Beyond Reach (11 page)

S
o what do we have here?” Ebony asks me on Monday after school. “Three visions of what appear to be methods of suicide?”

“Yes.” I glance down at my notes. “One jumping from a bridge. One asphyxiating himself by what I think is helium, and one jumping from the overpass.”

“And you said you read that helium has been used for suicide?”

“It didn't sound common, but at least a couple of deaths. And that site gave explicit instructions on how to do it.”

“And that was how it appeared in your vision?”

“It seemed to be the case.”

Ebony peers at me with intense brown eyes. “And what do you think of all this, Samantha?”

I frown. To be honest, I'm getting a little spooked.”

Her brows arch. “Spooked?”

“Yeah…” I glance away, unsure that I really want to go there. Although if I can't be up front with Ebony, who's left? I know for a fact that my mom doesn't want to hear about this. Even though she's aware that I'm working with Ebony on “something new,” she's made it clear that it's up to me
and Ebony to keep things “under control” and that she really doesn't want to hear about it—period. And although Olivia has been very supportive, this might be more than she can handle right now. Especially considering the fact that Alex just gave her the official “we're not a couple” speech yesterday after church. She's been seriously bummed all day.

“What's up, Samantha? What's making you feel spooked?”

I take a deep breath and slowly exhale. “Well, you know how I always have to make it clear to anyone involved in any of these cases that I am
not
a medium or psychic?”

She nods. “You always do a good job of setting people straight.”

I hold up my hands. “So what's up with this?”

“What?” She looks confused.

“Why am I having visions of dead people?”

She frowns. “Is that what you think they are?”

“Well, I sort of assumed the guy in my visions is Peter. I mean, I can never see his face clearly. But his hair is right. The build seems right. And he's the only guy I know who supposedly killed himself. It all seems to fit.”

“Okay, let's say these visions are of Peter. Why do you think you're having them? What is God trying to show us?”

I know she won't want to hear my answer, but all I can say is the truth—or what I believe is the truth. And I know what I am beginning to believe. It seems to make sense. “Basically, I think the visions are God's way of showing us that Peter really did kill himself.”

She folds her arms across her front and leans back in her chair without saying a word. Her expression is hard to read, It might be that she's skeptical, or perhaps she's simply disappointed.

But whether or not she wants to hear this, I have to get my story out—the sooner the better. “I think Peter spent a lot of time on that suicide website. He might've been one of those guys asking lots of questions and trying to get advice. And during that time, I think he probably considered all the various ways he could kill himself. And maybe he even attempted a few of them.”

“Such as what you saw in your visions?”

“Exactly.” I start speaking faster now, almost as if it's all starting to jell for me even as I'm telling it. “So maybe Peter really did go up on that bridge by Kentwick Park, and maybe he did consider jumping, but something caused him to stop. Maybe he saw someone. Or maybe he suddenly realized he was afraid of heights or that the water would be freezing cold.”

“If he really wanted to die, would he even care?”

“Who knows? But it seems possible. It also seems possible that Peter could have gone out and purchased an army surplus gas mask and some duct tape and rented a tank of helium and tried to do himself in like that. Although according to what I've read online, that's a really. uncomfortable way to die.”

She just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. This is all so pitiful.”

“I know, I know, but stick with me here. And remember that you're the one who asked what I thought. So maybe Peter decided to nix the helium poisoning idea, but he still wanted to kill himself. What if he went onto the overpass, the same one in my vision, and it was nighttime? Maybe he stood there and considered leaping, but perhaps he-looked down and saw the nonstop flow of the traffic, all those lights streaming along at sixty-plus miles an hour. What if he didn't want anyone driving below to get hurt by his body smashing through their windshield at that kind of speed? I mean, that's pretty gruesome if you think about it. Consequently he changed his mind again.”

“You really think Peter could've done all that?”

“I don't know, Ebony. I'm just trying to work with what I've got. And so maybe Peter got tired of all his failed attempts at suicide. It's possible that there were even more than what I've seen in my visions. And maybe one day, like if he was just having this really bad day, he suddenly remembered his dad's gun in the drawer by the bed, and suddenly it all seemed perfectly clear. So simple and quick.”

“And so he shot himself in the head. The end,” finishes Ebony in an exasperated voice.

“I know that's not going to help with the case you're trying to develop.”

“I'm not trying to
develop
anything.”

“Okay. But I realize my visions do not support the possible murder theory.”

“No, you're right. They don't.”

“I'm sorry…”

She almost smiles. “Don't be sorry, Samantha. I'm not mad at you. Remember, you're just the messenger here. You can't help what messages are being sent.”

“I know…” I look back down at my notes, trying to see if there might be something I missed hidden in there somewhere. But it looks just the same as before. And it seems pretty plain to me.

Part of me feels better for having gotten it out. But I do
not
feel good. In fact, a real sense of heaviness is settling onto me, almost as if a load of bricks is being strapped across my shoulders. I'm not sure if it's because my visions seem to be of no use to Ebony, or because I'm still feeling confused about this whole thing in general. Whatever it is, it's overwhelming. And it suddenly seems ironic that less than a week ago, I was longing for God to give me a vision or a dream—of any sort. I was begging for Him to communicate with me. And now that I've had several visions…well, I seem to be buckling under the weight. Maybe I'm really not cut out for this. Maybe God was trying to show me that.

Ebony clears her throat. ‘As far as the medium/psychic thing goes…”

I look up. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to know what I think?”

Of course!”

“Well, I believe that Scripture is clear that we are not supposed to communicate with the dead.”

“That's just what worries me.”

“But you don't know for a fact that was the case, Samantha.”

“But it seemed like it was Peter. And you have to admit, my hypothesis makes sense. Peter was on that website. He might've followed some of that crazy advice and made several failed attempts on his life.”

“Yes, he might have.”

“But you don't think so?”

“I don't know. What I do know is that I believe God has given you a gift, Samantha. Do you believe that yourself?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“And I don't believe that God would give you a gift that contradicts what He has told us in Scripture. Do you?”

I shake my head. “It doesn't sound like God to me.”

“And we know that Peter is dead. So we probably need to assume, based on Scripture, that God would not allow you to receive messages from him,
right?”

“Right.”

“So perhaps you're jumping to a conclusion, thinking you've been seeing Peter in your visions. Maybe it's not.”

I consider this. “Just a coincidence then?”

“It might be simply because I've told you about Peter and you've been in his home and you're concerned for his mom and brother. It's not terribly surprising that you would assume those visions were about him.”

“But the hair color was—”

“How many people have dark brown hair?” She points to my head. “Even you do.”

“But mine's curly. The guy in my vision had straight hair.”

She smiles. “Okay, how many people have dark brown hair that's straight?”

“Probably a lot.” I smile.

“Anyway, my conclusion is that the guy in your visions was
not
Peter.”

I think about this. “So, if it wasn't Peter, and we've established that I'm
not
a medium and I'm
not
getting messages from the dead—
thank goodness!—
-then it seems like we'd have to assume that the guy in my visions is still alive, right?”

“Bingo.”

“But how long will he continue to be alive?”

“Good question.”

“I wonder if the guy is participating in that website. Then I tell Ebony about the messages Olivia and I posted under our pseudonyms. I also tell her about the horrible responses we received. “Do you think God is warning me about one of them?”

“It's possible.” She's reaching for a file now, and I'm worried that I have taken up way too much of her time.

“I'm sorry to go on and on,” I say, standing.

“It's okay, Samantha.”

“But it hasn't helped you at all.”

“Perhaps not on Peter's case. But if it helps with someone else who's planning to kill himself, well, I can't complain about that.”

“I wish I could help you with Peter's case.”

“Like you said, you're not a medium.” Ebony winks.

“But God's big. He works in lots of different ways. I'll try to stay open, okay?”

She smiles. “Okay.” Then as I'm going out the door she adds, “And if you do figure out who that other suicidal
guy is, be sure and give me a call. I'll do what I can to help. Even if it's across the state line we can still get in touch with the authorities there.”

I thank her and leave. And okay, I feel a little bit better now. It seems to lighten the load to realize that the guy in my visions was
not
Peter. At least, I think I agree with Ebony on this. But now I have to ask myself—who was that guy? Is he still alive? And what can I do to help him if I don't even know him? It's pretty mind-boggling.

As I walk down Main Street toward the Lava Java coffee shop, I observe a guy with straight dark brown hair walking directly toward me.
Could that be him?
He appears to be in his twenties and nicely dressed. Then he notices me staring at him and smiles. Good grief, he probably thinks I'm flirting with him. So I glance away. Great. Now I'll be obsessing over every guy I meet with hair like that. And I'm sure Ebony's right; there are probably a lot of them.

I pause in front of Lava Java and dial Olivia's cell phone number. She dropped me off in town after school, and-despite her aching heart, she generously offered to pick me up afterward. After a couple of rings, I hear her voice, but it doesn't sound like her normal happy self. I can tell she's still feeling bummed about Alex.

“Hey, Olivia,” I say extra cheerfully. “Can I buy you a cup of joe?”

“You need a ride?”

“If it's not too much trouble.”

“No, I'm on my way.”

“Thanks.” I hang up and sigh. Poor Olivia. Good thing she doesn't have straight dark brown hair, or I might get really worried. Of course, I suppose she'd have to be a guy too. I go inside and order two mochas with extra whipped cream. This is a day for indulgences.

When Olivia comes into Lava Java, her expression is the same as it's been all day. Totally bummed. And it actually looks like her heels are dragging too. Really, it's breaking my heart.

“Liwie,” I say when she sits down. “You look so sad.”

She fakes a smile. “That better?”

I push the mocha toward her. “Maybe some caffeine will improve your spirits.”

She takes a sip. “So how did it go with Ebony?”

I decide to go ahead and fill her in. If nothing else it might help to distract her from her Alex blues. And she'll probably appreciate my relief and that I'm not stressed over the whole medium thing now.

“So if it's not Peter, who is it?” she asks after I finish. And I think I detect the tiniest bit of genuine interest.

“That's the big question. Because I'm sure it's someone. God wouldn't send me such clear messages just to jerk me around. So now I'm on the lookout for any guy with dark brown straight hair. I almost accosted a perfect stranger on the street—”

“Alex has dark brown hair,” she says suddenly. “And it's straight too.”

“But Alex isn't depressed—”

“Maybe he is,” she says a little too eagerly. “I mean, you can't always tell by the way people act. And if you ask me, he's acting a little strange. Maybe there are things going on inside him that we don't know about; maybe he's hiding his feelings.”

“About what?”

Her brow creases as she gives this her full attention. “Well, he's mentioned being concerned about his parents’ marriage problems.”

“But seriously, would he or anyone else commit suicide over that?”

“Maybe not.”

“I really don't think he's depressed, Olivia.”

“Maybe not.” She sighs. “Guess I'm the one who's depressed.”

“I know it's hard. But you
will
get over this.”