Beyond Reach (25 page)

He turns and finally looks at me. “How do you know that?”

“The suicide website. I'm Grace. Olivia is Hope.”

He seems genuinely surprised by this but only says, “Oh.”

“We're your friends, Garrett. We want to help you. I didn't actually figure out that you were Gay Guy until just last night. I mean, I had my suspicions, but when I read that post about the dance, I knew it had to be you.”

He barely nods.

“But this isn't the answer.”

“There are no answers.”

“Yes,” I tell him, “there are. God has an answer for everything.”

“I thought God hated homosexuals.”

“God loves everyone.
“

“That's not what I heard.”

“Well, do you believe everything you hear? Do you believe your dad when he says the kind of crud he says to you? Does he really know what he's talking about?”

He shrugs.

“The truth is, God does love you, Garrett. I know this for a fact.”

“A fact?”
his voice is dripping in skepticism. “A fact requires proof, Sam. Don't forget that I'm the scientific one here.”

“I know it for a fact because I have faith.”

It gets quiet now, and I hope that he's considering this.

“How did you find me here anyway?” he suddenly asks. “I never mentioned this place on the website or to anyone.”

I point a finger at him. “See, that in itself is
proof.”

“How?”

“Because God showed me where you were.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I swear it's the truth, Garrett. God really did show me.”

He gives me a look like he thinks I'm even crazier than he is.

“God has shown me all kinds of things about you.”

“Like what?”

So I actually go into the details of the many and varied suicide visions I've had just recently. “I'm not sure if you actually tried any of these methods, or if you were simply considering them. But God knows our thoughts, Garrett. And for some reason, God tuned me into yours. I believe He did that because God really, really loves you and wants to save you from this.”

Then I tell him about how I felt lost when my dad died. “I needed a father badly, and I discovered that God wanted to be that to me. He's my heavenly Father, and I can honestly say that I wouldn't want to live without Him. I'm pretty sure that's why you don't want to live now. You're doing it on your own, Garrett. Without God. Without your heavenly Father.” I don't add that it doesn't help much that his earthly father is being such a jerk.

Garrett gets so quiet that I'm not sure whether he even heard me or not. But then I see something wet glistening on his cheeks. He's crying.

“We have to get down from here.”

“I'm afraid, Sam.”

“It's okay,” I tell him as I stand. “I'm afraid too. But we can help each other. Just trust me, okay?”

It takes a few minutes and lots of coaxing, but he finally stands up again. Then, holding hands, we take the ties one at a time and, ever so slowly, make our way back to terra firma, which I want to kiss but don't. Then I throw my arms around Garrett and give him a big hug. “It's going to be okay. You're going to get past this.” He's still shaking, but at least he doesn't resist. In some ways he seems beaten, and I have a feeling he thinks he's failed again. But at least he's alive. Now he has a second chance.

As we go down the graveled slope toward the park, I notice Ebony's car parked next to Olivia's, and the two of them are standing together. Not far off is a marked patrol car as well as a paramedic unit. I guess they were getting ready for anything. I'm glad they didn't use sirens or anything.

“That's Ebony Hamilton,” I explain as we get closer. “She's a good friend of mine, and she's also a cop.”

He bristles slightly at this.

“You're going to have to trust me on this. And her. We want to help you. Okay?”

His eyes narrow. “How?”

“For starters, you need a new place to live. I'm pretty sure Ebony will agree. Your dad is abusive and cruel. And that's wrong.”

He nods ever so slightly, but his head is hanging low. I suspect he's ashamed, although that seems absurd.

“Things are going to change for you, Garrett. But you need to accept some help, okay? Can you do that?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Then I introduce him to Ebony, and she talks to him for a few minutes, asking him spme questions, which I assume are to establish that he's currently not a threat to himself or anyone else. Then she points to the patrol car. “Normally, you would be transported in that, but if Samantha's willing to join us, you can ride with me to the station.”

That's fine,” Iteli her.

Then Olivia comes over and gives Garrett a big hug. “I'm so glad you're okay. I thought I'd lost my date to the Sweethearts Ball.”

“So that's what this is about,” he says, displaying enough humor to give me hope. “Man, you are one desperate chick, Olivia Marsh.”

She just laughs then says she'll meet us at city hall. Garrett and I get into the back of Ebony's car, and she
drives to the station, where I'm sure he'll be questioned some more. Olivia pulls up as we're getting out of Ebony's car. We all go inside, and Olivia and I talk to Garrett for a while. Then Ebony returns, thanks us for our help, then says that she needs to get a statement from him.

We both hug Garrett before we leave. “I'm so glad you're getting help,” I tell him. “It's going to be okay now. It's going to get better. You'll see.”

He still looks doubtful, but not nearly as scared as he was on that bridge. He tells us good-bye and then even adds, Thanks.”

“See ya later, Garrett.” Olivia pats him on the back.

He looks skeptical. “Yeah, see ya.”

“Count on it,” I tell him.

“Did Ebony tell you that a train was scheduled to go through there while you guys were on the bridge?” Olivia asks when we get into her car.

“No, are you serious?”

“Yes. Ebony called the railroad and told them to delay the train until you guys got safely down.”

“Wow.” I try not to imagine what might've happened up there today. “Let's pray for Garrett,” I suggest. And so we do.

On Saturday night, the night of the Sweethearts Ball, Conrad and I double-date with Olivia and Garrett. We've already spent about five hours getting all the decorations up, with barely enough time to go home and change. I went ahead and told Conrad a little bit about Garrett, not all the
details, but just enough to make him understand how important it is for us to stick by Garrett, especially now.

Garrett's in a foster care situation, which he says is “a Christian home, but sort of okay,” plus he's getting counseling regarding his sexual orientation, which he seems a little unsure about. In fact, it almost seems that it was more the result of his dad's bullying than anything else. But I am not pressing him on the subject. I'm just glad that he's still here and still talking to us.

He's been back at school the past couple of days, and although I can tell he has still got some obstacles to face, he's certainly turned a corner. Olivia and I both are convinced of this. It's like he's a different guy now, like some heavy load has been lifted off his shoulders.

Just today, as we put up decorations, he was joking and cutting up more than ever. He thinks it's a hoot that Science Geek is taking Rocker Chick to the Sweethearts Ball. And Olivia has done a great job putting their outfits together. They look totally retro and fun.

All in all, it's a great night. Olivia and the Stewed Oysters are a bigger hit than the main band, and Olivia is fantastic. Of course, Jack still looks like he's got an ax to grind with her, but Olivia just takes it in stride.

I'm sure this new side of her surprises a lot of people. Alex is particularly impressed, and I have a feeling he's going to be hitting on that girl again. Although she politely reserves most of her attention when not singing for Garrett, who turns out to be quite an adept dancer and rather charming.

Conrad and I have fun together too. And I love how he really treats Garrett like a friend. It probably makes me respect him even more than ever.

But seriously, the highlight of the evening for me is when I dance with Garrett. The dance is nearly over and we're all tired and happy. And I, for one, am ready to call it a night. The dance is just ending when Garrett starts to speak.

“Sam…” He looks at me, then looks away. “I don't even know how to thank you…you know, for everything.”

I smile at him. “Don't thank me, Garrett. Thank God!”

“Yeah, I think I might be sort of moving in that direction.”

I blink in surprise. “Seriously?”

“I can't make any promises, but I'm looking into it. Like any good scientist, I have to examine all the evidence.”

That's great, Garrett.”

“Anyway, thanks for everything you've done for me, Sam. Thanks for caring. And thanks for accepting me, you know, just the way I am.” He shrugs. “You know, whatever that turns out to be.”

Then I stretch up and kiss him on the cheek. “I love you, Garrett. You know in a brother-sister kind of way. But I really do love you just the way you are. Just the way God loves us.”

He nods. “Thanks.”

And as we finish the dance and go back to join our friends, I feel totally amazed. And I realize that only God can make me feel like this. And I thank Him!

M
y eyes sting from the heat. I blink and rub at them, trying to see what's in front of me, but there's so much smoke I feel blind. And there's a nasty acrid smell that burns in my throat as I attempt to breathe. It smells like something that I shouldn't be inhaling. I try to hold my breath as I stumble along. I know that I need to get out of here—
fast!
But then I trip over a wooden crate, falling smack down onto what feels like a filthy cement floor. It's sticky and grimy with, I'm guessing, years’ worth of crud ingrained into the surface.

Despite the filth I think maybe I'm safer down here. I recall a fireman, back when I was little, telling our class that the smoke isn't as bad if you stay low. So I continue searching for my exit, crawling on my hands and knees. The air has gotten so thick that it feels like I'm fighting my way through a heavy curtain of murky darkness.

I pull the neck of my T-shirt up over my face in an attempt to cover my nose and my mouth. I can't see a thing except for the eerie red glow off to my left, and I know that I need to get away from that—it's dangerous, deadly, and evil.

I must keep moving in the opposite direction of the fire. My time is limited. Shards of broken glass cut into my hands and knees as I creep along, and I keep bumping into things like cardboard boxes and plastic bottles and other sorts of unknown debris cluttered all over the place. It seems as if someone has been in here throwing things about, creating a huge mess that has become my obstacle course…or perhaps my death trap if I don't get out of here.

I can't give up! I continue navigating through my smoky prison. There must be a door in here somewhere. If I got into this place, there has to be a way out. I just wish I could remember where it is. I inch my way forward upright on my knees now, my arms outstretched and flailing in front of me. If only I could find a wall to follow along. Something that will lead me to a door or a window.

The heat is almost unbearable now. It feels like the back of my shirt is melting into my skin, like my lungs are about to collapse. And the putrid stench makes me want to vomit. I suddenly wonder if this is what hell would feel like—and how could anyone endure such torture? Is that where I am right now—in hell? But why? Why would I be in hell? Why would God allow that?

Finally my hands feel something solid, and it seems to be a wall. I rise to my feet and quickly use the rough wooden surface to guide me. Splinters pierce my fingers, but that's minor compared to the burning heat and the deadly smell.

I work my way along this wall until I reach what I think is a window. It's about three feet from the floor and feels
as if a heavy canvas-like cloth is covering the glass. I tug at the cloth, but it's securely attached by what seem to be nails. Why would someone nail a window covering down?

Then I hear a loud sizzling, crackling noise behind me, from where I know the fire is increasing by the second. It's a menacing sound…almost demonic, like it wants to devour me, to burn me alive. I pound my fist against the cloth over the window, hoping that somehow I can loosen this covering and force open the window and—

I hear an ear-splitting explosion, and a blast knocks me off my feet and smack into the window.

When I come to my senses, I am lying facedown outside. I don't know how much time has passed, but I'm on some pavement that's cool and damp, probably from a recent rain. I can tell that it's night by the darkness and the streetlight several feet away. The wetness of the ground is such a welcome relief after the inferno I just escaped—that horrible explosion that I felt certain was going to kill me.

But when I slowly roll over onto my back and open my eyes, I see by the glow of the streetlight that what I thought was water is actually my own blood. Bright red blood is flowing everywhere. It's like a river of blood coming straight out of me. My arms and legs and entire body are sliced and shredded, probably a result of that explosion and crashing through the window.

I become dizzy from looking at my own pool of blood, or perhaps it's simply from the loss of it. No human could possibly survive so much blood loss without medical assistance. Without help, I will die.

I attempt to scream, but my voice feels small and weak. The street is completely vacant and quiet, not a car or pedestrian in sight. There is no one who can possibly come to my rescue.

“Dear God,” I sob, “please, please, help me! Help me!” Then I lean my head back and close my eyes, preparing myself to die because I know it won't be long now. It won't be long…

“Samantha!”
I feel someone shaking me. “Samantha!”

I open my eyes once again, and there is my mother's face hovering over me with a worried expression. I blink and sit up, realizing that I am safe and in my own bed. I look down at my arms and see that I'm not cut. I'm not bleeding.

“Are you okay?”
Mom sits next to me on the bed. “I heard you screaming in your sleep. Sounds like you were having a pretty bad dream.”

I'm still trying to catch my breath, to slow down my heart rate.

“Are you okay?” she asks again.

I nod.

My mom's face grows even more troubled now. “Was it one of
those
dreams?”

I know what she means by ‘those’ dreams. I also know that she'd probably rather not hear about it, but I'm still so shaken, so frightened, that I need to talk. “I don't know. All I know is that it was horrid.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

I frown. “Do you really want to hear?”

She sort of shrugs. “I'm awake…you might as well tell me.”

So I describe the dream to her, and her frown lines grow deeper as she listens. “That really was awful. Do you think it means anything?”

“I really don't know, Mom. I mean, I never saw anyone else in the dream. Usually those dreams are warnings for someone else. But it's like I was all alone in this one.”

“Well, surely, you don't think something like that could happen to you, do you?”

“I suppose the warning could be for me, and if I ever got into a Situation that felt anything like that, well, I'd probably remember this dream and get out of there before things got worse.”

Mom lets out a frustrated sigh, pressing her lips together, and I can tell that I've pushed her beyond her comfort zone.

The important thing to keep in mind,” I tell her, “is that when God gives me prophetic dreams, it's almost always to help someone orto prevent something bad from happening.”

She just shakes her head. I can tell she doesn't get it, doesn't want to get it, and I'm guessing she'd like to go back to bed. “Isn't there a good chance that it was simply a nightmare, Samantha?”

“Maybe…”

“Can you go back to sleep now?” She glances at my alarm clock. “It's not even four yet.”

“Yeah, I'll read my Bible for a while.” I force a smile for her benefit. “That always makes me feel better.”

Okay.” She leans over and kisses me on the forehead. Something she hasn't done since I was little and she used to put me to bed. “Hope you have some better dreams now.”

“Me too.”

And although I try to appear brave and like I'm perfectly fine, I am haunted by the reality of that dream. It felt like the real deal to me. And yet how can I know for sure? And if it really was from God, what does it mean? Was it meant for me or somebody else?