When Lightning Strikes (23 page)

"No," Agent Johnson said.

"Even about the helicopter?"

"Even," Agent Johnson said, and I could tell his teeth were gritted, "about the helicopter."

"The list, Jessica," Special Agent Smith said, again. And this time she held out her hand.

I sighed, and dug into my back pocket. The band launched into a particularly corny version of "We're the Kids in America."

"Here you go," I said, and surrendered a crumpled sheet of paper into the agent's hand.

Special Agent Smith unfolded the paper and scanned it. She looked down at me disapprovingly.

"There are only four addresses on here," she said, handing the paper to her partner.

I stuck out my chin. "What do you think?" I demanded. "I'm not a machine. I'm just a kid. There'll be more where those came from, don't worry."

Special Agent Johnson folded the sheet of paper back up and stuck it in his pocket.

"All right," he said. "What now?"

"You two go back to your car and drive away," I said.

"And you?" Special Agent Smith asked.

"I'll be in touch," I said.

Special Agent Smith chewed her lower lip. Then she said, as if she couldn't help it, "You know, it didn't have to be this way, Jess."

I looked at her. I couldn't read her eyes behind her dark glasses.

"No, it didn't," I said. "Did it?"

She and Special Agent Smith exchanged glances. Then they turned around and started the long walk back to their car.

"You know," I called after them. "No offense to Mrs. Johnson and all, but you two really do make a cute couple."

They just kept walking.

"That was pushing it, don't you think?" Rob asked, as he crawled out from underneath the bleachers, where he'd been stationed the whole time.

"I'm just messing with them," I said.

Rob brushed dust off his jeans. "Yeah," he said. "I noticed. You do that a lot. So are you going to tell me what was in that envelope?"

"The one I gave to Sean?"

"The one you gave to Sean after you made me pick it up from your dad. Who, by the way, hates me."

I noticed there was some dust on his black T-shirt, too. This gave me a good excuse to touch his chest as I brushed it off.

"My dad can't possibly hate you," I said. "He doesn't even know you."

"He sure looked like he hated me."

"That's just because of what was in the envelope."

"Which was?"

"The ten grand I got as a reward for finding Olivia Marie D'Amato."

Rob whistled, low and long. "You gave that kid ten grand? In
cash
?"

"Well, him and his mother. I mean, they have to have something to live on while she finds a new job and everything."

Rob shook his head. "You are one piece of work, Mastriani," he said. "Okay. So that's what was in the envelope. What was on that sheet of paper you handed to the Feds?"

"Oh," I said. "Just the addresses of some of America's most wanted. I said I'd give them up in return for the charges against Mrs. O'Hanahan being dropped."

"Really?" Rob seemed surprised. "I thought you didn't want to get involved in all of that."

"I don't. That's why I only gave them the addresses of the guys from that book of theirs who happen to be deceased."

A slow smile crept over Rob's face. "Wait a minute. You—"

"I didn't lie or anything. They really will find those guys where I said they'd be. Well, what's left of them, anyway." I wrinkled my nose. "I have a feeling it's not going to be pretty."

Rob shook his head again. Then he reached out and put an arm around my shoulders. "Jess," he said, "you make me proud to have sat by you in detention. Did you know that?"

I smiled sunnily at him. "Thanks," I said. Then I looked up at the lone figure still sitting in the bleachers, high above our heads.

"Come on," I said, taking Rob's hand. "There's still one more thing I have to do."

Rob looked up at the guy in the stands. "Who's that?" he asked.

"Who, him? Oh, that's the guy who's going to set me free."

C H A P T E R
22

I
probably don't have to tell you the rest. I mean, I'm sure you've already read about it, or seen it on the news, or something.

But just in case, here goes:

The story came out the next day. It was on the front page of the
Indianapolis Star
. Rob and I had to pick up a copy from the Denny's down the highway from his mother's house. Then we ordered a Grand Slam breakfast and ate while we read.

Lightning Girl Claims to Have Run Out of Juice
, the headline ran. Then there was a story all about me, and how I had tragically lost my power to find people.

Just like that, I'd told the reporter that day in the bleachers. He'd been so excited about his scoop, he'd eaten up every word, hardly even asking a single question.

I just woke up, I said, and it was gone. I'm a normal girl again.

End of story.

Well, it wasn't quite the end, of course. Because the reporter asked me a lot of searching questions about what had happened at Crane. I assured him that the whole thing had been a misunderstanding, that the alleged Hell's Angels were actually my friends, and that after my special power had disappeared, I had gotten homesick, so I'd called them, and they'd come to pick me up. I had no idea why that helicopter had blown up. But it was a good thing nobody had been in it at the time, wasn't it?

And the O'Hanahan boy? the reporter had asked. What had happened to him?

I said I had no idea. I'd heard, just as the reporter had, about Sean's mother being mistakenly released from jail. Yes, I could imagine Mr. O'Hanahan had been plenty mad about that.

But wherever Sean and his mother were, I told the reporter, I wished them well.

The reporter didn't look as if he believed this, but he was so excited to be breaking the story, he didn't care. The only conditions I gave him were that he didn't mention Rob's or his mother's names.

The reporter didn't let me down. He got the story exactly the way I wanted it, and even put in some quotes from the people at Crane, whom he'd called after interviewing me. Dr. Shifton he reported as being relieved I was all right. It wasn't at all unusual, she said, that my mysterious power had vanished just as suddenly as it had appeared. It often worked that way with lightning-strike victims.

Colonel Jenkins wasn't quoted anywhere in the article, but Special Agent Johnson was, and he said some nice things about me, and about how I had used my special gift to help others, which was admirable, and how he hoped that if my powers ever came back I'd call him.

Ha. As if.

Finally, the reporter interviewed my parents, who sounded bewildered, but happy to know I was all right. "We just can't wait," my mother said, "to have our baby back home, and everything back to normal
again
."

You'd be surprised how fast everything did go back to normal. The
Star
broke the story, and by later that night, every newscast mentioned something about the "lightning girl" and how she'd lost her special missing-child finding skill.

By the next day, the story had moved to the "Lifestyle" section of most papers, in the form of reflections on the part of columnists on the hidden powers of the brain and how all of us have the potential to be a "lightning girl," if we just pay attention to what our subconscious is trying to tell us.

Yeah, right.

By the day after that, the reporters in front of my house had packed up and left. It was safe. I could go home.

And so I did.

Well, that's pretty much my "statement." My hand is really tired. I hope this "statement" is long enough. But if it isn't, I don't really care. I'm hungry, and I want dinner. Mom promised to make manicotti, which is Douglas's favorite, and mine, too. Also, I have to practice. Monday after school I have to defend my chair in Orchestra from Karen Sue Hanky.

My one regret about all this is that there are only a few weeks of school left, and since detention is the only place I'll ever see Rob, this is a problem. In spite of everything, I still haven't been able to convince him that going out with me would not be a crime.

I haven't given up, though. I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it.

Now that I've read back over this statement, I'm not so sure anymore that all of this is Ruth's fault. The fact that I got struck by lightning, maybe. On the other hand, Ruth never would have wanted to walk home that day if it hadn't been for Jeff telling her she was as fat as Elvis. So maybe it's all Jeff's fault.

Yeah, I think it is. Jeff Day's fault, I mean.

Signed:

INTERNAL MEMORANDUM

WARNING:
HIGHLY CLASSIFIED MATERIAL

ONLY THOSE WITH LEVEL ALPHA CLEARANCE
MAY VIEW THIS DOCUMENT.

To: Cyrus Krantz

Special Operations Division

Fr: Special Agent Allan Johnson

Re: Special Subject Jessica Mastriani

What you have just read is the signed personal statement of Special Subject Jessica Mastriani. According to Miss Mastriani, her psychic powers ceased functioning on or about April 27—coincidentally, the morning after her escape from Crane. It is the opinion of this operative, however, that Miss Mastriani maintains full possession of her extraordinary powers, as illustrated by the following.

In the six weeks following Miss Mastriani's return to private life, 1-800-WHERE-R-YOU has received approximately one anonymous tip per week that has led to the successful recovery of a missing child. All of these calls have been received by Mrs. Rosemary Atkinson, a receptionist with whom Miss Mastriani seems to have developed a relationship during her initial contact with the NOMC. Mrs. Atkinson denies that the anonymous caller is Miss Mastriani. However, all of the calls have been made from pay phones within Indiana state lines.

Additionally, the day after the completion of the attached statement, Miss Mastriani received at her home a single postcard, bearing on it a photo of several dolphins. The postmark indicated that the card was mailed from Los Angeles. When questioned by her mother as to the identity of the anonymous sender, Miss Mastriani replied, within hearing of our positioned operative, "It's from Sean. He just wants to let me know where he is. Which is stupid, because I'll always know where he is."

It is the feeling of this operative that Miss Mastriani continues to maintain full possession of her psychic ability. I am hereby requesting authorization to continue monitoring Miss Mastriani, including tapping of her home telephone as well as the telephones of her father's restaurants. Should Miss Mastriani be proved to have been less than truthful in her submitted statement, this operative suggests utilizing her relationship with the mentally disturbed sibling as a form of persuasion in enlisting her aid on our behalf.

I look forward to your positive response to this request.

About the Author
Jenny Carroll

Born in Indiana, Jenny Carroll spent her childhood in pursuit of air conditioning - which she found in the public library where she spent most of her time. She has lived in California and France and currently resides in New York City with her husband and a one-eyed cat named Henrietta. Jenny Carroll is the author of the hugely popular Mediator series as well as the bestselling Princess Diaries. Visit Jenny at her website, www.jennycarroll.com