Bad Connection (16 page)

Suddenly everyone is gone, and I realize how quiet the house is. And it's just me. Me and the uneaten pizza. I take out a lukewarm slice and then, feeling slightly spooked, call Olivia. Between bites and after swearing her to absolute secrecy, I pour out the story of Zach.

“Man, you have had one freaky-busy day, Samantha.”

“Tell me about it. And I hate to impose on your hospitality again, but I'm kinda scared about being alone here tonight. Especially if Zach's drug friend is anywhere around or if he's feeling particularly vengeful, you know? Do you think I could—?”

“I'm on my way,” she says. “Be there in a few.”

Thanks.”

Olivia and I don't stay up nearly as late tonight as we did last night. I can barely keep my eyes open when my head hits the pillow. But it's good to feel safe, and before I fall asleep I pray for Zach. And then for Mom. Then I thank God for intervening for us tonight. And then I drift off into blissful sleep.

I wake up suddenly, my heart is racing, and every muscle in my body is tensed up—like I'm ready to run for my life. I don't know where I am or why I feel this need to escape, but after a few seconds, and thanks to the light coming from her bathroom, I realize that I'm in Olivia's bedroom, sleeping in the bed across from hers. The house is calm
and quiet. There's no real reason to be afraid. It was only a bad dream.

I try to relax and to recall what the dream was, and after a bit, I realize that it's almost the exact same dream I had before. The one where my hands and feet were tied o and duct tape covered my mouth. Once again the small, o dark room was hot and dry, and I was extremely thirsty. Then the door opened, and I saw the menacing silhouette of a man coming in, and I knew that he was going to hurt me badly, or maybe even kill me.

But the last thing I remember about the dream was that I was not the one who was tied up and helpless. Suddenly I found myself standing a few feet away, in a dark corner of the room, just watching and wondering what I could do to help this person who was bound and gagged and lying on the mattress on the floor.

But here's the weird part, I just assumed that the girl tied up had to be Kayla. But with the light coming through the slightly opened door, I could see the girl's face, and it wasn't Kayla at all. This girl had dark hair and dark eyes and seemed to be Hispanic. And not unlike Kayla, she was very pretty. But the thing I remember most was the look of pure terror in those big dark eyes, almost as if she was looking at the devil. Chills run down my spine just to remember this. And I must pray and pray and pray before I'm finally able to go to sleep again.

I tell Olivia about my dream first thing in the morning. “Do you think I got it wrong?” I finally ask.

“Wrong?” She sets a cup of coffee in front of me.

“In thinking that Kayla was being held against her will?”

“I don't know…”

“I mean, the other time, you know, when I had that similar dream, I just sort of assumed it was about Kayla, but I never actually saw her. In that dream, I was the one who was tied up…and it was so horrible. I felt so totally miserable and helpless and scared. But I assumed it was God's way of showing me that Kayla was in serious trouble. And now I see that it wasn't Kayla at all. What if I'm all wrong about everything? What if I'm just having weird nightmares that don't mean anything?”

“Do you think it was just a nightmare, Samantha?”

“No…not really. It seemed to be more than that.”

“Maybe God is trying to show you that someone else needs help,” Olivia says as she opens a box of cereal. “I mean, even if you don't know this girl, you'd still want to help her, wouldn't you?”

“Yeah, of course. But Keel like I've led Ebony down the wrong path now. Making her believe thatKayla's the one in trouble down in Arizona. It's like I've gotten my signals all mixed up or something.”

Olivia laughs. “So it
is
like receiving signals?”

I smile and take the box of cereal from her. “It's kind of hard to describe.”

“Good morning, girls,” says Mrs. Marsh. “You're sure up bright and early. Going to church today?”

“Yeah,” says Olivia. “Want to come?”

Mrs. Marsh actually seems to consider this. “Not today, Liwie. But do let me know when the special
Christmas service is, and maybe Dad and I will come then.” She winks at me. “Yeah, I know what you're thinking, Samantha. We've turned into those twice-a-year kinds of churchgoers. Christmas and Easter.”

“I didn't say that.”

“I know you didn't. But Olivia says it often enough.”

“Well, it's kind of true,” says Olivia. “You used to go all the time when we were little kids. You'd drag us there whether we wanted to go or not.”

Her mom smiles. “We thought it was the right thing to do. Now you kids are old enough to take yourselves to church. And sometimes your dad and I are just plain tired. We like to relax on Sundays. Does that make us bad people?”

“As long as you love the Lord and you're still praying and reading your Bible, well, I'm not going to worry about it too much,” Olivia tells her mom.

“Well, we do and we are. And maybe someday when work and life lighten up, we'll get back into the churchgoing habit too.”

While I understand Olivia's desire for her parents to attend church more regularly, I'm thinking that at least they're still living like Christians. I can't actually say that much for my mom. More and more, I don't really know where she stands with God. And I have to admit that it worries me. But instead of worrying about it, which I've been trying to do less of lately, I take a few moments to pray for her while I get dressed for church.

First I pray that God gives her a safe flight back home and that she's not too worn out from all this Zach stuff.
And then I pray that somehow God will manage to get her attention and to remind her that she needs Him. Maybe now more than ever. >

I
call Ebony during lunch on Monday. First I thank her for helping with Zach this weekend. And then I tell her about my most recent dream and how I'm worried that I might have led her down the wrong path by assuming the previous nightmare was about Kayla.

“Because,” I finally admit, “as it turns out, it wasn't Kayla being held against her will…it was totally someone else. I guess I just assumed it was Kayla the other time, probably because I'd been thinking about her so much and praying for her. But this girl was definitely not Kayla.” Then I briefly describe the girl in the dream to her.

“Do you think it could've been Kayla, but that someone had dyed her hair to disguise her? That happens sometimes.”

“No, this girl definitely looked very Hispanic.”

“Do you think you could identify her?”

“Maybe.”

“Can you come by here after school?” she asks. “We could go through the missing persons photos.”

“Sure,” I say halfheartedly. “I'll see if Olivia can give me a ride.”

I feel this cloud of discouragement hanging over me after that phone call. It's not that I don't want to help
someone else. I definitely do. But what if the dream - doesn't mean anything? What if I'm just wasting every-one's time? And what about Kayla? What if she's still in need and I'm just not getting it? Consequently, I find myself praying for Kayla off and on throughout the afternoon.

“You sure are quiet,” Olivia observes as she drives me downtown.

“Sorry.”

“Still feeling badly about Kayla?”

“Yeah. I just wish we could find her. It's almost winter break, and then Christmas. It just seems like she should be coming home by now.”

“All you can do is what God puts before you, Samantha.”

“I know…”

Then we're at the precinct, and I thank her and tell her that I'll catch a ride home with my mom afterward. “I know you need to practice for the Christmas concert. Thanks for taking the time to do this.”

“No problem.”

I feel more nervous than before as I walk toward Ebony's office. It's like my confidence is shaken. And I feel that, even more than usual, I have absolutely no control over this “gift” that I've been given. Is it even real? Maybe I'm just imagining everything. Maybe my mom is right—I'm getting in over my head and I'll be needing serious psychological help before long.

Help me, God
, I pray silently and helplessly as I stand outside Ebony's door.
If this is of You, please, help me to
handle it right Help me to stay tuned in to You; help me to
ft
help others for Your sake. Amen.

“Hey, Samantha.” Ebony comes down the hallway toward me carrying a couple of sodas, one that she hands to me. “How's it going?”

I kind of shrug. “I don't know…”

“Feeling bad about Zach?” She opens her office door, and we both go inside.

“No.” I sit down. “Ifs actually Hnd of a relief knowing that he's off getting help right now. I don't have to worry that we'ra going to get a late night phone call from the police informing us that he's done something wrong
or
is hurt or even, well, you know.”

“I know. My brother, the one who runs the rehab place in Washington, had some problems himself as a kid. But he got help and decided he wanted to help others. Zach is in good hands.”

“Yeah, I figured he was.”

“So, what're you feeling so bummed about?”

“Kayla.”

“Oh…” She nods.

“I just thought we were on this trail, you know, and that she was going to turn up like…like yesterday.”

“Unfortunately, it's not usually that easy.”

“But then having the same dream about this total stranger, well, I guess I'm sort of doubting myself.”

“What about God? Are you doubting Him too?”

“No,” I say quickly. “Of course not.”

Ebony smiles. “Then just relax, Samantha. Let God handle this. Remember, you're just the vessel.”

“Just the vessel…”

“Yes. If God wants to pour some information into you, He will. If not, well, there's nothing you can do about it. Right?”

I smile. “You mean I can't control God?”

© She laughs. “Nope. But don't we wish we could sometimes?” Then she motions for to me to come around to the other side of her desk. “I have some photos for you to look at on my computer. I asked Eric to do some sifting for me. Just missing Hispanic girls between the ages of twelve and twenty-five. Have a seat and start scanning through them. If you find any that seem familiar, make a note of their names. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I've got to go take care of something else right now. You mind being here on your own?”

“That's fine.”

So I sit here and go through the photos, but the more photos I look at, the more confused I begin to feel. It's like they're all starting to look exactly the same, and while some of them do seem to resemble the girl I saw in my dream, I couldn't say so for certain.

Finally, I lean back in the chair and just close my eyes and try to relax. It's like there's this big knot between my shoulder blades, and I know that I'm starting to stress out over this. And why shouldn't I? I mean, this is crazy How am I, a mere sixteen-year-old girl—okay, seventeen next month—supposed to solve crimes about people I don't even know, committed in states where I've never even been before? How is that even possible?

All things are possible with God.

Now, although I didn't hear those words audibly, I did hear them in my heart. Furthermore, I know that those words are true. I just need to trust Him more. I say another prayer and take a deep breath, trying to just relax.

I open my eyes and scan down through a few more photos of smiling dark-haired, dark-eyed Hispanic girls, and just as I'm starting to feel like this is totally hopeless, I come to the next photo, and I nearly fall out of Ebony's chair. I stare hard, wondering if I'm just imagining this or if it's for real. Then to test myself, I go back and look through some of the other photos until I'm back at this one again. But I know that this is her. There's something in her eyes or the shape of her face or maybe it's her nose, but something about this photo seems right. Suddenly I feel positive. This is the girl!

I write down the girl's name, big and bold, and even put an exclamation mark at the end of it before I set off to find Ebony. Instead I find Officer Reinhart, and Eric tells me that Ebony is still busy.

“Any luck with the photos?” he asks.

“Yes! I was about to give up, and then I saw this one.” I hand him the slip of paper with the girl's name.

“Elena Maiesa,” he says. “Sounds Hispanic anyway.”

“Yes. She is.”

“I'll see what I can find out about her.”

“Good.” I stand there expectantly, thinking he'll probably want to get to work on it right now.

He laughs. “I probably won't get to it today, Samantha.”

“Oh.” I nod. “Yeah, of course not. Well, I better go.”

“We'll let you know what we find out, okay?”

Thanks.”

It's just a little past four as I leave the precinct, which means I'll be spending the next couple of hours waiting formom to get off work. As I walk up to the park district building, I hear shouts and laughter coming from the day care playground, where kids are probably enjoying their afternoon recess. And this gives me an idea. First I stop by administration and give Mom's assistant a message; then I head back downstairs to the day care center.