Real-life crime

“Ohmigosh, Nancy!” Bess came running into the lobby of the River Heights police station, her cheeks pink, closely trailed by George. Their faces radiated concern as they ran over to where I sat huddled in an orange plastic chair. A cold, tasteless cup of coffee sat on a table next to me, and I clutched an ancient tissue in my hand that had been soaked with tears, dried, and then soaked again.

I think it’s safe to say I was a mess.

“Are you okay?” George asked as she and Bess flanked my chair. “Did you sleep at all? Did they find out anything?”

I swallowed, and my throat burned. I took a sip of the disgusting coffee to cool it. “No,” I replied, my throat raspy. “On all counts.”

It was ten o’clock in the morning, and I’d spent the night with the RHPD. I’d spent hours telling them all the details of Ned’s disappearance, only to be told that he wasn’t considered “missing” yet — and that, because he was a college student and they keep odd hours and played weird pranks, the police weren’t completely convinced there was any foul play involved here.

“Is there any chance he knew the people in the SUV?” Officer Carr had asked me, looking concerned but skeptical. “Could this be a game or a practical joke? We deal with lots of hijinks at the university, Nancy.”

My jaw had dropped. I knew the River Heights Police could be a little slow to get moving on a case before, but this was the first time their lack of interest was turned against me. “You don’t know Ned,” I’d replied, shaking my head. “He would never play a joke like that on me. He’s always honest and straightforward! And he was exhausted by the time we got to the park.”

Officer Carr had sighed. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Nancy,” he’d said. “But you know we have to wait twenty-four hours.”

Now George and Bess watched me with concerned expressions. “What happened, exactly?” Bess asked.

I launched into the story: the message Ned had received on BetterLife, my bright idea to try and track UrNewReality down, and the scavenger hunt through the woods. And finally, the mysterious black SUV that had taken Ned away.

Bess and George looked just as worried as I felt. “What was the number they were texting you from?” George asked, pulling out her PDA.

I took out my cell phone and showed her.

George brought up a Web browser on her PDA and, in a few short clicks, plugged the phone number into a reverse cell phone directory. I began to feel a little better. Already, George was doing more for me than the police had. But when the results came up, George just sighed and shook her head. “There’s no name associated with that number,” she told me. “Which probably means it’s a disposable cell phone. Perfect for sending anonymous messages and making anonymous calls.”

I nodded, disappointed, but not surprised. Whoever UrNewReality was, he or she certainly knew a lot about remaining anonymous. “Oh well.”

Bess frowned. “Nancy, maybe we should contact the local hospitals?” she asked. “Is there any chance Ned might have turned up…”

I shook my head. “I’m way ahead of you,” I replied. “I called all of the area hospitals a few minutes ago. Nobody meeting Ned’s description came in.” I sighed. “And I called Ned’s parents. They’re on their way here. I told them the police were refusing to investigate unless Ned is still missing tonight, but Mrs. Nickerson thought maybe if they came down here, they could convince the police otherwise.”

George nodded, glancing at the officer behind the reception desk, who was staring into his lap and doing his best to pretend he wasn’t hearing our conversation. “Good luck with that,” George murmured.

Just then, a BEEP! sounded from George’s PDA. Bess and I looked at her expectantly as George glanced at the screen and then pressed a few buttons.

“Is it a message?” Bess asked eagerly. “UrNewReality again?”

George shook her head. “Nothing that exciting, I’m afraid.” She looked at me. “It’s my calendar feature, reminding me that we have a meeting with Jack Crilley in half an hour.”

I groaned, rubbing my eyes. Of course I’d completely forgotten in all the excitement.

“Do you want to cancel?” George asked. “You’d be totally justified, under the circumstances.”

I shook my head. “No. If we want to keep this from happening to any other BetterLife users, we need to meet with Jack Crilley. Besides, I think I’ve done all I can here. Let me just run home and change clothes, and we can go to the Gaming Garage.”

Bess and George nodded sympathetically and stepped back as I stood up. Just then, two officers came in the front door of the police station. I recognized them as the pair that had left to question Professor Frank just an hour before.

“Well?” I asked them, moving to block their path to the back offices. “What did Professor Frank tell you?”

The younger officer, who hadn’t interacted with me at all before, glanced at his partner warily: Who was this nosy teenager? But the older officer gave him a look that said, She’s okay. He turned to me.

“Funny thing,” he announced. “Professor Frank wasn’t home.”

That seemed odd. “At nine o’clock in the morning?” I asked. “That’s before office hours. Did you leave him a note?”

The officer glanced again at his partner and sighed. “Not exactly,” he replied. “In fact… there were some odd things about Professor Frank’s absence.”

Odd things? My crime antennae went flying up. “What odd things?”

“Well, for one,” the younger officer told me, “his front door was wide open, and his wallet and cell phone were still sitting on his kitchen counter.”

I swallowed. That was very odd. Who left home without locking the door and bringing their wallet?

“Also,” the older officer added, “there were signs of a struggle. The phone was knocked off the wall in the kitchen, and a glass was smashed on the floor.”

My insides froze. What the officers were describing didn’t sound at all like an eccentric man wandering off for a morning stroll. What they were describing sounded like foul play — very foul.

“Someone took him,” I said, giving voice to my worst feelings. “Someone kidnapped him. He didn’t leave under his own power.” And that means Ned is in even worse danger than I thought, I added mentally. If Professor Frank is missing, then he definitely isn’t UrNewReality. And if UrNewReality is crazy enough to take them both…

The officers looked at each other, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s something we still need to look into,” the older one said.

I sighed, frustrated, and turned back to my friends. “Let’s go.” I was more determined now to meet with Jack Crilley than ever. Something very fishy was going on in BetterLife, and the stakes were getting higher and higher! This went way beyond teenage hijinks, as Professor Frank might have called them, or even cyberbullying — this was real-life kidnapping. I just hoped it wouldn’t turn into something worse.

As we were walking out the front door, I spotted Mrs. Nickerson running through the parking lot toward the station. “Nancy!” she cried when she saw me, wrapping her arms around me in a comforting hug. “We called Carson to fill him in, but he said you’d already called him. Are you all right? Have you been here all night?”

I nodded sleepily and filled Mrs. Nickerson in on the latest developments — everything I’d told the police about Ned, and what I’d just learned about Professor Frank.

“I have to go for an hour or so,” I told Mrs. Nickerson. “I need to go home and shower, and I have a meeting that I really can’t miss. But then I’ll be back here.”

Mrs. Nickerson touched my head. “Nancy, that’s not necessary,” she said gently. “I’ll do what I can. You can get some sleep.”

I shook my head. “I’m not going to be able to sleep until Ned is safe and sound and back with us,” I insisted.

Mrs. Nickerson smiled sadly, reaching to take my hand and squeeze it. “That makes two of us,” she told me.

A quick shower, a change of clothes, and a huge cup of coffee later, George, Bess, and I pulled up to the Gaming Garage. I had never been there before, but George had; it was a huge hangout spot for video gamers and technophiles like her. She explained that they had a huge gaming area where local gamers met up and held competitions, and they hosted several statewide and even national gaming championships. “It’s a big deal,” she told me. “Gamers love this place.”

We climbed out of my Prius and stared at the entrance. Oddly enough, it seemed to be deserted this morning. Ours was the only car parked near the entrance, though a couple others hovered at the edges of the lot, near a neighboring mini-mall.

“It seems kind of empty,” I observed.

George just shrugged. “Well, it’s early,” she replied. “Gamers don’t tend to be a big out-of-bed-at-dawn kind of crowd.”

We walked up to the front door. Inside, fluorescent lights illuminated rows upon rows of video and computer games, along with the latest gaming systems and equipment. A huge sign was posted in the front window: MEET BETTERLIFE CREATORS ROBERT SUNG AND JACK CRILLEY HERE AT 1 PM SATURDAY! But inside, it looked pretty deserted. In fact, when Bess pushed on the front door, it wouldn’t budge.

She turned to us with a confused expression. “It’s… closed?” she asked.

George pointed to a sign that read hours, scrolling down to find SATURDAY. “‘Noon till 11 p.m.,’” she read. “Uh-oh. I think it is closed.”

I groaned. “If we’ve been set up by these people again …”

But just then, George’s phone beeped. She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. “Text message,” she told us. Pressing a couple buttons, she opened the message and held it up to show us:

SRY, THEY OFFERED TO OPEN EARLY 4 US — ENTER CODE 5-6-9-3 TO GET IN.

“Enter code?” I repeated. “Enter code where? I don’t understand.”

Bess reached out and grabbed a small dial high up on the front door. “I’m guessing here,” she replied. “It looks like a combination lock.”

George nodded, still glancing at her phone. “Well, give it a shot.” Bess spun the dial and entered the four numbers — 5-9-6-3. It took a few seconds, but then a chime sounded and we heard the lock disengage. Bess pushed the door again, and this time it opened easily.

“Wow,” she said, with a smile aimed at George. “Modern technology.”

George just grinned. “How about that.”

Bess entered the store, with George and me close behind.

Now inside, I realized that only the lights nearest the door were on — the rest of the store was dark and, it appeared, empty. “Hello?” I called. My voice echoed in the cavernous space, but no one responded. “Hello?”

George looked around. “Maybe we should head to the gaming room,” she suggested. “It’s through these aisles, in back.”

I shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

We all walked through the dark, eerily silent aisles to an open rear door. The room inside appeared dark, but as we grew closer I could hear bleeps and bloops coming from inside — the telltale sounds of a video game. As we walked up to the door, I caught sight of several huge plasma televisions mounted on the wall. It was dark inside except for the televisions, but I could just make out several rows of big, cushy leather chairs that faced the screens a few yards in front of us. George had been right — this place was a gamer’s paradise.

“Hello?” I called again.

Virtual car horns and traffic noises were my only reply.

“He’s probably really into his game,” George suggested. “Let’s just go in.”

The chairs were too tall for us to tell if they were occupied, so I figured George was right — Robert Sung and Jack Crilley were probably sitting in the front row, enjoying a game of their incredibly popular creation. In fact, I now recognized some of the fake traffic and “outdoor” noise as coming from Virtual River Heights.

Feeling a little bit of sensory overload, I walked into the flashing, bleeping, blooping room, flanked by my two friends. The gaming room was windowless, and I could tell that the sound system was state-of-the-art. I imagined it might be very easy to settle down into one of those chairs and forget the outside world for a few hours.

When we were a few yards from the heavy metal door, it swung shut behind us. There was no window, so the closed door cut off every last bit of daylight that had crept into the store. We were completely surrounded by Virtual River Heights.

Then there was a loud “clicking” sound. Bess gave me a worried glance, then ran back a few feet to try the door. She turned back to us in shock. “It’s locked,” she whispered. “We’re locked in here.”

Just as my hackles started to rise, George’s phone beeped. She swallowed and glanced at the screen. “Text message.” Pressing a couple buttons, she brought up a text from the same number as before:

LOG ON TO THE COMPUTER.

“Why would they lock us in here?” Bess asked. “Who even did it? The store was empty.”

“Maybe they just want our full attention,” I suggested, but deep down I was just as disturbed by this development as Bess was. “Maybe it’s for security’s sake? They don’t want anyone else hearing trade secrets?”

“Hello?!” George called into the cavernous room, but there was no reply. Slowly, we approached the gaming chairs. As we got closer, it was clear that each one was empty. I blinked and looked up at the largest plasma television I’d ever seen, mounted directly in front of us. I realized now that the screen was set to the BetterLife login page. The bleeps, bloops, and virtual street noise we’d heard before were just part of the looping street scene that enticed users to log in.

I walked to the front row of chairs. Each chair was equipped with a full keyboard, mouse, and gaming control. When I lifted the mouse, the arrow onscreen moved. I clicked on the Username box and the cursor appeared.

I looked back at George and Bess.

“What’s going on?” Bess asked.

This was not at all what I’d pictured. I’d thought we’d have a simple sit-down with Jack and Robert; we’d tell them what we knew, they would thank us, and I’d run back to the police station. I had no idea that we’d end up locked in this gaming room, communicating with who-knows-who through a video game. But…

“We don’t have much of a choice,” I said. Bess and George glanced at each other, and George nodded grimly.

“Let’s get started, whatever this is,” she said. “They want to challenge me on a computer? Bring it.”

I nodded and sat down in the chair. My friends moved up to the front row and settled in the chairs on either side of me.

Using the keyboard and mouse attached to the chair, I logged in as VirtualNancy and entered my password. Within seconds, VirtualNancy appeared in front of her apartment, looking much happier and more refreshed than I was feeling at the moment.

She turned to the left, and I jumped as two strangers filled up the screen.

Well, strangers in that VirtualNancy had never met them before.

But they looked an awful lot like Robert Sung and Jack Crilley.

Дата добавления: 2017-01-14