Beyond Reach

by Melody Carlson

  To make matters worse, Garrett, while completely competent, is not very adept at conveying information to me. He tends to take over the projects, only giving me bits and pieces of facts, so that for the most part I'm in the dark. I think I'll try to discuss this with him tomorrow.

  After picking me up the next morning, Olivia wants me to tell her everything Conrad told me last night.

  “All the details,” she insists as she drives toward school. “Don't spare my feelings.”

  “He really didn't say that much. But it was enough to reassure me that Alex is not suicidal, okay?”

  “That's it?” She sounds disappointed.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Don't Alex and Conrad talk? You know, the way we do?”

  “I don't know…”

  Olivia pounds the steering wheel with her hands. “So that's it?”

  “Yeah. That, and Conrad said Alex just wasn't that into you.”

  “Duh.”

  “But Conrad did have a theory about that.”

  “About what?” She glances at me.

  “Why Alex wasn't that into you.”

  “What is it?” She sounds way too eager now. “Is there something I can do?”

  “See, that's just the problem.”

  “Huh?”

  “You're too eager, Olivia. And Alex probably got scared off.”

  She lets out a groan.

  “Conrad told me that most guys don't like to be chased. They want to be the pursuer.”

  She nods. “Yeah, you tried to tell me that.”

  “But you didn't listen.”

  “I just like him so much, Sam.”

  “I know.”

  For the rest of the way to school, we don't say anything. I know she's feeling bad, and I wish there was something I could do to help her, but maybe she just needs to walk through this.

  “I'll be praying for you, Olivia,” I say as we prepare to part ways at school. “I think God wants to bring something good out of this.”

  She nods sadly. “Yeah, I hope so.”

  As I walk to class, I wonder how hearts can get so entangled that people get hurt like that. And I wish Olivia could've been spared. But at the same time, I think she has something to learn here too. And it's not just about how to play hard to get.

  She still seems pretty bummed at lunch. So to distract her, I start talking to her about chemistry, my next class, and how I plan to confront Garrett. “And maybe I'll just drop it and take physics next year.”

  “Yuck.” She makes a face. “You want to be stuck with a science class in your senior year?”

  I roll my eyes. “I wish I'd followed your example and taken them all before now.”

  She actually smiles. “Yeah, something I learned from my dad. If it's going to be unpleasant, it's better to just get it over with.”

  I consider this. “Maybe I'll stick it out in chemistry then.”

  Even so, I do confront Garrett And, of course, I hurt his feelings in the process. Or so it seems. Because as soon as I say my little spiel, he instantly clams up and totally ignores me. I just sit there across from him, watching as he furiously pounds today's notes into his laptop— the mad scientist hard at work. Then I notice something. He has straight, dark brown hair. And the way his bangs fall across his forehead and almost into his eyes looks similar to the guy in my vision.

  “Garrett,” I say suddenly and he looks up.

  He doesn't say anything, just stares at me with that wounded expression.

  “I'm sorry if I offended you. You are a great lab partner and I really appreciate you, okay? I'm just worried that I'm riding on your coattails here.”

  He almost smiles. “My coattails?”

  “You know what I mean. I feel like you're carrying the whole load.”

  “But that's okay.” He looks down at his computer. “I'm used to it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugs and looks back down, muttering, “Nothing.”

  “All I'm asking is that you include me, oA:ay?”

  He looks back up again. “I'll try.”

  “Thanks.” I'm trying not to stare at him now, trying not to obsess over the fact that he might possibly be the guy in my visions.

  Ironically, Garrett actually makes a noble attempt at including me in our experiment, but I'm so focused on him and whether or not he's suicidal that I'm totally useless. Consequently, everything he explains goes straight over my head.

  Even so, I try to keep the conversation going with him after class ends, walking with him down the hall, although he's going in the opposite direction of my next class. As I'm walking (or is it stalking?), I attempt to ask chemistry-related questions that sound lame even to me. Finally he stops walking and turns and looks at me.

  “No offense, Samantha, but you really don't get it, do you?”

  “Huh? What?”

  “Science. “

  Oh.” I sort of smile. “Is it that obvious?”

  He nods. “So, what's your point here?”

  “My point?” Does he know that this isn't about science? Can he sense that I've got a whole different agenda here? I give him my best innocent look.

  “Yeah, first you tell me you don't want me to help you in class; then you show how totally ignorant you are… I mean, what am I supposed to do?”

  I hold up my hands like I'm surrendering. “Maybe this should be your call. Maybe you'd like a different lab partner. In that case, I think I'll just drop chemistry anyway.”

  His brows draw together as he considers this. “Well…” He sighs. “I suppose if it really was my choice, which I doubt it is, I'd tell you to stick it out.”

  “Even if I drag you down?”

  He shrugs. “I can handle it.”

  “Okay then. I'll stick it out.”

  Okay then.”

  Thanks, Garrett”

  He still looks a little stunned, and his face is turning slightly red. I have a strong suspicion that this is the longest conversation he's ever had with a girl.

  “See ya,” I call as I turn and walk the other way.

  Maybe he's not really the guy in the visions. Maybe I'm just trying to peg any guy with straight dark hair as a suicidal maniac. Maybe I should ask God to show me something a little more definite. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

  By the end of the day, I think I'm probably totally wrong about Garrett. And I'm sure he must think his lab partner is one strange chick. Stranger than he knows actually. But I decide that whether or not Garrett Pierson is the suicidal guy in my visions, I am going to become his friend. Because I can tell he needs a friend. He's obviously lonely and a bit of a nerd. And I think it's no coincidence that I've been partnered with him. He's definitely going on my prayer list.

  I convey this information to Olivia as she drives me home, but unfortunately she is still obsessing over Alex. She has now gotten it into her head that she might be able to win him back by ignoring him. I'm thinking, Too little, too late, but I don't say this. How can someone as intelligent as Olivia actually think that it will do any good to ignore a guy who is already ignoring you? I mean, how's he supposed to even notice?

  “And,” she continues, as she works through what seems to be about a ten-point plan, “I'm thinking about joining a band.”

  “Huh?” I turn and actually tune in to what she's saying now. “You mean like jazz band or something—”

  “No, I mean a rock band.”

  I laugh, certain that she's pulling my leg now, which I deserve since I haven't really been listening.

  “I'm serious.”

  “A rock band?” I study my friend. “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, I guess it's not really a rock band. I think it's more alternative. That's what Cameron called it.”

  “Cameron Vincent?”

  “Yeah. He's looking for a girl to do vocals for them. He asked me to think about auditioning.”

  “Are you serious?”

  She gives a firm nod, but I can t
ell by the glint in her eyes that she's probably not as serious as she's trying to appear.

  “You'd actually want to hang with those guys?” I imagine those hard-looking rocker dudes with their tattoos and piercings and bad boy images. Something about sweet Olivia in their midst just doesn't compute. Talk about a rose among the thorns.

  “Those guys?” She glances at me as she slows down for the stop sign. “That sounds pretty judgmental, Sam.”

  “Well, everyone knows they're a pretty wild bunch. They're big-time partiers, and I'm pretty sure they do more than just alcohol.”

  She nods again. “Yes. I know that.”

  “You'd be comfortable with that whole scene?”

  “It's not like I'd start smoking dope with them or anything.”

  “Well, duh.”

  “But maybe God is up to something.”

  I consider this along with my strange encounter with Garrett. “Yeah, I guess that could be. But I'd seriously pray about it first, Olivia. You don't want to get in over your head.”

  “I know…but I don't think it was a coincidence that Cameron brought this up to me today. It might really be a God-thing.”

  That could be cool.”

  “Would you come with me to the audition, Sam? I mean, if I decide to go through with it?”

  “Of course! And you do have a fantastic voice. Everyone knows that.”

  “Thanks.” She's pulling up to my house now. “And one other thing.”

  “What?”

  “Jack McAllister, you know he plays bass for the band, but he has dark brown hair—and it's straight.”

  “Oh?”

  “Do you think?”

  “I don't know…”

  “Well, Jack's pretty moody. Although he was like that clear back in middle school. Of course, I've always attributed that to his musician temperament and the possibility of drugs and who-knows-what. But when I was talking with Cameron and Jack about the band today, it did occur to me that Jack's just the kind of guy who could be suicidal.”

  “I suppose…”

  “Does he look like the guy in your vision?”

  I consider this. “You know there are a lot of guys who are starting to look like the guy in my vision, but I'm going to ask God to show me something a little more definite before I start putting them all on the suicide alert list.”

  “I'll pray too.”

  “Thanks.” I smile at her, relieved that she seems to be coming out of her Alex funk, just a little. Maybe joining Cameron's band is just what she needs. Although I hope she's wrong about Jack. “And thanks for the ride.”

  She waves and drives off, and as I walk to my house, I think about all the guys with dark brown hair who could be suicidal, and it just makes me feel very, very tired. Man, it must be so hard being God—knowing all that He knows and what's going through the minds of every single person on the planet at any given time. But then I remind myself, He IS God after all, and He is cut out for this sort of thing.

  My heart is pounding so hard that I can feel it beating against the temples of my head, and I can't seem to catch my breath. But I have to keep running. The only way out is to run for my life. Guns and bombs seem to be exploding everywhere I turn. Murderers and assassins around every corner. And the streets and the walls are varying shades of red, as if drenched in blood. I am trapped and there is no escape!

  I sit up in bed and gasp. Of course, it was just a dream. Just a hideous nightmare. I wait until my breathing and heart rate return to normal, and I try to get my bearings. Finally I have to ask myself, was it just a dream? Or was it something more? It was so out of the ordinary for me—like I was trapped in some horrible video game, and I don't even play video games.

  Then I realize what it was—it was Killer7, the same video game that Peter's little brother, Cody, was playing the day Ebony and I went to his house. I instantly recall Cody's intense face as he locked into the pretend yet violent world of that video game. Sure, it's an escape of sorts, but what a frightening one!

  Feeling sorry for Cody, I pray for him, asking God to reach out to him, to give him comfort and hope. Then I go back to sleep. But the dream returns—it's the video game again, only now it features Cody, and the gun he is holding is pointed directly at me. I try to tell him to stop, to wait, to think about what he's doing, but before I can get the words out, he turns the gun to his own head—and shoots!

  My heart is racing again when I wake up. It's almost six in the morning now, and although it's early, I'd rather get up than face the possibility of more dreams like these. Where are they coming from and what do they mean? Is God trying to tell me something? I write down the dream details in my notebook, then open my Bible and read today's Scripture—my way of washing away the aftermath of fear that was part of these two dreams. I pause while reading the section in Luke 14:12-14, the part where Jesus is dining with friends and everyone pushes to sit by Him. This is what Jesus tells the host of the dinner:

  Okay, I know exactly what this means, at least to me. God is trying to make me understand how important it is to reach out to people who don't exactly fit in. People like my lab partner, Garrett, or like Cameron Vincent, or the other guys in the band that Olivia is considering auditioning for. I know that God loves all those guys and wants to connect with them. I also know that God loves Cody Clark, who I'm sure is a misfit in many ways, and I believe that the dream I've just experienced is meant to be a warning for Cody's welfare. He is in danger.

  Although Ebony won't be at work this early, I decide to leave a message on her voice mail anyway. I'll explain the two dreams and my concerns for Cody's safety. Although he doesn't look like the older guy in my previous suicide dreams, he definitely looked as if he could be a suicide risk himself. And really, why would that surprise anyone considering what happened to his brother? Add to that tragedy his appetite for violent video games like Killer7, and it seems a lethal combination.

  I'm just ending my message when something new hits me. “Ebony,” I say urgently, “where was Cody when Peter shot himself? Is it possible he was in the house at the time? I know he was probably only about seven or so, but could he have seen it happen?”

  Of course, the police would probably have already questioned such an obvious possibility, but for some reason it seems important to mention this to her. Then I hang up and start getting ready for school. Cody will be in my prayers today. I'll ask Olivia to pray for him too. I really do feel he's at risk. Serious risk.

  To my dismay, Garrett is not in chemistry today. Now this is actually a twofold problem: 1) I am worried about him since I still think it's possible, okay maybe even likely, that he's the guy in my suicide visions, but 2) he's the one with our chemistry notes, not to mention our brains. I am lost without him. And Mr. Dynell isn't exactly sympathetic.

  Taking the day off, Miss McGregor?” he asks when he finds me doing what I'm sure appears to be next to nothing—although in actuality I'm praying for Garrett.

  “My partner's gone.”

  That doesn't give you permission to daydream.”

  “I know.”

  The project is still due on Friday.”

  “I know.”

  Then get busy.”

  So I pretend to be busy but eventually decide I must be science-challenged and really need a remedial class. I do gather some statistics, which may or may not be helpful, but for the most part I'm just waiting for the bell to ring. My plan is to call Garrett and ask if he's okay. I can use chemistry as my excuse, but I really want to make sure he's still alive.

  As soon as class ends, I use my cell to call information for his number. Unfortunately there are about a dozen Piersons in town, and I realize this is not going to work. Naturally, Garrett is the kind of kid with few, if any, friends and I don't have the slightest clue who I can ask for his number.

  Finally, I try the counseling center. And after I explain to the receptionist that Garrett, my chemistry partner, is absent and has the notes I need if I'm going to be able to work
on our project, she dials the number for me and hands me her phone. But all it does is ring and ring. No one picks up. I hand the receiver back to Mrs. Morse. “No one's home.”

  “Maybe he's sick in bed,” she suggests.

  I nod. Yeah, maybe.” Then I thank her and leave. But as soon as I'm out of the office, I call Ebony.

  “I got your message,” she says before I have a chance to tell her my latest concerns. “And I've been looking into it. According to our files, no one was home when Peter shot himself. But after hearing about your dreams, I'd like to question Cody when he gets home from school.”

  “Good.” Then I tell her about Garrett. “I'm not certain that he's the guy in my suicide visions, but I'm not sure he's not.” Then I explain my attempt to call and how the receptionist wouldn't give me his number. “Is there any way you can get it?”

  “I'll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks. I'm worried about him.”

  “Samantha?”

  I can tell by her tone that she's about to ask me a favor. “Yeah?”

  “I hate to ask, but I thought it's worth a shot…would you have any interest in joining me to talk to Cody? I thought if perhaps I had you along, it would seem less intimidating, more like it's just an interview of sorts. Also, it would give you a chance to see how he reacts to my questions… in case God wants to show you something.”

  “Sure.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  “Great! And that brings me to something else, a little plan I've been concocting, but I'll bet I'm making you late to class.”

  “Actually, I've been walking toward class as we were talking, but you're right, the bell's about to ring.”

  “Can I pick you up after school?”

  “Sure.” So I hang up and get into class just as the tardy bell rings.

  After school, I tell Olivia what's up. Naturally, she's curious and I fill her in on as much as I know. She, like me, has been praying for Cody today. But she didn't know that Garrett was missing in action.