Bad Connection (18 page)

“What?”
She starts to brake and looks both ways. “Is a car coming?”

“No, it's okay.”

“What then?” she asks in an irritated voice as she carefully proceeds through the intersection. “Why did you do that? You scared me, Samantha.”

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I just thought of something and, well, sorry.”

“Well, don't do that! Especially when I'm driving. I thought we were about to get hit.”

I consider telling her about what I just saw, but then it will only disturb her. She won't understand. And she might even get mad. Instead I just ponder on what flashed so quickly before me, trying to remember the details. But mostly I know that she's dead. This girl has been killed. I could be wrong, but I strongly suspect that this girl is either Elena or Kayla, and it makes me feel sick inside. As Mom puils into the parking lot, my throat feels like someone wedged a stone in there, and hot tears are building in my eyes.

“I have to make a phone call,” I tell Mom as I get out of the car, pulling out my cell phone and turning away so she won't see my face.

“Catch you later,” she calls out, and I hear her heels clicking across the pavement toward the building.

I hit the speed dial for Ebony's number, expecting to get her voice mail, but instead she picks up. I quickly relay my vision to her, finally saying, “Someone is dead, Ebony. And it's either Elena or Kayla. I can't explain how, but I just know it.”

“Oh…” Her voice sounds sad.

“The girl I saw had to have been murdered.”

“It's just been so busy around here lately, Samantha. I know that Eric was doing some searching for Elena, but I don't think he came up with anything yet. And we haven't learned anything new about Kayla. Oh, I'm so sorry to hear this. Are you certain the girl was really dead? How can you know this for sure?”

I consider this. “Well, I
felt
like she was dead. I mean, she looked dead. It seemed very real.”

“But you told me that some of your visions are about things that haven't happened yet. Do you think that might possibly be the case with this?”

“I, uh, I don't know. It's not like God puts a time and date on these things.” I kind of laugh, but I can still feel the tears chilling in the breeze on my face.

“I know…but it's possible, isn't it? Do you think this girl, whoever she is, might still be alive?”

Suddenly I feel hopeful. “Maybe that's it. Maybe God was showing me what would happen if this girl isn't rescued, Ebony. But is there any real chance that she will be rescued in time?”

“I have no idea, but we've been in close contact with the FBI about all of this, and I'll let them know that they need to really get moving on it. Not that they'll take me seriously.” She sighs. “As you can imagine, it's been a little hard to explain to them where we've been getting our leads.”

I glance at my watch and realize that I need to get to work now. “Let me know if I can be of any more help. Okay?”

“I will. You're working at the day care center today?”

“Yeah.”

“Keep your phone on, will you?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“I'll let you know if we learn anything.”

I feel a tiny bit of relief knowing that Ebony is on this, but at the same time I feel extremely sad, and the vision of the dead girl feels like it's been imprinted into my memory.

“You okay?” Kellie asks as I punch my time card.

“Yeah.” I force a smile for her benefit.

“You don't look okay.” She peers at me more closely.”Sure you're not coming down with something? That flu's been going around. Already I've had calls from about ten parents saying that their kids are sick.”

“That's too bad.” I hang up my coat. “But I'm sure I'm okay.” Then I head over to where Spencer looks like he's about ready to punch Damon and quickly break it up. Somehow, Spencer has gotten the idea that Damon is his mortal enemy and consequently requires a lot of extra attention.

“Good catch,” Kellie calls out as I lead Spencer over to the time-out bench for a quick little talk.

Just as we sit down, the phone that I've placed in my pocket is starting to ring.

“You better answer that,” Spencer says in a smart -aleck voice.

“Yeah, and you better just sit here and wait until I'm done.”

He scowls.

“Hello?” I say into the phone.

“This is Ebony, Samantha. I know you're at work, but I just thought of something. When you had that vision this morning, did you notice any of the surrounding area? Any landscape features, buildings, or anything?”

“I'm not sure,” I say as I hold on to squirming Spencer's arm. I'm pretty sure if I let go, he'll take off and probably really clobber poor Damon. “Maybe. I guess I didn't really
think about it much at the time. I mean, I was mostly looking at the, uh, the girl.”

“Is there any chance you could come over here this afternoon? I thought maybe I could get Michael Taylor back in, and maybe you guys could work on a drawing.”

I glance over to where Kellie is standing by the sign-in o book. “I'm not sure. I could ask. Can I call you back in a few minutes?”

“Yes. I'd appreciate that.”

So I deal with Spencer, and he tells me that Damon hit him first. So I tell Spencer to remain in time-out while I go off to find Damon, who does confess to hitting him first. So I release Spencer from time-out and put Damon in his place. But first I give Damon a little lecture about why we don't hit people. When all seems to be under control, I go over and speak to Kellie.

“Any chance I could get some time off this afternoon?” I ask.

“So, you really aren't feeling well?”

“Well, something's come up…”

She puts her hand on my arm. “It's okay, Samantha. Since we have fewer kids today, I don't have a problem with you taking the whole afternoon off. Just don't get sick, okay? It'd be miserable to be sick on Christmas.”

“Thanks.”

The morning passes very “slowly, but finally lunch is served and cleaned up, and the kids are down for naps. I tell Kellie good-bye, clock out for the day, then head over to the police station.

I've already told Ebony to expect me after one, and when I get there, Michael is all ready to go.

“Hello, love,” he says to me in his cheerful voice. “I hear we've got more work to do.”

I attempt a smile. “I hope it's not too gruesome.”

“Don't you worry, sweetie, I've probably seen and heard it all by now.” He nods to a chair across from where his sketch pad is waiting. “I just want you to do like you did before. Sit down and relax and just empty out all-those pesky distracting thoughts. Breathe deeply” Then he takes me through some relaxation techniques, and I lean back in the chair and try to let the stresses of the morning just slide away

He slowly walks me back through my vision, once again asking many different questions—some that really do stir up the memory and others that seem slightly irrelevant. But used to his techniques, I cooperate. I can hear the scritch-scratch sound of his pastels as he speaks, rhythmically moving across the paper in a soothing sound that almost makes me sleepy. But I continue to answer his questions, and he continues to draw.

When we're done, I am, once again, totally amazed.
“How do you do that?”
I study the pastel drawing that is eerily similar to the vision I had earlier.

He laughs. “One could ask the same question of you, dear.”

Then we make some tweaks and changes, and finally I have to admit that it looks very much like what I saw.

' “How's it going in here?” Ebony sticks her head in the door. “Any progress?”

“Come and see,” says Michael. ft

Ebony comes and looks over his shoulder then glances at me. “That's it? What you saw in your vision?” q

I nod. “I'm as amazed as anyone.” 3

She smiles. “Well, this might actually be helpful. Can I o take it now, Michael? Are you all done?”

He looks at me. “All done?”

I carefully study the drawing, then remember something. “There was a shoe,” I say suddenly.

“But you said her feet were bare.”

“Lying on the ground,” I tell him. Then I close my eyes and take a deep breath and try to remember. “It was all dirty, but it was white with three pale blue stripes.”

“Like Adidas?”

“Yes,” I say. “It
was
Adidas. A low-top, like one of those new lightweight running shoes. It was off to the left side of her, just lying in the dirt.” I open my eyes, and already Michael is adding a shoe to the drawing.

“That's good,” says Ebony. “That will be helpful.”

“I don't remember Kayla wearing shoes like that,” I say. “But I suppose it's possible.”

“Her mother should know,” says Ebony.

Then Michael proudly hands over his masterpiece.

“Off to get photographed,” she tells us. “Then we'll run it over to the FBI. See if it rings any bells.”

“Do you need me for anything else?” I ask.

“Well, I was thinking that, if you're not busy, could you go over to Kayla's house with me again? I was remembering how you got that vision in her bathroom. And it occurred to
me that there might be other rooms that we didn't go into -c where you might pick up on something else, Samantha.”

“Our little medium,” says Michael with a chuckle.

Now I like Michael, but this comment seriously irritates me. “I am
not
a medium!”

“Oh?” He looks surprised and slightly offended.

I sigh. “Okay, I guess I am a medium—as in medium height, medium weight, and I do wear medium-sized shirts.”

This makes him laugh.

“But I'm not a medium,” I tell him in a kinder tone. “I'm a Christian, and I believe that God gives me these visions and dreams. But it's very different than being a medium. The Bible makes it clear that we should avoid mediums and psychics and sorcerers…and I do.”

“But you
do
see dead people?” he teases, using that familiar line from that movie
The Sixth Sense.

“This was the first time,” I admit. “But I hope you can understand that it still doesn't make me a medium. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me that, okay?”

He nods. “Yes, I suppose you're right. Thank you for setting me straight.”

“So, how about it?” says Ebony. “Want to go over to Kayla's house with me again?”

“Guess it can't hurt,” I tell her. Then we tell Michael good-bye and thanks, and I go with Ebony to hand over the drawing to Eric.

“Scan it and run it,” she tells him.

He studies it. “Wow, you really saw this, Samantha?”

I nod without looking at the drawing. “Pretty weird, huh?” cd

“Hopefully it will help us nail this creep,” says Ebony. “You had lunch yet, Samantha?”

“Well, other than a couple of snitched carrot sticks, no.” 3

So we head over to Rosie's, and I order my regular— o pastrami and Swiss on rye. Then we sit down.

“Have you heard from Zach?”

“Mom got an e-mail from him on Tuesday. She said he sounded okay.”

“He gets to use e-mail?”

“Only for good behavior,” I tell her. “And it has to be supervised.”

“That's wise.”

After we're done eating, Ebony drives us to Kayla's house. But we're both quiet during the drive, and I use this time to really pray for Kayla. I ask God to protect her. I so don't want her to turn out to be the girl in the drawing. I also pray for Elena. Although I've never met this girl, it's beginning to feel as if I know her too. I don't want the girl in the drawing to be either of these girls. I don't want her to be anyone.
God, please, stop this horrible thing. Whatever it is, whoever is behind it, please, stop it, stop them. Now.

“Kayla's mom is at work,” Ebony says as she pulls into the driveway. “But she told me to feel free to go and look around. She sounds really desperate now. I think she suspects that something really is wrong. She told me that she felt certain she would've heard from Kayla by now. Or that Kayla would've contacted the aunt down in San Diego. But no one has heard anything. Mrs. Henderson is really worried.”

“And it's got to be hard at Christmastime,” I say as we walk up the front walk. I glance down the street to see the other houses in this family friendly neighborhood, all bearing some signs of the holidays, whether it's lights or wreaths or trees in the windows or Santa on the front lawn, but Kayla's house is conspicuously void of any decorations.

“Her mom sounds pretty depressed.” Ebony gets the hidden key and unlocks the front door. “Do you want me to come in too? Or will I just be in the way?”

I consider this. “It might be better if I'm alone. I mean, that way I won't be distracted.”

She nods. “That makes sense.” She looks up at the sky. “But it's looking like rain. Maybe I'll wait in the car.”

“Okay.” Then I go into the quiet, dim house. The drapes are closed and the house has a dead, shutdown feeling to it. As if the life has all been drained out. Once again, I think about my vision and Michael's drawing, and I hope that it's not Kayla. I pray that it's not.

I slowly walk through the living room and into the kitchen. Without turning on any lights or touching anything, I just slowly move through the house. I have no idea what I'm looking for or whether or not this will work. I remember that the last time it worked it caught me completely by surprise. So I decide to pretend that I'm not actually looking for clues or hoping to get a vision. Instead, I imagine I am Kayla, just home from school and doing my normal thing.

I go and stand in front of the fridge and even open it, looking around inside to see that it's even more empty and bare than our own fridge at home. And although there's a
plastic carton of something that seems to be growing green cufuzz, nothing seems to really stand out. I close the refrigerator and then proceed into the family room, where I flop down on the couch that's situated across from the TV. I even reach for the remote and pretend to turn it on. Then I just sit o there and blankly stare at the dark, gray screen. Nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Finally, I'm ready to give up. After all, this is God's thing and His timing, and He's the one calling the shots. There's no way I can force Him to show me something He doesn't want revealed. Even if I wish I could.