Jessica could not remember the last time that she had felt like this. Hell, she couldn't remember the last time she had thought it possible that she could feel like this. Even allowing herself to mentally label her feelings in the past few weeks seemed risky, even dangerous. How could she acknowledge to herself that she had been enjoying her life, even feeling happy about considerable portions of it? To admit even to herself that she was experiencing happiness seemed like a surefire way to bring it all to a devastating end.

But as much as she didn't want to even think the word, happy was a fairly accurate way to describe her, recently. It was an emotion she could hardly avoid, given how neatly and easily her life seemed to be falling into place. Kilgrave was dead, for real this time, his threat over her and everyone else ended forever. There hadn't been an attack to NYC or the world recently that required her involvement to save from apocalypse. Trish wasn't on drugs, had the good sense to be staying away from her mother, and was even in a relationship Jessica approved of, as much as she would approve of anyone with her sister. Trish was healthy, safe, and happy, and that was all Jessica wanted for her.

And for Jessica…well, there was Luke. The more she got to know him, and the more time she spent with him, the more she knew that she was falling more and more deeply in love with him. And by some crazy twist of fate, Luke had decided that he loved her too.

It wasn't like she hadn't tried to push him away. She had tried rudeness and bluntness, making it clear to him that there was no "better" Jessica that he might eventually shape her into. What he saw was what he was going to get. She didn't hide her drinking or her temper, her antisocial tendencies or her cynicism. And still, he didn't back away. Even after knowing her history, the worst of what she had done and the depth of her emotional scars, he still looked her in the eyes with nothing but respect and acceptance. Jessica still didn't feel that she deserved this, but she loved the person that Luke was showing himself to be too much to walk away, even if she felt that was what would be the best option for him. Maybe it was selfish of her, but she wanted him, a life with him, too much to try much harder to force him away.

And even the parts she hated most about herself, as she spent time with Luke, seemed to be getting better ever so slowly. Jessica was never going to be a person without a dark side to herself; hell, even before her family died and her life spun out of control for the next twenty years, she had been the kind of asshole teenager who dressed in black, played only metal bands, and had few facial expressions beyond scowls. She still drank heavily, she still avoided the public whenever possible, and she still shrank from any initiating any physical affection and refused to express her affection verbally. She still had nightmares, panic attacks, and hallucinations. But they were becoming less and less frequent and intense, and her sleep was getting better, overall. She even thought she wasn't drunk quite as often.

Luke was changing her, somehow. And damn it, Jessica didn't even mind it.

88

"We've got eleven new potential cases," Malcolm greeted her, the first Monday that Jessica returned from her trip with Luke, Trish, and Danny. "Most of the same, straightforward cheating spouse kind, but there's a few that are a little more complex. I took down all the messages for you, the ones I thought you'd be most interested in are highlighted."

Jessica hadn't actually given the man permission to be taking down calls, speaking with clients, or coming into the office to work when she wasn't also present. Hell, she was pretty sure he was supposed to be currently fired for the fifth or sixth time. But Malcolm generally ignored whatever orders she gave if he saw fit to, and she was in a decent enough mood to overlook his supposedly unemployed state. For today.

She gifted him with only a slight scoffing noise and rolling of her eyes rather than the full-on ass chewing he might normally have received, accepting the neatly labeled folder he held out to her. Flipping through it and rolling her eyes for a second time at the typed notes he had organized, she skimmed through each, tossing them haphazardly onto her desk as she rejected them entirely or dismissed their importance.

"Cheater, cheater, blackmail, whack job, religious nut, cheater, cheater-"

Her hand stopped on the next note, several of the typed words jumping out at her. Missing child- Gabriel Dowling, age ten. Jessica swallowed, her throat suddenly and uncomfortably tight. Her brother Phillip had also been ten years old, the year that he died. She had spent the last sixteen years feeling very uncomfortable and vaguely agitated when anywhere near a male child under the age of fourteen; the parallels to her brother were far too obvious and raw.

Forcing herself to shake off her discomfort the best that she could, Jessica began to read over Malcolm's notations more thoroughly. The call in had been made by the child's mother, Cynthia Dowling; Jessica noted that no father was listened and reminded herself to follow up on his involvement or lack of, whether he was the potential perpetrator of the disappearance. The child had allegedly been missing for several days, with no signs of being a runaway and no ransom note left. Mother claims to have gone to wake him one morning only to find his room empty and no signs of a kidnapping or intruder.

The minimal facts raised more questions for Jessica than answers; already she was wondering whether the disappearance could be staged, if it was possible that this was all some bullshit custody battle, or if ten years old really was old enough for a kid to be a runaway or going on some extended, unapproved sleepover with one of his friends. But if neither was the case, then a little boy was missing and at risk of great harm, if he wasn't dead already. Jessica might not think of herself as a hero, but she couldn't in good conscience turn this down.

"This one," she said to Malcolm, tapping the file. "Start looking up what you can on Cynthia and Gabriel Dowling. I'm calling her up and asking her to come in."

88

There was nothing alarming about Cynthia Dowling, at first impression. She was a woman about ten years older than Jessica herself, of average height, weight, and appearance. But there was a haunted, pained look to her eyes, dark circles stained deeply beneath them, and her shoulders slumped as she took the seat across from Jessica's desk that she was directed towards. Nevertheless, she met Jessica's gaze firmly and with a surprising steeliness as she addressed her.

"I know you'll have questions for me, Ms. Jones, and I'll answer anything and do anything you need to help me get Gabriel back. But I'm going to tell you now that most of the standard questions a person would ask about a child's disappearance will not help you, because they'll be going in the wrong direction."

Jessica arched an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair and fixing a skeptical look at the woman. "Hey, lady, you came to me for help, so why don't you let me actually do the work I'm qualified for instead of telling me what you think is or isn't going to help?"

"I'm not telling you how to do your job," Cynthia insisted, lifting both hands wearily and letting them drop down to her lap. "But I know the type of questions the police would ask, and they are wasting both of our time, and my son's time, which he may not have much of. I-"

"So you've spoken to the police?" Jessica interrupted. When the woman hesitated, then shook her head, Jessica narrowed her eyes, leaning towards her. "Your kid has been missing for days, and you didn't report this to the police?"

"I know how it sounds," Cynthia said wearily, rubbing a hand over her face. "I can understand why you're judging me for that, and if this wasn't my son and my life, I'd judge anyone else just the same. But the police couldn't do anything for us, Ms. Jones. That's why I've come to you."

She paused, lifting her face up again. "My son did not run away. My son did not wonder off and get lost, and before you even ask, his father is not in the picture. I never even told him that I was pregnant, and I've never told Gabriel who his father is. He has nothing to do with this, it would be impossible."

"Lady, there's a lot of things in this world that should be impossible, but aren't," Jessica muttered, exhaling. "I'm assuming you have reasons for the dad not being involved? What makes you think there's no way a guy you didn't even want to know you're pregnant couldn't do something with your son?"

"It wasn't like that," Cynthia said. "It wasn't…abuse, or that he was a bad person, or anything like that. It was a silly, casual fling that resulted in an unplanned pregnancy that I wasn't unopposed to go through with." She signed, shaking her head. "I didn't know Gabriel's father enough to know whether or not he was capable of being a good father, or if he would be interested. Maybe it was selfish of me, but I didn't want to have to take the risk of finding out. I thought…Gabriel was going to be mine, the only person who was all mine. I thought I could be enough for a child…for my child."

Her voice shook slightly, and she brushed at her eyes before steadying it. "This has nothing to do with what's happened to my child. This-"

"There's no way you can know that at this point," Jessica interrupted, not bothering to hide the irritation in her tone. "You hire me to investigate and I'm investigating all possibilities. I need-"

"I chose you because of what you are," Cynthia Rowling blurted, and when Jessica stopped speaking, blinking at her, the woman squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, continuing. "Because…because I've heard about who you are. The things you can do. You're like my son, Ms. Jones…or rather, my son is like you. If anyone is going to be able to bring my son back to me, it will be a person who is like him."

Jessica knew exactly what the woman was implying. Still, she had to be certain.

"What do you mean, your son is like me?"

"I don't know the right word for it," Cynthia said carefully, seeming to be trying to choose words that would be accurate without offense. "I've always just thought of Gabriel as….special. Not a mutant, or a superhero, or even superpowered…to me, he was just my son."

Jessica could feel her heartbeat speed up, and she had to make herself hold still as the woman spoke, make her face remain blank. Even so, her hands twitched, and her throat went dry with her craving to drink as she listened.

"Gabriel can…go places. Without walking, or doing anything to get there. All he has to do is wish for it, or think about it, and he's there. I think the word is teleporting…whatever it is, he can do it." Cynthia shook her head, giving a short, broken-sounding laugh. "When he was a baby, I never could make him stay in his crib at night. I couldn't keep him in the corner for time out or in the house on rainy days. I homeschool him, because when he was in preschool and would get bored, he would take himself out to the playground and send the teachers into a panic, not knowing where he went or how he got there."

As the implications of what Cynthia was saying began to dawn on Jessica, she looked at the woman sharply, her back straightening.

"If your son can teleport- hold on, what are you telling me? You think your child's been kidnapped, right? That someone is holding him? But how is that possible, if all he has to do is wish himself back home, and it would happen?"

Cynthia nodded, a small, tight smile without joy curving her lips.

"You understand now, Ms. Jones. You being like my son- that isn't the only reason I chose you. You understand what it would take, what kind of person it would take, to be able to hold my son when he doesn't want to be there. The kind of person who would and could do this. You…you had experience with that, didn't you? The man this year on the docks-"

"I'm not talking about that," Jessica snapped, reeling back from her fast enough that the back of her chair smacked against the wall behind her. "That's none of your damn business."

"I understand," her client said quietly, nodding. "But please understand, this is why I've chosen you to help me find my son. You know what people like that can do to someone like him- to someone like you. I want my son back with me, Ms. Jones. And if…if something happened to him…if someone's done something to him…then I want you to be able to tell me who it is that's responsible."

Jessica took some time to gather words. Even as her temples pulsed and her eyes burned, she could only come up with one reply.

"Okay."

88

Within hours, she had all the information she and Malcolm could gather on the small Dowling family. It was straightforward enough, and no different from what Cynthia had said. Single parent, no father listed or involved, homeschooled child who had several strange "incidents" in preschool. No red flags popping out about either, beyond the preschool "incidents," which Cynthia had already explained. Pictures on Cynthia's social media implied a child who appeared happy and close to his mother and who regularly socialized with other children.

It was only after Jessica had begun to look into some of the children pictured with Gabriel, just at the far-fetched possibility of a lead, that a pattern began to emerge. Each of those children was also homeschooled, never enrolled in public or private elementary schools. And as Jessica began to look into them and their families, other "incidents" began to pop up, suspiciously similar in nature to Gabriel's preschool incidents.

As her suspicions grew, Jessica began contacting the families of the children that had been Gabriel's friends, under the premise of needing information about Gabriel's disappearance. It didn't take very long for the pattern's strength to intensify.

Most of the children that Gabriel Dowling was friends with were also "special," as Ms Dowling had described her son. And three of those children had also, within the past year, mysteriously vanished- children who normally should have been able to fight off or escape a would be threatening person without trouble.

It was becoming obvious to Jessica that whoever it was that had taken the children was gifted with some sort of supernatural ability themselves. Whatever his or her intentions, this person was clearly potentially very dangerous indeed.