But instead he simply removes the pizza box from my hands, takes a big sniff, and announces he's starved as he casually strolls toward the family room. I hold my breath as I follow him. Then he stops in his tracks, so quickly that I almost stumble into him.
He looks at Mom. “What's going on?”
“Come and sit down,” Mom tells him in a surprisingly calm voice.
I take the pizza box from him and go over to set it on the counter. Breathe and just relax. Everything is going to be okay. But when I turn around, Zach is just standing there, looking more scared than I've ever seen him before. I'm still not sure that he doesn't plan on running.
“I'm Detective Hamilton.” Ebony shows him her badge. Then she extends her hand for him to shake. But he doesn't take it. “And this is Officer Reinhart,” she continues, ignoring his snub.
“Why are you here?” he asks in a voice that reminds me of when he was about ten years old.
“We need to talk to you,” she tells him. “We need to ask you some questions.”
“Sit down, Zach,” Mom tells him in a kind but firm voice.
Zach turns and looks at me now, but I just shrug, acting as if I have no idea what's coming down. Then I go over and sit down, and to my relief, Zach does the same.
“We know all about your car, Zach,” Ebony begins. “It was towed and impounded, and we know about what you were carrying in it.”
Zach looks at Mom now, and I can tell he's really upset. “Do you know too?”
She just nods then looks down at her hands in her lap. q
“It wasn't mine,” he tells her.
“Whose was it?” she asks, looking up.
“A friend—” Then he stops himself. “Not a friend. Just o this guy I met. I don't even know his name.”
“But you knew what it was that you were carrying in your car?” probes Ebony.
“I didn't actually see it,” he says quickly. “I mean, it could've been anything.”
“Did he pay you for transporting it?”
“No.”
“Not yet anyway…” she suggests.
“He didn't pay me.”
“And he probably won't be paying you any time soon,” says Officer Reinhart in a slightly sarcastic tone.
Zach leans over and looks down at his bare feet. “No.
“This is the deal,” Ebony says in a very serious voice. “We will work with you, Zach, but only if you'll work with us.”
He looks up. “What does that mean?”
“It means if you give us the guy's name and whatever you know about him, we'll figure out a way to let you off this time.”
His eyes light up. “You will?”
She nods. “But only in return for your cooperation.”
“You won't charge me? You can promise that?”
“As long as you cooperate and agree to our conditions.”
“What are your conditions?”
So she goes into an explanation of how he must make an affidavit that will help to catch and convict the meth dealer and finally how he must agree to an inpatient drug rehab treatment.
“And that's it?” He looks skeptical. Then you let me off?”
“Unless there's something we don't know about.” She peers curiously at him, and suddenly I'm worried that there could be more. Zach could be in deeper than any of us suspect.
“How long is the rehab?” he asks.
“A minimum of sixty days. Longer if it's determined necessary.”
He looks at Mom now. “But…we can't really afford it, can we? I mean, last time you said that—”
“It's all taken care of, Zach. Money isn't an issue right now.”
He looks back at Ebony and frowns. “Sixty days?”
“Possibly longer.”
“Look,” says Officer Reinhart, “once your drug-dealing buddy finds out that you messed up and that you lost what you were supposed to be delivering, well, you might just want to be gone sixty days or even longer. You follow me?”
Zach slowly nods. “Yeah…”
Ebcpny pulls a piece of paper out of her briefcase. “This is an electronic ticket,” she tells my mom. “Round-trip for the two of you to Seattle. Zach will be picked up at Sea-Tac by a counselor, and we'll put you up for the night in an airport hotel, and you can fly out early Sunday morning. Zach's return trip is open-ended.”
“Who paid for this?” my mom asks.
“The precinct,” says Ebony. ft
“Why?”
“Because Zach is a cop's kid,” says Officer Reinhart. “And we stand by our brothers and their families.”
Ebony looks at Zach now. “Are you ready to go?”
“Right now?”
She nods. “The Seattle flight leaves Portland International at 9:45 tonight.”
“Tonight?” Zach looks like he's having second thoughts already.
“Did you want to stick around town?” asks the officer. “See if your drug-dealing buddy shows up to collect from you?”
“No,” he mutters.
“Then pack your stuff.” Ebony hands him a paper. “This is a list of what you can and cannot take with you. If you forget anything, your mom can send it to you later.”
“Do you want help?” I follow Zach up the stairs. He doesn't answer, but I keep going anyway. No way do I want him pulling a second-story escape right now.
“This is so cool.” I watch him pull a duffle sack out of his closet. “A real answer to prayer.”
“Whose prayer?” he grumbles.
“Mine.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Hey, would you rather go to jail?”
“Rehab is just another form of jail, Samantha.” He's shoving socks and underwear into the bag, cussing under his breath.
“At least you don't get a criminal record.”
“But I get to rat on a friend.”
“You said he wasn't a friend.”
He makes a growling noise.
Im guessing he's not a friend anymore, Zach. Officer Reinhart is probably right. This dude will probably be really ticked at you for messing him up; he'll probably be coming after you.” Of course, this makes me realize something I hadn't even considered before. “Does he know where we live?”
“I don't know…” Zach turns and glares, shaking a pair of wrinkled Levi's at me. “Do ya mind, Samantha? I want to put on my jeans now. Some privacy, please?”
But somehow I know that's not what he really has in mind. Call it intuition or just an educated guess, but I'm certain that he's thinking he could still make a fast break. He could get me out of here, grab that bag and his shoes, and head right out the window.
“Why don't you just wear those sweats.” I nod to the loose navy pants he's wearing. “With all the new security machines at the airports, those buttons on your Levi's would probably just set off all the alarms anyway. Olivia told me that her sister was practically strip-searched one time just because she had on—”
“Fine!” he snaps, stuffing the jeans into his bag and zipping it. “Whatever!”
Then, feeling extremely relieved and slightly victorious, I wait for him to exit his room then follow him back downstairs.
“Can we give you guys a lift to the airport?” offers Ebony.
“Do we have a choice?” grumbles Zach. co
“You do have a choice!” my mom says to Zach in a tightly controlled yet very angry tone.
“Huh?” He looks slightly stunned by Mom's sudden show of emotion. She doesn't usually let her feelings out o like this.
“No one is going to force you to do this, Zach!” The volume reaches a level that outsiders seldom hear. “You could run away right now, and maybe you wouldn't even get caught for a while. But you would get caught eventually] Everyone gets caught eventually.” Her eyes fill with tears, and her voice cracks as she continues. “We're doing this to give you another chance, Zach. Everyone has gone to a lot of trouble to give you a second chance. Do you want to throw it away? To just spit on it and—”
“No,” he says quickly. “I'm ready to go, Mom.”
“Good.” She turns to Ebony, straightening her shoulders. “A ride to the airport would be very much appreciated.”
Mom quickly gathers some of her things and then suggests I spend the night at Olivia's again, which sounds good to me. Then blinking back tears, I tell Zach good-bye and that I'll be praying for him. He just rolls his eyes at me, and throws the strap of his bag over his shoulder then walks out the door, dragging his heels like someone who's been condemned to the electric chair.
I'm so glad he doesn't know that I'm the one who called Ebony today. He so could've gotten away with this whole thing, and if he had any idea that I'm the one who ratted on him…well, I just don't want to consider that right now. Mostly, I believe that God intervened on Zach's behalf tonight. And I'm thankful.
Suddenly everyone is gone, and I realize how quiet the house is. And it's just me. Me and the uneaten pizza. I take out a lukewarm slice and then, feeling slightly spooked, call Olivia. Between bites and after swearing her to absolute secrecy, I pour out the story of Zach.
“Man, you have had one freaky-busy day, Samantha.”
“Tell me about it. And I hate to impose on your hospitality again, but I'm kinda scared about being alone here tonight. Especially if Zach's drug friend is anywhere around or if he's feeling particularly vengeful, you know? Do you think I could—?”
“I'm on my way,” she says. “Be there in a few.”
Thanks.”
Olivia and I don't stay up nearly as late tonight as we did last night. I can barely keep my eyes open when my head hits the pillow. But it's good to feel safe, and before I fall asleep I pray for Zach. And then for Mom. Then I thank God for intervening for us tonight. And then I drift off into blissful sleep.
I wake up suddenly, my heart is racing, and every muscle in my body is tensed up—like I'm ready to run for my life. I don't know where I am or why I feel this need to escape, but after a few seconds, and thanks to the light coming from her bathroom, I realize that I'm in Olivia's bedroom, sleeping in the bed across from hers. The house is calm and quiet. There's no real reason to be afraid. It was only a bad dream.
I try to relax and to recall what the dream was, and after a bit, I realize that it's almost the exact same dream I had before. The one where my hands and feet were tied o and duct tape covered my mouth. Once again the small, o dark room was hot and dry, and I was extremely thirsty. Then the door opened, and I saw the menacing silhouette of a man coming in, and I knew that he was going to hurt me badly, or maybe even kill me.
But the last thing I remember about the dream was that I was not the one who was tied up and helpless. Suddenly I found myself standing a few feet away, in a dark corner of the room, just watching and wondering what I could do to help this person who was bound and gagged and lying on the mattress on the floor.
But here's the weird part, I just assumed that the girl tied up had to be Kayla. But with the light coming through the slightly opened door, I could see the girl's face, and it wasn't Kayla at all. This girl had dark hair and dark eyes and seemed to be Hispanic. And not unlike Kayla, she was very pretty. But the thing I remember most was the look of pure terror in those big dark eyes, almost as if she was looking at the devil. Chills run down my spine just to remember this. And I must pray and pray and pray before I'm finally able to go to sleep again.
I tell Olivia about my dream first thing in the morning. “Do you think I got it wrong?” I finally ask.
“Wrong?” She sets a cup of coffee in front of me.
“In thinking that Kayla was being held against her will?”
“I don't know…”
“I mean, the other time, you know, when I had that similar dream, I just sort of assumed it was about Kayla, but I never actually saw her. In that dream, I was the one who was tied up…and it was so horrible. I felt so totally miserable and helpless and scared. But I assumed it was God's way of showing me that Kayla was in serious trouble. And now I see that it wasn't Kayla at all. What if I'm all wrong about everything? What if I'm just having weird nightmares that don't mean anything?”
“Do you think it was just a nightmare, Samantha?”
“No…not really. It seemed to be more than that.”
“Maybe God is trying to show you that someone else needs help,” Olivia says as she opens a box of cereal. “I mean, even if you don't know this girl, you'd still want to help her, wouldn't you?”
“Yeah, of course. But Keel like I've led Ebony down the wrong path now. Making her believe thatKayla's the one in trouble down in Arizona. It's like I've gotten my signals all mixed up or something.”
Olivia laughs. “So it is like receiving signals?”
I smile and take the box of cereal from her. “It's kind of hard to describe.”
“Good morning, girls,” says Mrs. Marsh. “You're sure up bright and early. Going to church today?”
“Yeah,” says Olivia. “Want to come?”
Mrs. Marsh actually seems to consider this. “Not today, Liwie. But do let me know when the special Christmas service is, and maybe Dad and I will come then.” She winks at me. “Yeah, I know what you're thinking, Samantha. We've turned into those twice-a-year kinds of churchgoers. Christmas and Easter.”
“I didn't say that.”
“I know you didn't. But Olivia says it often enough.”
“Well, it's kind of true,” says Olivia. “You used to go all the time when we were little kids. You'd drag us there whether we wanted to go or not.”
Her mom smiles. “We thought it was the right thing to do. Now you kids are old enough to take yourselves to church. And sometimes your dad and I are just plain tired. We like to relax on Sundays. Does that make us bad people?”
“As long as you love the Lord and you're still praying and reading your Bible, well, I'm not going to worry about it too much,” Olivia tells her mom.
“Well, we do and we are. And maybe someday when work and life lighten up, we'll get back into the churchgoing habit too.”
While I understand Olivia's desire for her parents to attend church more regularly, I'm thinking that at least they're still living like Christians. I can't actually say that much for my mom. More and more, I don't really know where she stands with God. And I have to admit that it worries me. But instead of worrying about it, which I've been trying to do less of lately, I take a few moments to pray for her while I get dressed for church.
First I pray that God gives her a safe flight back home and that she's not too worn out from all this Zach stuff. And then I pray that somehow God will manage to get her attention and to remind her that she needs Him. Maybe now more than ever. >
Fifteen
Icall Ebony during lunch on Monday. First I thank her for helping with Zach this weekend. And then I tell her about my most recent dream and how I'm worried that I might have led her down the wrong path by assuming the previous nightmare was about Kayla.
“Because,” I finally admit, “as it turns out, it wasn't Kayla being held against her will…it was totally someone else. I guess I just assumed it was Kayla the other time, probably because I'd been thinking about her so much and praying for her. But this girl was definitely not Kayla.” Then I briefly describe the girl in the dream to her.
“Do you think it could've been Kayla, but that someone had dyed her hair to disguise her? That happens sometimes.”
“No, this girl definitely looked very Hispanic.”
“Do you think you could identify her?”
“Maybe.”
“Can you come by here after school?” she asks. “We could go through the missing persons photos.”
“Sure,” I say halfheartedly. “I'll see if Olivia can give me a ride.”
I feel this cloud of discouragement hanging over me after that phone call. It's not that I don't want to help someone else. I definitely do. But what if the dream - doesn't mean anything? What if I'm just wasting every-one's time? And what about Kayla? Wha
t if she's still in need and I'm just not getting it? Consequently, I find myself praying for Kayla off and on throughout the afternoon.
“You sure are quiet,” Olivia observes as she drives me downtown.
“Sorry.”
“Still feeling badly about Kayla?”
“Yeah. I just wish we could find her. It's almost winter break, and then Christmas. It just seems like she should be coming home by now.”
“All you can do is what God puts before you, Samantha.”
“I know…”
Then we're at the precinct, and I thank her and tell her that I'll catch a ride home with my mom afterward. “I know you need to practice for the Christmas concert. Thanks for taking the time to do this.”
“No problem.”
I feel more nervous than before as I walk toward Ebony's office. It's like my confidence is shaken. And I feel that, even more than usual, I have absolutely no control over this “gift” that I've been given. Is it even real? Maybe I'm just imagining everything. Maybe my mom is right—I'm getting in over my head and I'll be needing serious psychological help before long.
Help me, God, I pray silently and helplessly as I stand outside Ebony's door. If this is of You, please, help me to handle it right Help me to stay tuned in to You; help me to fthelp others for Your sake. Amen.
“Hey, Samantha.” Ebony comes down the hallway toward me carrying a couple of sodas, one that she hands to me. “How's it going?”
I kind of shrug. “I don't know…”
“Feeling bad about Zach?” She opens her office door, and we both go inside.
“No.” I sit down. “Ifs actually Hnd of a relief knowing that he's off getting help right now. I don't have to worry that we'ra going to get a late night phone call from the police informing us that he's done something wrong or is hurt or even, well, you know.”
“I know. My brother, the one who runs the rehab place in Washington, had some problems himself as a kid. But he got help and decided he wanted to help others. Zach is in good hands.”
“Yeah, I figured he was.”
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