Bad Connection

by Melody Carlson

“So, what're you feeling so bummed about?”

  “Kayla.”

  “Oh…” She nods.

  “I just thought we were on this trail, you know, and that she was going to turn up like…like yesterday.”

  “Unfortunately, it's not usually that easy.”

  “But then having the same dream about this total stranger, well, I guess I'm sort of doubting myself.”

  “What about God? Are you doubting Him too?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “Of course not.”

  Ebony smiles. “Then just relax, Samantha. Let God handle this. Remember, you're just the vessel.”

  “Just the vessel…”

  “Yes. If God wants to pour some information into you, He will. If not, well, there's nothing you can do about it. Right?”

  I smile. “You mean I can't control God?”

  © She laughs. “Nope. But don't we wish we could sometimes?” Then she motions for to me to come around to the other side of her desk. “I have some photos for you to look at on my computer. I asked Eric to do some sifting for me. Just missing Hispanic girls between the ages of twelve and twenty-five. Have a seat and start scanning through them. If you find any that seem familiar, make a note of their names. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I've got to go take care of something else right now. You mind being here on your own?”

  “That's fine.”

  So I sit here and go through the photos, but the more photos I look at, the more confused I begin to feel. It's like they're all starting to look exactly the same, and while some of them do seem to resemble the girl I saw in my dream, I couldn't say so for certain.

  Finally, I lean back in the chair and just close my eyes and try to relax. It's like there's this big knot between my shoulder blades, and I know that I'm starting to stress out over this. And why shouldn't I? I mean, this is crazy How am I, a mere sixteen-year-old girl—okay, seventeen next month—supposed to solve crimes about people I don't even know, committed in states where I've never even been before? How is that even possible?

  All things are possible with God.

  Now, although I didn't hear those words audibly, I did hear them in my heart. Furthermore, I know that those words are true. I just need to trust Him more. I say another prayer and take a deep breath, trying to just relax.

  I open my eyes and scan down through a few more photos of smiling dark-haired, dark-eyed Hispanic girls, and just as I'm starting to feel like this is totally hopeless, I come to the next photo, and I nearly fall out of Ebony's chair. I stare hard, wondering if I'm just imagining this or if it's for real. Then to test myself, I go back and look through some of the other photos until I'm back at this one again. But I know that this is her. There's something in her eyes or the shape of her face or maybe it's her nose, but something about this photo seems right. Suddenly I feel positive. This is the girl!

  I write down the girl's name, big and bold, and even put an exclamation mark at the end of it before I set off to find Ebony. Instead I find Officer Reinhart, and Eric tells me that Ebony is still busy.

  “Any luck with the photos?” he asks.

  “Yes! I was about to give up, and then I saw this one.” I hand him the slip of paper with the girl's name.

  “Elena Maiesa,” he says. “Sounds Hispanic anyway.”

  “Yes. She is.”

  “I'll see what I can find out about her.”

  “Good.” I stand there expectantly, thinking he'll probably want to get to work on it right now.

  He laughs. “I probably won't get to it today, Samantha.”

  “Oh.” I nod. “Yeah, of course not. Well, I better go.”

  “We'll let you know what we find out, okay?”

  Thanks.”

  It's just a little past four as I leave the precinct, which means I'll be spending the next couple of hours waiting formom to get off work. As I walk up to the park district building, I hear shouts and laughter coming from the day care playground, where kids are probably enjoying their afternoon recess. And this gives me an idea. First I stop by administration and give Mom's assistant a message; then I head back downstairs to the day care center.

  “Hey, Samantha,” says Kellie. “What's up?”

  “I wondered if you could use some help this afternoon. I have a couple of hours to kill and—”

  “Man, did you come to' the right place!” She grins. “We're just starting to work on Christmas presents this week.” She holds up a plastic bag filled with white powder. “Handprints set in plaster of Paris. Kind of messy. Some extra help would be fantastic.”

  So the next thing I know, I'm wearing a bright-colored apron and helping kids to plant their paws into the plaster goop forms that Rachel, another teacher, has all ready for them in the eating area. Then, keeping their hands off the walls and chairs and other children, I usher them back to the bathroom to wash up before their fingers get hard and stiff. After that I escort them back to their classroom where Kellie is just starting story time. It's like a three-ring circus.

  “I'm so glad you stopped in,” Kellie says when we're finally done and the kids are starting to get picked up by their parents. “It would've been crazy without you.”

  “Hey, it was fun. And it helped to pass the time.” ft

  “How about coming back to work here during Christmas break again this year?” she suggests. “You were great last year.” 3

  “I didn't know you needed help.”

  “Well, Rachel just announced that she wants time off to o go back east to see her family, which means we'll be seriously shorthanded for a couple weeks. I'd figured on hiring subs to fill in, but we'd much rather have you. You know how the kids love you.”

  “Sure,” I tell her. “That sounds great, and I could use the extra money.”

  “Couldn't we all.”

  So as we're discussing details and schedule, my mom pops her head into the day care center. “I'm here to pick up my little girl.”

  “Hi, Mommy!” I say back in a childish voice, which makes a couple of the straggler kids laugh. “I'm ready to go home now.”

  I feel hopeful that Mom might be happier now, knowing that Zach is in treatment and life is calming down some. But as we drive home, I can tell that she's still pretty uptight. My first clue is when she starts griping about the traffic and some of the drivers' less-than-stellar driving skills, and eventually, as we get closer to home, she's complaining about the weather, which has turned windy and cold. And finally she's just grumbling about Christmas and work and basically everything about life in general.

  “Something wrong?” I finally ask, knowing I could be sorry for this inquiry later.

  “Do I sound that bad?”

  “Sort of.” I sigh. “I thought maybe you'd be feeling good today. I mean, knowing that Zach's okay.”

  “Yes. I should be thankful, shouldn't I?” Still I can hear the bitter edge to her voice, and I don't respond.

  “It's not that I'm not glad about Zach getting some help, Samantha. Really, I am. It's just that this is not how I imagined my life would go. You know, at this stage of the game, well, I didn't see myself working so hard at my job, or that my husband would get shot and I'd be a single mom struggling to make ends meet. Or having a kid who's a junkie and gets picked up by the police to go into rehab. It's just not the life I'd planned for myself.”

  “I guess no one really knows how things will turn out.

  She glances at me. “Well, besides you anyway.”

  “I don't know much of anything. I mean, unless God shows me. And He never showed me anything regarding Zach.”

  We're home now, and Mom just lets out a long exasperated sigh. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't vent on you like that. It's just that I don't have anyone else to let my hair down with.”

  “It's okay.”

  “No, it's not. Maybe I'm just tired. What with Zach and Saturday's late night trip to Seattle, this was a long weekend.” She dumps her coat and bag onto the bench by the door.


  “Why don't you just relax? Take a hot bath or something. I can make us something for dinner.”

  “Oh, that sounds great, Samantha.” She gives me a small smile. “I appreciate it. Sorry about my little pity party.”

  “It's okay. I understand.”

  In fact, I may understand even better than I realized. Because now, as I go into the kitchen and try to find someo thing that can be transformed into something that will resemble a meal, I start feeling kind of like Mom just described. Kind of like, this isn't very fair. I mean, this isn't exactly the sort of life I had wanted either. I don't enjoy having a grumpy full-time working mom. And it's not easy losing your dad when you're only twelve. And pile up Zach's drug problems on top of everything else, and suddenly I feel the need to have a little pity party all of my own.

  Instead I dig in the freezer until I find a packaged lasagna dinner that looks slightly frostbitten. But I figure it's worth a try, and maybe I can put some extra cheese on top. Then as the oven is preheating, I pull out my Bible and open it up to a familiar passage.

  As I set the table for Mom and me, I run these thoughts through my head. I ponder what it means to live freely and lightly as I get some frozen peas ready to be nuked in the microwave. Finally I decide that this is a Bible verse I should memorize, so I write it down on one of the index cards that I keep especially for this sort of thing. Then I set it on the table by my plate. Maybe I should even share it with my mom before we eat our dinner. I think she's in need of it as much as I am.

  The next few days pass rather uneventfully. I try not to worry about the girl in my dream; instead, I find myself praying for her. Her name, Elena Maiesa, seems to be engraved into my memory, along with her face. But so far I've heard nothing from Ebony about her. In fact, I've heard nothing from Ebony at all. I've been tempted to call her, but I figure she'd have called me if anything new had happened. More likely she's involved in something else. Maybe something more important.

  I continue to pray for Kayla too. But more and more I'm thinking that maybe I was all wrong. Maybe Kayla is perfectly fine. Maybe she's already married to her Colby friend and living happily ever after. Yeah, right.

  I go to Olivia's winter concert with her and am pleased when Conrad comes and sits beside me. I'd started to give up on him too, but it seems like he's still interested in me. Afterward, he invites Olivia and me to meet him and Alex for coffee. And without even checking with Olivia, I accept for us. But when I meet her backstage, she seems happy about the news.

  “Really?” she says with bright eyes. “Alex too?” q

  “Yeah. Great concert by the way. Your solo was awesome.”

  “Thanks.” She looks down at her black concert dress. o “Man, I wish I'd brought something to change into. I didn't know we'd be going out for coffee afterward.”

  “Hey, you look beautiful. Glamorous. Like a star.”

  She grins. “Lay it on, Samantha.”

  “Seriously, you really do.”

  “Well, let me get my coat.”

  And then we drive over to Lava Java, where the guys are already waiting for us. Okay, it's not a date, but it feels like the beginning of something.

  “Good job tonight,” Conrad says after we've ordered coffees and joined them. “You did a fantastic job on that solo.”

  “Yeah,” adds Alex. “That was the best song of the whole night.”

  Olivia is beaming now, but she simply says a calm “thanks,” and then changes the subject. “Mr. Lowry said this might be the last year to do songs like 'O Holy Night.' Some lady on the school board is talking about banning all songs of religious nature from the curriculum.”

  “Right,” says Alex. “So you can just sing songs like 'Jingle Bells' and 'Frosty the Snowman.' That'd be pretty sophisticated.”

  “Or The Twelve Days of Christmas,'” adds Conrad. “There's a song with substance.”

  “Hey, I like The Twelve Days,'” I protest. “We used to sing it with my dad on our way to get a Christmas tree when we were kids. It was our tradition.”

  “Speaking of that song,” says Conrad. “Alex's family had the weirdest thing happen last Christmas. Tell the giris what happened.”

  Then Alex proceeds to tell us how his family got these strange anonymous thank-you cards for gifts his family had never sent. “The first ona was just kind of odd. It said something like: Thank you so much for your thoughtful gift of a partridge; he is a very lovely bird. However, we're not quite sure what to do with the pear tree since it is winter and too early to plant right now.'”

  We all laugh.

  “But then it just kept going. We got a new thank-you each day. And of course, they toved the five golden rings and said something like, 'Oh, you shouldn't have…' but then the thank-yous started getting a little irate. Like they'd say, Thanks a lot for those seven geese and all those eggs, but enough already. They're making a mess of our backyard and harassing the six swans, and the neighbors are complaining about the noise from those four calling birds. Please, stop this nonsense immediately, or we shall contact the authorities!'”

  By the time Alex reaches the end of his dramatically told story, we're all laughing so hysterically that Olivia and I have tears running down our cheeks.

  “No way” Olivia says as she wipes her eyes. “They really sent those to you?”

  He nods. “My mom saved them. It was really weird.” ft

  “Did you ever figure out who did it?” asks Conrad.

  “My dad insists it's this crazy dude at work, but the guy denies it.” He laughs. “It's a mystery.” 3

  “What a great joke,” says Olivia.

  Finally, it's time to go, but as we leave, Conrad and Alex both suggest that we get together again. “Maybe during winter break,” says Alex.

  “Cool,” I tell him.

  “You guys ever go ice-skating?” asks Olivia, who used to take lessons.

  “We used to play hockey,” Alex says with a slightly cocky grin.

  “But it's been quite a while,” admits Conrad.

  “I haven't skated in years,” I say. “But it used to be fun.”

  “Let's do it,” says Conrad. Then he winks at me. “I'll give you a call, Samantha.”

  We wave good-bye and head off to our cars. “That was so cool,” Olivia says as she unlocks her car.

  “Yeah,” I admit. “The most fun I've had in ages.”

  “And it wasn't really a date.”

  “Nope, it wasn't.”

  And as she drives us home, I'm thinking I could use a few more fun times like this in my life. It seems the past few weeks have been heavy and hard. And I appreciate the fact that God wants to give us some breaks. He wants us to laugh and play and have a good time, and hey, I could get used to this.

  Sixteen

  Winter break officially began last Friday, and now I'm working at the park district day care center. Okay, it's not exactly a glamorous job, but it's kind of fun, and the kids do like me, and it helps to pass the time. Plus, I'll get paid.

  The first several days of “vacation” pass fairly uneventfully. Just work and life and nothing out of the ordinary. No more dreams or visions or much of anything unusual. And I still haven't heard a word from Ebony about either of the missing girls, nothing about Elena or Kayla, but I continue to pray for them daily, if not more.

  However, I'm starting to think that my dreams and visions may have been nothing more than my overactive imagination. And in a way, I suppose this is a relief. I have no problem living like a regular high school girl.

  In fact, last night, Olivia and I actually met Conrad and Alex for a prearranged ice-skating debut. I hadn't skated since before Dad died, but with Conrad's patient help and coaching, it slowly came back to me. Meanwhile, Olivia and Alex really cut up the ice like a couple of pros. By the time the evening was over and we reconvened at Lava Java for something to warm up with, we were all exhausted but thoroughly happy. I never mentioned the ft blisters on my heels. It was worth it. And Conrad hinted that we shoul
d all go see a movie together this Saturday. No complaints from me there either.

  But then as Mom and I are driving to work this morning, and I'm feeling only half-awake and just blurrily looking o out the window, I see this billboard with a travel ad promoting the Southwest. Mom's stopped at the red light, and I just blankly stare at the billboard.

  Then instead of seeing the red-golden mountains, a big cactus in the foreground, and the bright aqua-blue sky behind it, I see a girl lying on her side in the dirt. Just like in my previous dream, her mouth is taped with duct tape, but her face is bruised and so swollen that I can't tell who she is. As before, her hands and feet are bound. But her long hair is matted with dirt and dust, so much that I can't tell what color it is, just a dull sandy brown color. But the skin on her bare arms and legs looks pale, as if the blood is drained out. Somehow I know that this girl is dead. I gasp loudly just as Mom pulls into the intersection.

  “What?” She starts to brake and looks both ways. “Is a car coming?”

  “No, it's okay.”

  “What then?” she asks in an irritated voice as she carefully proceeds through the intersection. “Why did you do that? You scared me, Samantha.”

  “Sorry,” I say quickly. “I just thought of something and, well, sorry.”

  “Well, don't do that! Especially when I'm driving. I thought we were about to get hit.”

  I consider telling her about what I just saw, but then it will only disturb her. She won't understand. And she might even get mad. Instead I just ponder on what flashed so quickly before me, trying to remember the details. But mostly I know that she's dead. This girl has been killed. I could be wrong, but I strongly suspect that this girl is either Elena or Kayla, and it makes me feel sick inside. As Mom puils into the parking lot, my throat feels like someone wedged a stone in there, and hot tears are building in my eyes.

  “I have to make a phone call,” I tell Mom as I get out of the car, pulling out my cell phone and turning away so she won't see my face.

  “Catch you later,” she calls out, and I hear her heels clicking across the pavement toward the building.