Beyond Reach Page 2

  He peers at the card with a furrowed brow. “You ladies want something to drink?” He sounds a little friendlier now. “Coffee, soda, water?”

  We both ask for water, which he sends for, and then we drink it and wait some more. Finally, his phone rings and he listens and nods, and his eyes show that he's actually surprised by something. “Is that so?” He listens some more, glancing at Ebony and me, seemingly impressed, but also a little suspicious. Finally he hangs up.

  “Well, I'll be.” He places both palms on his desk as he studies the two of us.

  “They were terrorists?” asks Ebony.

  They don't have all the details just yet, but it seems to be a real possibility.” He peers curiously at us. “How did you gals know about this anyway?”.

  Ebony glances at me. “It's a long story.”

  “Well, if you ladies want to be home by Christmas, you'd better start telling it to me now.” He holds up a small recording device. “And you need to know that this will be recorded.”

  To my relief, Ebony offers to speak first. She tells him about my special gift—how God gives me visions and dreams that can sometimes be useful in solving criminal cases. Of course, he has a hard time believing what's sounding pretty far-fetched even to my own ears.

  After she explains my dream on the plane to him, he picks up the phone and actually manages to connect with Tony. Naturally, we can't hear Tony's end of the conversation, but apparently it's sufficient to verify my “gift,” which is feeling more like a curse at the moment.

  “So you're like that medium on TV?” Banks finally asks me after he's finished up his little inquisition.

  “No,” I say quickly and firmly, my exasperation and weariness clearly showing now. “My dreams and visions come from God, I have no control over them, and I am not a medium. I'm a Christian who just happens to have a gift.” Thank you very much!

  “God reveals things to Samantha,” Ebony explains in a softer tone. “He gives her some important pieces of information. It's because she has a very unique connection to Him. It's hard for others tp understand this, but it's simply the way God designed her.”

  Just then, some other security personnel come into the office to meet us, congratulating us and thanking us for our help. Luggage and phones are returned. But to my dismay, Officer Banks proceeds to tell these people about my gift, and naturally more questions follow. Thankfully, Ebony fields the queries for me. I'm afraid my patience has worn painfully thin—I just want to go home.

  “So, you really did catch the guys?” I finally ask Officer Banks. I mean, we heard they were detained and all, but I want to be sure they're really locked up. “The flight's okay and no one's going to be hurt?”

  “Don't worry,” one of the younger guards assures me. “Those two dudes won't be hurting anyone tonight.”

  “Unfortunately, there are a bunch of disgruntled passengers who won't be making it to Phoenix tonight either.” Then the female security officer briefly explains how the plane and all the checked bags must be moved to a safe and secure place and thoroughly searched. “And with the shortage of flights this time of year, they might not even make it home by tomorrow. I'm afraid this is going to spoil a whole lot of Christmases.”

  “Not as much as being blown up in the sky would spoil them,” Ebony points out.

  “I'm curious,” I say. “With all the security checks and X-ray machines and stuff…how did those guys get through with bombs and knives?”

  “There's more than one way to get down to the gates,” says Officer Banks. “Sure, passengers have to go through some tight security, but we also have food service people and various deliveries that come through other avenues. And sometimes passengers, perhaps even our terrorist fellows today, have friends on the inside.”

  “Friends who can sneak in knives and things,” says the young guard.

  “Nothing is absolutely certain yet, but there will be a thorough investigation,” the female officer assures us.

  Then, after asking and answering a few more questions, we are finally allowed to leave the airport.

  “Free at last,” I say as we head for the parking lot to hunt for Ebony's car. I can hardly believe we parked it there just two days ago, back when we set out on our mission to Phoenix. Was it only this morning that we were out on the desert searching for Kayla and her kidnapper? It seems like two years must've passed since that time. What a day!

  “You might've just saved a whole lot of lives tonight, Sam.” Ebony opens the trunk of her unmarked police car. We both set our bags inside, and she closes it with a thunk.

  “Not me, God,’

  “Yes, but you were listening, Sam. You were tuned in.”

  I consider this as she drives us back to Brighton. I suppose I was tuned in. But really, it seemed like I didn't have that much to do with it. I mean, besides being on the receiving end of things. But then I guess that's how it is with God's gifts. They just come—unexpected.

  Even so, I'm ready for a little break just now. Or maybe even a big break. I'm not saying I want to tune out completely, but I wouldn't mind a few nights (maybe even a few weeks) of dreamless sleep. I silently beg God to give me some time off during Christmas break—it doesn't seem too much to ask. It's not like I'm telling Him to get lost. I just want Him to leave me alone for a while. Just give me a break. That's all.

  The holidays passed in a surprisingly quiet way. This was partly due to the fact that my brother, Zach, is still in drug rehab up in Washington State.

  Mom was a little blue about him being away from home, but I reminded her that it was much better than last Christmas, when Zach was “home” but went on a serious binge during the holidays and we never saw him at all. At least we don't have to be worried about him getting arrested or killed this year since he's locked up, or sort of locked up. His rehab place's philosophy is actually founded on “trust and free will.” Let's just hope Zach stays trustworthy and willing long enough to get better.

  He called us on Christmas Day, and it sounded like he was doing okay. Sure, he had regular complaints about things like having to get up too early, his neurotic roommate, and the revolving menu… Who wouldn't complain? But for the most part, I think he's sticking to the program. Even so, he's not even halfway finished with his treatment, so I've really been praying for him lately, begging God to help him hang in there—to beat his methamphetamine addiction once and for all. My best friend, Olivia Marsh, has been praying too. She's always been a good prayer partner when it comes to my wayward brother.

  Anyway, I'm thankful for this much-needed calm during Christmas vacation, and I think maybe God realized that I needed a break after all. But the new year has begun and it's time to go back to school. I'm a little concerned about Kayla Henderson. Her story was in both the local and national news on Christmas Day and a few days afterward. At first they ran it as a Christmas miracle story, which it was, and thankfully they didn't give all the details about how she was found or who was involved. So my anonymity seemed safe. As Olivia drives us to school, suddenly I'm worried.

  Will Kayla be back in classes today? And if so, will she get to talking and let it out that I played a rather strange role in her rescue down in Arizona?

  At the time I told her I was working “undercover” with Ebony and begged her to keep it quiet. But so much has happened since then… What if she forgot? Maybe I should've reminded her about this when we talked on the phone a few days after Christmas. I'd called just to check on how she was doing, and to be honest, it didn't sound like she was doing that great. But I tried to encourage her, and I promised to pray for her. I even invited her to youth group, although she declined, saying she wasn't ready to see people yet.

  “You okay, Sam?” Olivia glances at me as she pulls into the school parking lot.

  “Yeah.” I reach for my bag. “I'm just worried that Kayla might spill the beans about me.”

  “I thought you had some kind of an arrangement with her.” Olivia snags a good parking place and turns
off her car. “And seriously, why would she want to talk about all that crud anyway? I mean it's pretty humiliating to her, falling for a cyber jerk like that Colby creep and then actually going down there to meet him. Ugh!” She makes a face. “If I were Kayla, I'd be keeping my mouth shut.”

  “You're probably right.”

  Olivia softens. “Just the same, we can look for her, Sam. You could give her a gentle reminder.”

  “Good idea,” I say as we walk across the foggy parking lot. The air feels like it's laced with ice today, and I wish I'd remembered the cashmere gloves Mom gave me for Christmas.

  Once inside the building, we head straight for where Olivia thinks Kayla's locker used to be. But we don't see Kayla anywhere. So we walk around, checking out the usual places, and even ask Emma Piscolli, not exactly Kayla's best friend, if she's seen her this morning.

  Emma just shakes her head. “And I've been looking for her too. I asked Brittany and Amelia if they'd seen or talked to her, but apparently no one has.”

  “Why don't we call her cell?” Olivia suggests.

  “I don't know her number,” I point out.

  “I do,” says Emma.

  “Are you guys talking about Kayla?” asks Kendall Zilcowski.

  Now, although Kendall and Kayla couldn't be any more different (Kayla being a wild child and Kendall being a wallflower), the two girls had become fairly good friends last fall, back before Kayla went mysteriously missing.

  “Yes,” I tell Kendall. “Have you seen her?”

  “Sure. We hung together during winter break, after Christmas…you know, after she came home from Arizona.”

  “How's she doing?” asks Olivia.

  Kendall makes an uncertain face. “It's not easy…”

  “Is she here?” I ask.

  Now Kendall shakes her head. “She wasn't ready to come back to school. She's pretty freaked that everyone will treat her weird…you know, because of all the stories that have been in the news. She thinks the whole thing will get blown even more out of proportion with her friends talking about stuff and that everyone will want to know all the gory details about her kidnapper and the murders and all that crud.”

  I slowly nod. After the capture of Colby Buckley, bits and pieces of the “Internet abductor” story slowly surfaced in the news. We learned how this criminal used the Internet to lure unsuspecting teen girls into his make-believe world with lies and promises and fake photos. Then, after getting them soundly hooked, he would wire them money to come visit. And once he got a girl down there, he would hold her captive and sexually assault her. Then he would brutally murder her and bury her remains in the desert. So far six victims have been identified by their remains. Horrifying stuff.

  “I can't blame her,” says Olivia. “I wouldn't want everyone staring at me or asking me questions either.”

  “Exactly,” says Kendall. “So she and her mom have decided to move away from Brighton. Kayla plans to dye and cut her hair and use a different name. Hopefully she'll get a fresh start someplace where people aren't as tuned in to the story.”

  Okay, I feel guilty for being glad about this, because it's a selfish kind of glad. But then I realize that I'm glad for Kayla's sake too. Coming back to Brighton High after everything, well, it would be pretty hard. “I hope she gets some good counseling too,” I say as I remember Ebony's concerns.

  “She's already going to a counselor,” says Kendall. “And I'm sure she'll keep it up. Her mom was adamant about it. In fact, her mom's seeing a counselor too. I guess the one good thing that came out of all this is that Kayla and her mom are working some stuff out now.”

  “That's worth a lot,” I say. Of course, I'm thinking it couldn't possibly be worth all that Kayla's been through— God only knows what that was like—but I'm glad that she and her mom are finally getting along. I vaguely wonder if Mom and I would get closer if I went through something like Kayla's ordeal. No thanks. I know for a fact that I don't want to go there. Not for anything!

  “Well, I plan to keep praying for her,” announces Olivia.

  “Me too, “I agree.

  “So will I,” Kendall says, which surprises me since I wasn't sure that she was a Christian.

  “Cool.” I decide I should get to know this normally. quiet girl a little better.

  But the warning bell is ringing now, and since it's the first day back at school, we all skitter away like we don't want to be late for class. As I head for English, I try to remember what we were working on before winter break. I seriously don't understand why our school insists on having four quarters like this. I wish we were like a college and simply have three terms with breaks in sensible places. It seems crazy to go nearly brain-dead during winter break only to return to school in time to kick it in gear for finals. What is with that anyway?

  A couple of uneventful weeks pass and everyone seems quieter than usual around school. Maybe we're all just buckling down to our studies, or maybe it's simply the winter blahs. But to be fair, I can't blame my moodiness completely on finals. I can't even blame it on the cold, foggy weather, which really is depressing. The truth is, something else is bugging me. At first I tried to pretend it was no big deal. But as days pass and nothing changes, it begins to get to me. Now I'm getting concerned.

  No, I'm not obsessing over a boy. I still like Conrad Stiles, and he seems to still like me. We've gone out a couple times since Christmas, but his schedule is pretty full with varsity basketball right now, which means I don't see him that much. But that's not what's getting to me anyway. It's something much bigger than Conrad, something I can't really talk to anyone about. I haven't even told Olivia. In some ways I haven't fully admitted it to myself.

  But here is the truth: I feel like I haven't heard a word from God in ages. No dreams, no visions, nothing out of the ordinary. Just peace and quiet. I know I should be grateful. But I'm not.

  Naturally, I read my Bible and pray regularly. How could I not? And, of course, I go to church and youth group, and while I get something out of all those things, I'm just not getting any special messages like I did before. As much as I hate to admit it, this has me seriously worried.

  I haven't forgotten my little prayer on Christmas Eve, after the terrorist incident on the flight home from Phoenix. I was feeling weary. I remember how I begged God to give me a break.

  And I think I might've sounded horribly ungrateful, like I was whining and complaining because God had used me to do something that really was amazing and miraculous. And now I wonder if He's decided to give that incredible gift to someone else. Someone more worthy. And by mid-January, right before finals week, I am feeling totally bummed. What have I done?

  “Dear God,” I pray before going to bed, “please, forgive me if I seemed unappreciative a few weeks ago. I really am glad that You chose me for that particular gift. I love thinking that You trust me enough to show me important things. I think I was just worn out from everything that had happened. I'm so sorry if I said or did something wrong. Please, forgive me for being so selfish. And if You want to give this gift back to me, I'll try to always be grateful for it. And I'll try to always use it for Your glory.”

  I take a deep breath and steady myself for this next line. “And, dear God, if You should choose not to give me this gift again, well, I just want You to know that it won't change how I feel about You. I will still love You and trust You—with all of my heart. Heavenly Father, I know You know what's best for me. I am Your servant. Amen.”

  Then I feel surprisingly peaceful as I go to sleep. And I suspect I might even have a dream tonight. But morning comes and, with it, no dream. At least nothing I can remember. Nothing that came from God. Just the same, I remember my promise to accept whatever God chooses for me. Even if that means it's over and He's not going to send me any more messages. I am okay with that.

  Still, I try not to feel too disappointed as Olivia drives us to school that morning. I attempt to carry on what seems a normal conversation and don't tell her how I'm really
feeling underneath. I ask about her three-day weekend. (It was Martin Luther King Day yesterday, and her dad took them skiing for all three days.)

  “How was the snow?”

  “Awesome. I wish you could've come, Sam.”

  “Me too,” I admit. But I don't admit that the real reason I passed on the invitation was because of finances. I know Olivia would've offered to pay my way. But I also know that she does that too much. And as Mom likes to remind me, I need to accept that our family's finances are not the same as the Marsh family's. And while I try to save when I can, it seems that I'm usually pretty broke. Maybe I really should look for a serious part-time job.

  “Good luck on your finals,” I tell Olivia as we part ways to go to class.

  Then I try to devote my full concentration to my finals. For the next couple of days, I try to block out the fact that God seems to be blocking me out. Okay, I know that's not true or even fair. But it's how it feels.

  Maybe I should get used to it. Maybe this is simply the way it's going to be. I'll have a “normal” life and live the way other people do—trusting and serving God whether or not He communicates to me through supernatural means. Okay, fine. I can do that. I'm sure there've been times when that's all I wanted to do, times when the pressure of hearing God felt overwhelming. So why not just get used to this?

  Finals week passes, and on Friday (a teachers’ workday) I'm considering getting some sort of job. I pray about this but don't feel any strong inclination one way or another. I've asked Mom's opinion, and naturally, she thinks it's a great idea.

  “Unfortunately, we're cutting back due to budget problems at the park district,” she tells me. “Or else I'd suggest you try there. But even the day-care center is overstaffed right now.”

  The truth is, I'd rather work someplace where Mom doesn't anyway I mean, I've always liked working with the kids there, and I might even consider applying for something similar to that somewhere else. But it would be cool not to work where my mom is everyone's boss.