My dad. It’s my nickname for him,” Max replied, looking away from the camera.

  Huh? So it wasn’t aimed at me? It was meant for his dad — but why had I gotten it, then? And did he really use the same name for his dad that he used for me?

  The voice mumbled something else.

  “OK. Hi, Dad,” Max began again. “So, I know you’ll be surprised to get this message,” he went on. “In fact, you’ll probably be wondering if it’s actually meant for you.” As he said this, his eyes narrowed. He moved his hand around his neck — where his necklace usually was. But it wasn’t there! Maybe he wanted whomever was watching to know he didn’t have it? Then was the video meant for his dad, or
was it secretly aimed at me?

  “But it’s definitely meant for you,” he said, looking directly at the camera. “I’m your kiddo.”

  Kiddo! That’s what he’d called me! The message was meant for me! But for some reason, he had to pretend he was sending it to his dad. I kept listening, and watching out for more clues.

  “So, here’s the thing. I’ve kind of been kidnapped.”

  Kidnapped?

  “Don’t say that!” the voice off camera said.

  “OK, scratch that,” Max went on. He stood up from his chair. “As you can see, I’m not being tied up or beaten or treated particularly badly. I’ve even been fed — quite well, actually. I have, however, been locked in a room and told that I can’t leave until you do what is required.” Again, Max looked so hard at the camera that I felt certain the message was aimed right at me. “So you must follow these instructions,” he said firmly. “You understand that, don’t you?”

  Did I understand? I was fairly sure I did. He was probably supposed to have sent the video to his dad, but had somehow managed to send it to me instead. He didn’t want his dad to know what was going on — either because he didn’t want to worry him or because he didn’t want to run the risk of his dad finding out about his superpower — which made total sense to me, either way. But he needed rescuing, and he was putting his trust in me. Well, I wouldn’t let him down.

  “Oh, and sorry if you’ve tried to get hold of me,” he added. “I’ve only just been given my phone back to do this.”

  The camera seemed to shake, and Max’s face went blurry. Then the other voice came again. “Let me talk to him,” he said. Max moved out of the way and someone else appeared on the screen. Someone I’d already seen once in real life. The last person I ever wanted to see again.

  Oscar Finch.

  Finch sat on the chair, smoothed down his hair (which was already perfectly smooth), straightened his tie (which was already perfectly straight), and smiled a smarmy, creepy smile into the camera.

  “Hello, James,” he said, smooth as melted chocolate. “Long time no see. Sadly. Not my choosing. So, anyway, I thought it would be nice to get together again. How about we meet at your lab? You know, the one you opened secretly. The one where you’re working on the research you refused to continue working on with me. The research that you were then banned from ever returning to. Remember?”

  Finch’s voice had grown tighter, angry. He cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and smiled at the camera again.

  “Why don’t we say six o’clock tonight? I’ll see you at the lab. Max will be staying here, but don’t worry, I won’t hurt him. At least, not if you give me everything connected with your research.” Finch leaned toward the camera. “I want it all,” he said in a voice so full of menace and threat it sounded as if it had metal arrows pointing out of it.

  My whole body shivered as he continued.

  “Of course, it’s completely up to you whether you choose to hand over your research or not, just as it’s completely up to me how I decide to deal with your son. Personally, I’ve always enjoyed those films where people find themselves becoming extremely helpful as they watch their loved ones screaming in agony.”

  Finch sat back in his chair and grinned. It was the smile of a snake. “So, you better get yourself down to the lab tonight,” he said in a voice as cool and casual as if he’d been inviting a good friend to come out to play golf. “It’s been a while. It’s time we talked.”

  With that, Finch got up out of his seat and walked toward the camera. The last thing I saw was his hand reaching out. Then there was a click and the screen went blank.

  We stared at the dark screen. I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe.

  Izzy turned to me. “Jess, this is bad,” she said.

  “It’s really bad,” I agreed.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Call the police?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think Max wants us to do that. If he’d wanted to go through official channels, he’d have sent the message to his dad like he was supposed to.”

  “You’re right,” Izzy agreed.

  “I think he sent it to me because he wants us to rescue him.”

  “I think so, too.”

  “Only question is — how on earth are we supposed to do that?”

  As if in reply, the art-room door suddenly burst open and Tom ran in. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I just had to tell the Math Olympics team I’d join them later for the marathon practice session.”

  He grabbed a chair and sat down. His worried demeanor from earlier in the week was completely gone. The old Tom was back, thank goodness. We might be needing him.

  The door opened again.

  “Sorry!” Heather was breathless as she came in. “Had to go to see Ms. Green about Saturday’s volleyball tournament. I got away as soon as I could.”

  Despite everything else that was going on, I had a tiny moment of happiness that Heather had cut short talking about her precious volleyball to be with us. And that Tom had given up time at his favorite thing in the world.

  “What have I missed?” Heather asked as she pulled up a chair and took out her sandwich.

  Izzy and I looked at each other. How were we supposed to answer that?

  Izzy grimaced. “Max has been kidnapped,” she said.

  “What?” Tom gasped. “Kidnapped? How? When? By whom?”

  “It’s probably just a prank,” Heather said dismissively. “You know what he’s like.”

  I thought through what I’d learned about Max in the last couple of days: how he’d lost his mom as a baby; how he’d never gotten enough attention from his dad, because the doctor had buried himself in his work to deal with his grief; how gentle Max had been with his cat. And finally I thought about the look on his face in the video — the look of a scared little boy.

  “Max might not be the nicest person in the world, but he has his reasons,” I said. “And it’s not a prank.” I got my phone out and clicked on the link again. “Watch.” The others crowded around.

  When the video ended, I filled them in on everything else. Last night’s trip to the lab, what I now knew about Max — and about his kidnapper, Oscar Finch. “We’ve got to save Max,” I finished.

  Heather nodded. “Agreed. But how?”

  “That’s what we have to figure out,” I said hopelessly.

  Tom cleared his throat and leaned forward. “OK, let’s look at the facts,” he said. “Max has been kidnapped by a guy who used to work with his dad and who wants to experiment — possibly on children — so that he can make millions of dollars for himself. Thanks to Max sending a video message to you when he was supposed to send it to his dad, you — or rather we — are his only hope.” He looked around at us all. “Jess can turn invisible, Heather can walk through walls, I can stop time, and Izzy is the best person I know at organizing things. All we have to do is find a way to put together our brains and our powers to rescue Max before Finch does something terrible to him or finds out about all of us and before Dr. Malone loses his job and his research.”

  I stared at Tom. “Um. Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” I said. When he put it like that, the odds didn’t feel hugely in our favor. But then I looked at the three of them. We might not have an answer yet, but Tom was right. We had a bunch of superpowers between us, four brains, and forty-five minutes before our next class. We could do this.

  “Look, I don’t know how we’re going to solve this,” I said. “I just know that we have to and we can. We’re a team now, and we stick together. Anything that hurts one of us hurts us all. So, as far as I’m concerned, we don’t leave this room till we’ve come up with a way of rescuing Max. And we have to do it tonight. We’re not leaving him in there a minute longer than we have to. So, are you in?”

  Heather stared at me. Tom nodded. Izzy smiled. Then, as one, the three of them answered, “We�
�re in!”

  Ten minutes later, Heather was looking troubled. Well, we were all looking troubled. We had a fairly hefty problem to solve and only about half an hour left of our lunch break in which to do it. But she looked extra bothered.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Something’s been confusing me about Max,” Heather said. “I don’t want to distract everyone from coming up with a rescue plan, but I don’t understand — and it might help me think of something if I did.”

  “Go on,” I told her.

  “Well, if we have these powers because we were all born on the same day and delivered by your mom’s friend, then how come Max has them? He wasn’t born on the thirtieth of March, was he?”

  “No,” I said. “His birthday is in September.”

  “So how come he has a power?” Tom asked.

  I didn’t want to get into a long and complicated explanation, especially when I was hardly sure of the answer myself — and when planning a rescue was more important than getting to grips with why any of this was happening — but they deserved some kind of answer. I’d been thinking about the same question since my talk with Nancy earlier that morning, and I’d put a few of the pieces together.

  “Max’s dad was giving his mom the serum while she was pregnant with him,” I said.

  “Whoa!” Heather held a perfectly manicured hand up to her face. “He was experimenting on his own wife? That’s gross!”

  “No. He wasn’t experimenting.” I paused. “He was trying to save her life. That’s how this whole thing started. Max’s mom was dying. Dr. Malone was trying to find a cure.”

  “And?” Tom asked gently.

  I shook my head.

  Heather flushed. “I’m sorry. OK, now I want to help Max even more.”

  “I know what you mean,” I agreed.

  “But I still don’t understand why the serum affected him — and us — and no one else,” she insisted.

  “Nancy told me how she thought it got into us so easily because a newborn baby’s cells are multiplying so quickly,” I began.