Bad Connection (8 page)

“Yes. But as you probably know, a lot of teens have fake IDs.”

“So do you really think that Kayla is down in San Diego tying the knot with Prince Charming?”

“I already had my doubts…” She kind of smiles at me. “And after hearing your story, I have even more doubts.”

“But I still haven't given you enough to do anything, right?”

She glances down at her notes. “Well, it's pretty sketchy, Samantha. I can't deny that. But these cases are like putting together a puzzle. It takes lots of pieces. And to be honest, these are some of the best pieces I've had so far.”

“I heard that Kayla was seen getting onto a bus.”

“Yes. We've contacted the bus company and requested their passenger list to LA and San Diego on Saturday, but so far no luck.” Ebony looks at her watch. “Looks like you're going to be late, Samantha. Is that a problem?”

I grin at her. “Just for biology. No big deal.”

She frowns then looks down at her notes. “But you had one of your visions about Kayla in biology, didn't you?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Well, let's get you back.” She places a tip on the table and stands. “I'm sure I still have your home phone number, but do you have a cell phone number where I can reach you?”

“I don't. But my best friend, Olivia, does.”

“Why don't you write it down for me?” Then she pulls a business card out of her purse. “Here, this has my numbers
on it. Feel free to call if you come up with anything new.” do She smiles at me. “Or if you just need to talk.”

And as we go out to her “unmarked” car, I'm thinking maybe I will call her—even if it is just to talk. Maybe she gets me. Either that or she feels sorry for me and is woro ried that I'm going off the deep end. But I hope that's not o the case.

I
t's hard to concentrate during my afternoon classes. For one thing, I'm still replaying my conversation with Ebony…still amazed that she didn't question what I told her and that she seems to understand me. But even more than that, I'm thinking a lot about Kayla. I can't get last night's-nightmare out of my head. It's like that horrifying image, those feelings of being bound and gagged, just won't go away.

But the part that's really bugging me is that I'm suddenly remembering the awful feeling of being so hot and dry and thirsty. Is it possible that there was a fire somewhere? That the building Kayla was trapped in was burning? And if so, is it possible that we'll be too late? On top of this, I realize that I didn't mention anything about the heat to Ebony today. There was so much else to tell that I guess it slipped my mind.

But by the time I'm in drama, I feel reaily worried. I'm tempted to borrow someone's cell phone to call Ebony, but Queen Gertrude has lines again today. As a result, I'm up onstage. We're in act 4, scene 7 now, and for some reason it's really getting to me. I'm sure the reason is that Ophelia (played by Kendall instead of Kayla) has died. And although it's only a play and something I
wouldn't normally take too seriously, today it seems very real.

When the time comes for me to read my longest lines, the ones where Queen Gertrude describes the death of poor Ophelia, I am nearly in tears. I've read through these o lines enough times to understand that I, the queen, am describing the scene of Ophelia's drowning, talking about the flowers that were floating on the water all around her, including “crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples…” And I describe the flower garlands that had fallen from her hair, and how her “clothes spread wide” and “mermaid-like” kept her afloat for a while as she sang her haunted songs. And finally I say, choking back a sob, “Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay…to
muddy death
, “

Naturally, I'm totally embarrassed by this unexpected display of emotion, but to my surprise, Mr. Owens starts to clap, and then the others join him. And after the scene is finished, Mr. Owens approaches me and asks why I haven't participated in any pf the past drama productions.

“I, uh, I don't know…”

“Well, I'd like to officially invite you to audition for our next play.” He smiles hopefully.

“Thank you.”

“It won't be until after the winter break, but there's a specific part I'd like to see you try for, Samantha. Will you consider it?”

“I guess.”

“Good.” He rubs his hands together. “You seem to have great intuitions.”

I sort of nod. “Maybe so.” Of course, I know he's referring to acting intuitions, but I can't escape the irony.

As I leave the auditorium, I feel more haunted than ever—haunted by Kayla. Reading that scene, so full of death and sadness and gloom, then remembering last night's dream, I suddenly feel very scared. What if Kayla is already dead? What if I didn't correctly receive God's messages, or if I hesitated too long? What if it's too late?

But then I remind myself as I walk toward the locker bay that I don't really see how I could've done anything differently. It was only last night that I received the dream, and I called the police this morning. Still, it's weighing on me. And the question that nags at me, tormenting me just like it did-last winter, —what if I'm not up to this? What if I blow it?

“Hey, Sam,” calls Olivia as she joins me. “How's
Hamlet?”

“Don't ask.” I toss a dark scowl at her.

“Depressing stuff, huh?”

I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one's listening. “Ophelia died today.”

“Did you see Kayla again?” she asks in a quiet voice.

“No. But when I had to read my part, which goes into detail about Ophelia's drowning, well, I kind of lost it.”

She pats me on the back. “Sorry…”

“Yeah. The upside is that Mr. Owens thinks I'm a real actress now.”

She kind of laughs. “Maybe you are.”

“Yeah, right. The only reason I fell apart was because I kept thinking about Kayla.” Then I tell her about how I forgot
to mention part of my dream to Ebony today. “I didn't tell her about the heat, and now I'm thinking, what if the place was on fire? Or what if it's going to be on fire? What if Kayla is in real danger?”

Olivia digs in her purse and hands me her phone. “Go o ahead and tell her.”

I wait until we're outside to call Ebony But I get her voice mail and am forced to leave a message, which I'm sure must sound pretty crazy. But at least it's off my mind, for now.

Then as Olivia is driving toward my house, her phone rings. She answers it then hands it to me. “It's Ebony Hamilton.”

“Sorry to call on your friend's phone,” Ebony begins. “But I figured you wouldn't be home yet.”

“Did you get my message?”

“No. Did you have another vision?”

So I retell her the message. “It might not be anything, but it just got me really worried.”

“I appreciate it. The reason I called was to see if you were busy this afternoon.”

“Not really. Olivia was just taking me home and—”

“Would she mind dropping you off at Kayla's house instead?”

“I, uh, I guess not. Why?”

“I spoke to Kayla's mom and asked if it would be okay for you to spend some time in Kayla's room.”

“In Kayla's room?”

“I know it sounds weird, but I was reading a little about psychics this afternoon, and I—”

“I'm not a psychic, Ebony.” I know my voice sounds harsh, but I just want to make sure this is totally clear.

“I know that, Samantha. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have used that word. But you do have a certain gift. I'm just not sure what it's called.”

“I'm not either. But I just don't like the idea of being called a psychic. That stirs up these horrible images of wild-eyed women wearing too many scarves and shawls and. big hoop earrings, peering into their crystal balls and reading their astrology charts and…well,
you know?”

She sort of laughs. “I totally understand.”

“And that's not what this is.” I glance over at Olivia, who looks like she's suppressing laughter too. “Just for the record, I do not believe in Ouija boards or horoscopes
or
tarot cards or any of that crud.”

know
, Samantha. But just hear me out, okay? I did a little research, and I read that sometimes it helps a
gifted
type of person to make a connection with ' someone if you're around that person's things or where they spent time. And you said yourself that two of your visions happened in classes Kayla had shared with you. During biology class and then in drama. Remember?”

“Yes.”

“So, I called Mrs. Henderson, and without telling her too much, I asked if we could come and spend some time in Kayla's room. Are you game?”

“Okay, as long as you don't tell Kayla's mom that I'm a psychic.”

“Don't worry. I told her I was bringing a helper. I was thinking that, if you don't mind, maybe I could tell her you're an intern. We could call you that, Samantha. We could even make it semiofficial. If it would make this easier for you.”

“Sure, that'd be fine. I just don't think I could stand it if o everyone started to think I had psychic powers, you know?” 5”

“Right. Anyway, I'm in my car now, and I could be at Kayla's in about ten minutes. Can you meet me there?”

I glance at Olivia. “Do you mind dropping me at Kayla's?”

“No problem.”

“Sure,” I tell Ebony. “We're about fifteen minutes from the Hendersons' now.”

So Olivia does a U-turn at the next intersection, and we go back across town. “Sorry about that.”

“It's okay, Samantha. This if for Kayla, remember? It's important.”

Ebony's car is already parked in front, and I tell Olivia just to drop me off. “Thanks for the ride.'”

“Let me know how it goes.”

I nod and then slowly walk to the front door, taking my time as I study the older ranch style house, wondering how Kayla might've felt when she walked down this path. I knock at the door and brace myself for Mrs. Henderson. I'm sure she'll have questions, wondering why I've suddenly decided to become an intern for Ebony. I figure I can use my dad as an excuse, say that I've always been interested in police work, which isn't entirely untrue.

But it's Ebony who opens the door. “Mrs. Henderson had an appointment. She said to make ourselves at home.”

“Good.”

“Now, I'm not sure what's best to do,” she begins. “But I definitely don't want to get in your way. I'm thinking that maybe you should just walk around without me to dis tract you. Just see if you sense anything.”

I nod. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“And I'll just stay in the living room.” She sits on the couch. “But I'll be praying for you.”

“Cool. That'll probably be more helpful than anything.”

I take off my backpack, and after removing my notebook and pen, I set the pack by the door. “Just in case I need to write anything down,” I tell her.

“Good thinking.”

I've only been to Kayla's house a few times, and that was back in middle school. But I still remember the general layout and where her bedroom is. Even so, I feel very strange and out of place as I walk through the quiet and dimly lit house. I have no idea what I should be doing, what I should be looking for, or if I should even be looking at all. I mean, I know better than anyone that this isn't about seeing with physical eyes.

So I just stand in the middle of the hallway that goes to her bedroom, and I begin to pray. I ask God to show me anything that will help us to help Kayla. One thing I feel certain of—Kayla is in need of our help.

Then I continue on into her room. The door is open, but I feel like a trespasser as I go inside. I know how I would hate to have anyone snooping around my room. Not that I plan to snoop. I don't. I'm just not sure what I plan to do.

The full-sized bed has been stripped, and the naked mattress gives this space an abandoned feeling. I'm not sure why it's been stripped, but I'm guessing it has to do with the investigation. Maybe it's because they originally suspected a kidnapping.

Her closet door is open, and although a lot of clothes 5” are still hanging there, I see the empty spaces, where I'm sure she removed the things she wanted to take with her to San Diego.

Her dresser has the regular things on it. A few photos. One that was actually taken during middle school. I'm surprised to see it and bend down to study it. It was taken at the youth camp where I rededicated my life to God. Kayla, Olivia, and I are standing with some other girls, smiling as if we'd never been happier. I shake my head to get rid of those distracting memories. That's not why I'm here.

Then I see a photo of Kayla and Parker, dressed formally, I'm guessing it was for prom. It was obviously taken before Emma stepped into the picture and messed things up for all of them, although as I recall it wasn't long afterward. Kayla looks so pretty. Some blondes don't look good in red, but she can carry it off with those striking brown eyes. And I'm sure she could pass for twenty-one too. Especially if she had a fake ID Still, this is not why I'm here.

Finally I sit on her bed, lay my notebook in my lap, and just close my eyes. I take in a deep breath, and I start praying for Kayla. The words come easily. Mostly I pray for her safety, that we will locate her soon, and that as a result of whatever is going on, she will call out to God for help.

Then I take another deep breath and just wait. i quiet my heart and wait to see if God is going to show me anything. But nothing happens. And after about ten minutes, I feel like I'm just wasting my time. And Ebony's.

© I go out to the hallway and call to her. “I don't think this is working.”

She comes over to join me. “Well, it was worth a try.”

“Do you think it's okay if I use the bathroom before we go?”

“Of course. Mrs. Henderson said to make ourselves at home.”

So I go into the bathroom across from Kayla's room and use the toilet. Then as I turn off the faucet after washing my hands, I look up at the mirror above the sink and I experience that familiar flash of light. I hardly dare to breathe as I stare into the mirror and wait. But instead of seeing my own image, I see Kayla's face—at least I think it's her face. It's kind of blurry and dark, as if the sun is coming from directly behind her. Then I look beyond her and see what appears to be the silhouette of mountains. Very rugged looking mountains that are copper colored. I blink and try to see it better, but in the same instant it's gone. So quickly that I wonder if it was real. But I know it was. Still, what does it mean?