Cassidy Jones and the Secret Formula (7 page)

The quickest way to my target—or prey, by the way I was behaving—would be to climb over fences, because the aroma definitely drifted from the west, parallel to my back yard. Deciding that climbing over neighbors’ fences wasn’t such a great idea, I headed for the front of our house. Stepping out on the sidewalk, I turned left. Two doors down from mine, I stopped. The Crenshaws’ house was the source of the aroma.

Standing in front of their house, I contemplated what to do next.
Mystery solved, right?
Wrong. I still had no answers. Knowing my odd behavior and experiences could be attributed to a bruised brain, that didn’t deter me from wanting to confirm that the Crenshaws were indeed making pancakes. Though not rational, or even close to sane, I opened their white picket front gate.

With the aroma luring me, I moved up the walk toward the front porch. About six feet up, the Crenshaws’ horrendous mutt dog, Princess, who had been hiding on the porch, lunged at me, baring her teeth. Startled, I jumped—not back, or in the air a few inches—but quite literally, I jumped up fifteen feet onto a thick tree limb that hung over the walkway. My reaction had been so quick and automatic that it took me a moment to comprehend that I was really up in a tree.

As I crouched on the branch like a cat, my mind raced, trying to place the pieces of this puzzle together. Princess barked manically below while I pondered. My brain swelling wouldn’t have suddenly given me the ability to jump like a lemur or to smell pancakes cooking two houses away from mine.

It hit me then. My brain wasn’t hurt in the fall, but perhaps it had been hurt. Visualizing the beakers, the puff of white vapor, the excruciating pain, the darkness, and Professor Phillips, I knew I had my answer—or, at least, who to get it from.

“Princess, come here.”

Jason, the Crenshaws’ 25-year-old son, who had decided that he never wanted to grow up, stood in the front doorway, lazily gazing at the dog.

Ignoring her master, Princess continued to bark wildly below.

Before addressing his dog’s disobedience, Jason took a long drag off the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Exhaling, he yelled a string of cuss words at Princess.

Profanity worked. Though resentful, the dog submitted, skulking to the front door.

The front door closed.

Staring at the ground below, I asked myself,
Now what?
Quite unexplainably, I had gotten fifteen feet up in a tree, and now I had to get down. There were no branches below me, so climbing down wasn’t an option.

Coming to the conclusion that my only way down would be reversing the way I had come up, I sprung from my crouched position. Strangely, the movement felt almost natural. My feet hit the ground together, solidly. I didn’t even stumble forward.

Straightening up, I trotted down the Crenshaws’ walkway, closing the gate behind me.

With so many thoughts racing through my head, going home and being distracted by my pesky twin wasn’t appealing. I needed time to mull things over. I decided to follow through with running around the school track.

On my way to the school, I went through a mental analysis of everything that had happened at the lab. Thinking about the vapor cloud I had sucked into my lungs, I wondered if I’d been poisoned.
Maybe the poison damaged my brain, causing me to hallucinate, and it’s slowing dissolving my brain. Gads, am I dying?
I gasped aloud. This thought alone made my heart pound, giving me the feeling I would keel over any second.

After deciding the pounding heart was a panic attack and not because my brain was melting, I really thought through how I physically felt.
I don’t feel poisoned, sick, or like I’m on my deathbed. In fact, I feel good, really good. Healthy. Strong. Powerful.
Something stirred within that I couldn’t quite identify…a sort of energy waiting to escape, like a racehorse at the starting gate.

~~~

Stepping on the school’s track, I took off running, faster than a racehorse. I felt the wind rush by me, cool air licking my clothes and whipping my hair back. My feet flew, barely making contact with the ground. After four times around the track, my lungs experienced no burning, my muscles no cramping, no exhaustion. I felt unstoppable, like I could go forever.

The sixth time around, my ears picked up voices. Abruptly stopping, I looked around, breathing evenly. Scanning the school grounds, I didn’t see anyone. As I listened more carefully, the murmur became clearer. Somewhere in the neighborhood behind the school, two women were having a conversation. I forced myself to listen even more closely, and their voices became audible, like I had tuned them in by turning a dial. I continued to move that mental dial, and their voices drew closer, as if the volume had been turned up. I felt like I was sitting with them, sipping coffee, and contributing to their gossip. They really were saying some horrible things about a woman named Blanche.

Thoroughly freaked now, I started on my short trek home. All the way, Ben’s silly “alien DNA” comment rattled through my brain. The problem was, it didn’t seem so silly anymore. I felt sure Ben would have agreed that what I was experiencing appeared extraterrestrial-ish.

Turning down our street, I saw Dad headed toward me. He didn’t look very happy.

“Cassidy, where have you been?”

Sheepishly, I approached him. “Didn’t Chazz tell you I was at the school?”

Dad’s disturbed expression made me think Nate had shared his theory.

“Yes, he did. But since when have we allowed you to go to the school alone during non-school hours? It’s not prudent in this day and age.”

“Sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just needed to get out for a while.”

“I understand, Cass. Just show more wisdom next time.”

His face was still tense.

“Dad, I promise I won’t—”

“Cass, I know you’re sorry. I’m not angry with you. I wasn’t only on my way to check up on you. I have some disturbing news to share with you.”

Disturbing news? Oh, he knows what happened. Professor Phillips must have followed through with the phone call.

“Dad, I was on my way to tell you. I already—” I stopped short, realizing he wasn’t listening. “Dad, what happened?”

“We need to leave now,” he stated in a hollow tone.

“Why?” I gasped. “Is someone hurt? Not Chazz?”

Snapping out of his distraction, he assured me, “Chazz is fine. Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry I worried you. This involves Professor Phillips, not our family. Apparently, after we left her lab last night, there was a fire.”

My cheeks went numb, like I’d been slapped. “Is she dead?”

“I hope not. She is missing, though. I’ll explain while we walk to the car.”

As we walked, he continued, “My friend, Bob Conlin, is the detective working the case. He called and asked if we could come downtown to give our accounts of what took place while we were with the professor. Apparently, we were the last to see her. As I mentioned, not long after we left, there was a fire—”

“Did the fire start from the burner I knocked over?” I interrupted, with a speeding heart.

“No, Cass. I thought of that, too, but according to Bob, or Detective Conlin, her lab was ransacked. Her file cabinet was emptied, and the contents were intentionally set fire to.”

This isn’t possible,
I thought, my breath shallow.
None of this is possible.
“So the police think she’s been kidnapped?” I forced out.

Dad’s face was solemn. “Right now, she’s classified as a missing person.”

“But you think she’s been kidnapped?”

“I don’t have enough information, but, in light of her recent research, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s been abducted.”

“Really? Is her gene therapy that important, that someone would kidnap her for it?”

He nodded. “Yes, it’s that important.”

Silent after this, we lost ourselves in our own thoughts. Guaranteed, they were different, though they surely revolved around the same missing person.

Feeling overwhelmed as we passed Miriam’s house, I recalled her comment,
That’s your luck, Cassidy.
Never had there been a more accurate statement uttered. My luck would be that the one person who could give me answers and possibly help me would turn up missing. A nagging feeling told me this was no coincidence. Our separate events were directly and terrifyingly connected. If she had been taken because of what happened to me, then I could possibly be the next to turn up missing.

One thing I knew, deep down in my agonized gut, was that I could tell no one about what had happened to me. Not my mom, my dad, Detective Conlin, no one, until we knew what happened to Professor Serena Phillips. Disclosing anything could literally be a matter of life or death—my own.

Five

As I walked by the coffee bar in the police squad room, a bouquet of sugary glaze, yeasty dough, and oil assaulted my nose. I inhaled deeply, the tantalizing scents reminding me and my stomach of how I never had gotten pancakes that morning, and how much I needed comfort. Donuts would be a welcome comfort.

Observing me eyeing the plate of donuts, Detective Conlin paused. “Hungry, Cassidy?” he asked.

Geez, he’s a good detective.
“Yes, Detective. I haven’t eaten anything today.”

He smiled broadly. “Why are you girls always skipping breakfast?”

“Detective Conlin has four teenage daughters,” Dad explained, smiling at his friend.

“Yep! My household is a war zone, more or less.” Conlin boisterously laughed.

Boisterous
was a good way to describe this short, balding detective I had met five minutes ago. Though rough around the edges, Detective Conlin seemed like he would be a blast to hang out with. However, a prime suspect in an investigation likely wouldn’t agree with me. I could see where his bold energy could be intimidating during an interrogation.

“Help yourself,” Detective Conlin said to me, gesturing to the donuts.

“Thank you.” I smiled appreciatively, quickly grabbing a small paper plate. I selected a chocolate donut with colorful sprinkles. My weak stomach felt reinforced already.

“Take another,” he encouraged, winking at Dad. “I like to see a girl with a hearty appetite.”

I really like this detective,
I thought. Taking him up on the offer, I added a glazed old-fashioned to the plate.

While I made this second selection, Detective Conlin poured a glass of water and handed it to me. “Here. I don’t want you choking on donut during the statement.” He winked at Dad again.

“Thanks, Detective Conlin.”
I bet the detective does a lot of doting in his war zone
.

With donuts in one hand and water in the other, I followed Dad and Detective Conlin to his office, on the other side of a wall of windows and miniblinds. Through the windows, I saw someone with black hair sitting in a chair facing the detective’s desk.