“Is it Kayla?” I ask, my voice breaking as I imagine my old friend dead.
“No. It was Elena.”
“Oh.” Even though I'm relieved that it's not Kayla, tears slip down my cheeks as I think of Elena.
“It was just like Michael's drawing. Really amazing, Samantha.”
I'm crying now and I can't even speak.
“I know this must be hard for you,” she says. “We're all feeling upset and sad, but we're also feeling encouraged. You were right on. Your vision really was a gift from God. You shouldn't—”
“But why did He show me too late? Why couldn't we have gotten to Elena sooner?”
“I don't know, Samantha. I don't know much about any of this yet. But the FBI agent I've been working with—his name is Tony—wants to meet you. He's very impressed with your—”
“But what about Kayla?” I demand through my tears. “What does this mean for her?” I use the back of my hand to wipe my nose. “Do you think she's dead too?”
“Like I said, I don't know. I'm sorry…we really don't know much yet. I'm waiting on Tony for more details. And I know this is upsetting for you to hear. I just thought you -e should know what was going on.”
“I know…I know…” I try to get ahold of myself. “I'm sorry for getting mad at you, Ebony. It's not your fault. But it's just so frustrating.”
“Trust me, I know how you feel. I really wanted to find Elena while she was still alive. I'm still hoping that we'll find Kayla—soon. I can't imagine why God would give you these specific dreams and visions if He doesn't want us to find her alive.”
The image from my vision flashes through my mind's eye again—Elena lying in the dirt, dead and pale and lifeless, and I begin to cry even harder now. From the sweet-looking girl in the photo on the missing persons list, she appeared to be about my age, probably with a family who dearly loved her, and now she is dead. Probably tortured and beaten and God only knows what else before she died. It's just too much to absorb.
“Are you going to be okay, Samantha?” Ebony asks in a compassionate voice. “Are you home alone? Do you need to—?”
“I'm okay. Just a little shaken.” I take in a quick, jagged breath. “It makes my head and my heart actually hurt just to think of Elena, you know, like that. And then Kayla…”
“I know…”
“But I appreciate you telling me. I'll be praying for Elena's family.”
“Yes, this is hard news. Especially at Christmas.”
I sink down onto my bed. “Yeah…”
“We might need your help, Samantha.” co
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Tony wants to talk to you.”
“The FBI guy?” i
“Yes. He's very interested in your work.”
“My work?” I flop onto my back now, pushing my hair o back and letting out a deep breath.
“Yes. I wasn't quite sure how to explain you to him. He sort of thinks that you work with us at the police department.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, I know that it's almost Christmas, but I wondered if you'd be interested in flying down to Phoenix with me.”
I sit up straight. “To Phoenix? When?”
“Well, I was thinking maybe tomorrow morning…”
“Tomorrow morning?” I'm trying to wrap my head around this. Ebony wants me to fly to Phoenix tomorrow? Like just three days before Christmas? “Why?”
“Tony thinks you can help them find Kayla.”
“Oh.”
“What do you think, Samantha?”
“I don't know… I mean, of course I want to find Kayla—more than anything. But I'm just not sure how I can help. It's not as if I control this thing, not any more than I can control God. Like you said, Ebony, I'm just the vessel.”
“But you're willing?”
“Of course.”
“Then, do you mind if I talk to your mom about this?”
“No, of course not.” Although I know this may pose a problem since I cannot imagine Mom giving her blessing for me to go to Phoenix with Ebony on such short notice like this. And just a few days before Christmas too.
“Is she at work?”
I look at my watch. “Yeah, until about five I think she said.”
“Okay. I'll keep you posted.”
I hang up and replay what I've just heard, trying to sort out and make sense of it. Elena is dead. Kayla may still be alive. Tony from the FBI thinks I can help them to find her. Ebony wants me to fly down to Phoenix with her tomorrow. She's calling my mom right now. Then the biggest question hits me—what does God want?
I go straight to my knees; fully aware that only God can make something like this work out. Forgetting about my fashion challenge, tonight's “double date,” and everything else about ordinary life, I focus my heart on God—I ask Him to work His will for this, to show Mom and me and Ebony what's best for everyone. And eventually I tell Him that I am His and that I am willing to do whatever He wills for me. “Just keep me in Your will,” I finally pray. “All I want is to do what You want me to do. I trust You. Amen.”
When I stand up and look around my room, I'm surprised to remember that only an hour ago, I was obsessing over what to wear tonight. It suddenly seems so juvenile, so superficial. It's nearly five now, and I'm guessing that Ebony has already called Mom. Or maybe she's talking to her right now. I'm tempted to call Olivia to tell her the whole story, but I want to be ready in case Ebony calls me back. I see my Bible sitting on my desk. It's flopped open to Proverbs right now, and I pick it up and begin to read, randomly, from the right-hand page.
Now, I realize this Scripture isn't like God's green light for me to head off to Phoenix with Ebony tomorrow, but it does give me a strong sense of peace. And if Mom agrees and I do go to Phoenix, it will be because it is God's will. And I'm thinking, if it's God's will to go to Phoenix, maybe it's also His will that we find Kayla. I just pray that we find her alive.
I jump when the phone rings, but this time it's the land line, and this time it's Olivia.
“Ready for the big night?” she asks in a cheerful voice.
“Uh, yeah, I guess…”
“What do you mean,guess?” She sounds disappointed. “I thought you were looking forward to this, Samantha.”
“I am. It's just that, well…” And then I tell her the latest news, about Elena and about Ebony's invitation for me to go to Phoenix.
“Man, that's so sad about Elena. I'd really been praying for her.”
“I know, me too.” I feel that spirit of depression coming over me again.
“And they know it's her, for sure?”
“I guess so. Ebony didn't give many details, but I'm pretty sure that rules out the possibility of it being Kayla.”
That's something to be thankful for. Still, it's so tragic for Elena and her family. So sad.”
“Yeah, I'm pretty bummed.” I let out a long sigh.
“Kind of puts a damper on our big night, huh?”
“I'm sorry, Olivia.”
“Hey, it's not your fault, Sam.”
The truth is, I just really don't feel much like going out now.”
“But what good would it do for you to sit at home and feel bad?”
“Yeah, I know…”
“What we need to do is pray, Samantha.”
“I have been praying.”
“Let's pray right now,” she says. “Let's pray for Elena's family. Let's ask God to bring something good out of this tragedy. Okay?”
“Okay.” Then I mostly listen while Olivia prays. Her faith feels like a life preserver that's been thrown out to me as I'm floundering in the waves, and' by the time she says amen and I agree with her, I'm feeling hopeful again.
Thanks,” I tell her. “I needed that.”
“Me too.”
“It's hard to imagine how God can use something like this, but I guess that's where our faith comes in, huh?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I guess so.”
&n
bsp; I look at my messy closet that I've recently ransacked in search of the perfect outfit. “Uh, do you mind if I just wear jeans tonight?”
“Nope. Not at all. Let's go for comfort.” =3
“I better go,” I tell her. “I hear my mom downstairs. I should go find out what she thinks about Ebony's travel o plans for me.”
“Good luck. I'll be praying.”
We hang up, and I go down to see if I can read anything on my mom's face. But as she hangs up her coat and sets down her bag, she looks pretty much the same— slightly haggard but glad to be home.
“Hey, Mom,” I say somewhat cautiously.
“Hi, Sam.” She kicks off her shoes and flops down on the couch. “What a day.”
“Want a soda?” I ask as I head for the fridge.
“No. I'm too cold already. It's nearly freezing outside. I've heard we might even get a little snow again.”
“How about some tea?” I offer.
“Sure, that sounds great.”
“Constant Comment?” I call out, knowing that's her favorite.
“Lovely.”
Now, as I make us a pot of this sweet, spicy tea, I'm wondering if her relatively calm demeanor means that she's okay about my going to Phoenix, or does it mean that she said “Absolutely not” and is trying to be nice because she thinks I'll be disappointed. I decide not to say anything, just to play it out.
Mom's flipped on the news as I join her with our tea. “Thanks,” she says as I hand her a mug. She takes a sniff. “Mmm, perfect.”
I sit beside her, absently watching the news show on CNN.
“You still going to the movie with your friends?”
“Yeah. They'll be here in about an hour.”
She smiles. “That's nice.”
Okay, the curiosity is killing me, but I'm determined to wait for her to say something. Then I see a photo on TV that makes me nearly'drop my mug of tea.
“Turn that up, will you?” I lean forward to peer at the same photo I picked out at the police station just a few days ago.
“The victim has been Identified as nineteen-year-old Elena Maiesa,” the woman reporter is saying, “a second-year student at Arizona State. Maiesa was reported missing by friends shortly after classes began in September Although no foul play was suspected at the time, according to our sources, Maiesa died of strangulation and may have been deceased for more than two weeks. No suspects have been disclosed as of this date, but police ask that anyone having any knowledge of this case contact them. “ And just like that, they move on to the next story.
But I just sit there in shock. Somehow seeing it all in front of you, pictures of Elena and footage of the place where her body was found—well, it's totally unnerving.
Eighteen
Are you okay?” my mom asks with a worried expression.
I just stare blankly at her, but my hands are shaking so much that I have to set my mug of tea on the coffee table before I spill it.
“You look like you just saw a ghost, Samantha.”
I nod. “Yeah. I kind of feel like I did.”
“What are you talking about?” She frowns at me. “Are you having some kind of a vision or something?”
“Did Ebony call you today?”
“Ebony?” She looks confused now.
“You know, the detective at the—”
“I know who she is. But why would she call me? Is something wrong with Zach? He didn't run away from the rehab place, did he? Or did the police find out something new? Was he more involved in the drug deal than we—?”
“No, it's not about Zach.”
“What then? Why should Ebony call me?”
I take in a deep breath, silently asking God to lead me. I really didn't want to be the one to break this to Mom. “That girl on the news just now,' Elena Maiesa.
The college girl who was murdered?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know her?”
“Sort of.”
“Was she from Oregon? Did she live in town?”
“No, I never actually met her, but I had a dream, a week or so ago…she was in it.”
“But you never met her?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know it was her?” Mom is clearly confused now. And I can tell she's getting irritated too.
“It's a long story,” I say quickly. “But I'll try to condense it. You already know that I was helping Ebony with Kayla's case. But then I had this dream about Elena, only I thought it was Kayla. But then I saw her face, and she obviously doesn't look anything like Kayla.”
“Obviously.” Mom scowls as she studies me.
“And then I had a vision, just a few days ago, only in this vision the girl was dead.”
“Oh, Samantha.” Mom closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath, and I can sense that she's disgusted with this—with me.
“I can't help it, Mom. It's not like I ask for these dreams and visions. They just come to me and I have to—”
“I think you should go see Paula again.”
Paula is Mom's shrink-friend, the woman I went to see last year when Mom thought I was losing it. “I'm not crazy, Mom.”
“But this is not normal, Samantha. Having visions about dead girls is not normal.”
“What is normal?” oo
She sadly shakes her head as she wraps her hands around her mug of tea. “Sometimes I'm not too sure.”
Maybe this is normal for me,” I say in what I hope is a calming tone. “Dad understood it. And Grandma McGregor would've understood it. Ebony even seems to o understand it.”
Mom narrows her eyes at me. “I suppose you wish Ebony was your mother.”
“No, of course not. I just wish you could understand this. I wish you could accept—”
Just then the doorbell rings. “Is that your friends?”
“No, it's too early. But I'll get it.” Eager to get out of this conversation, which seems to be going nowhere but down, and quickly, I go to see who's at the door. To my surprise, and huge relief, it's Ebony.
“Sorry to just show up like this,” she says as I let her in, “but I tried and tried to reach your mom, and when I finally got through, they told me she'd gone home. Since I was already in my car, I thought I'd just pop in. Is that okay?”
“Of course. Come on in. Mom's in the family room.” I call out to Mom, announcing that Ebony is here.
“Well, that's ironic.” Mom waves to Ebony without getting up. “We were just talking about you. Well, sort of. Have a seat.”
“Can I take your coat?” I offer, and Ebony hands me her pretty suede jacket, which I carefully hang over a chair.
“Sorry to just burst in here.” Ebony sits next to my mom, “but I really need to talk to you, Beth.” I'm surprised that Ebony is calling Mom by her first name now, but maybe this is something that transpired when she helped her with Zach last week. “
Is this about the girl who was murdered in Arizona?”my mom demands.
Ebony glances at me. “Samantha told you about that?”
“We just watched it on the news.”
Ebony nods. “Yes. That's part of it.”
“Well, I was just telling Samantha that I'm getting very concerned. Thi$ is not normal behavior for a sixteen-year-old—”
“Almost seventeen,” I remind her. “Less than a month.”
“Fine, seventeen-year-old girl. It's still not normal.”
“I'm sure it must be confusing,” says Ebony. “Gifts like this are hard for people to understand, but you have to respect that your daughter is special.”
“Oh, I know she's special…” Mom sort of smiles. “And believe me, I'm grateful for her—especially in times like this, with Zach off in rehab and Cliff off in, well…” She sadly shakes her head. “Anyway, don't think I'm not thankful for my daughter. I most certainly am.”
“Yes, I'm sure you are,” Ebony assures her. “But it must be hard to accept that she has this very unusual gift for—”
“For havin
g visions and dreams about dead or missing girls?” my mom interrupts, peering closely at Ebony's face as if she thinks there might be a clue there. “Don't you think that's just a little abnormal, not to mention downright weird? Don't you think that girls Samantha's age should be out having fun and doing normal teenage things? Instead of obsessing over missing girls and dead people? I was just telling Samantha that I think it's time she went back to talk to our psychologist friend, Dr. Paula Stone. Maybe she needs medication or some special kind of therapy.”
“Oh, I don't think she's—”
“Who made you such an expert on my daughter?” Mom says in an overly loud voice. “Okay, fine, I know that you stepped in and helped us when it came to Zach. And it's not as if I don't appreciate that, Ebony. I do. But what makes you think you know so much about Samantha? Why are you dragging her into all this?”
Okay, I'm getting worried now. Mom is losing her cool again—something she doesn't normally do in front of others, although I'm remembering that she's done this before with Ebony. And suddenly I'm wondering if this has something to do with Ebony personally. She used to be Dad's partner, and she was there with him on that day, his backup when he got shot. Is this why Mom is being so hard on her? Or is it just about me?
Ebony's brows pull together slightly, and I can tell she's hurt, but she doesn't say anything.
“Mom,” I begin in a pleading tone. “Ebony hasn't dragged me into anything. I'm the one who came to her in the first place. I'm the one who told her about my dreams and visions about Kayla. She's simply trying to do her job—trying to locate a missing girl who happens to be my friend. And I'm just trying to help her.”
“Help her?” Mom echoes. “By having dreams about dead girls? How is that helping anyone? It seems like your involvement with the police is only taking you in deeper and deeper, Samantha. And trust me, if you go nuts on me and end up being locked up in some psych unit somewhere, the police won't be there for you. I'll be the one left to pick up the pieces—the police will just use you and lose you. Just like they did to your dad.” And then she covers her face with her hands and bends over and just starts sobbing.
I look helplessly at Ebony. Like what do we do now? But Ebony just puts her hand on Mom's back and says soothingly, “It's okay, Beth. I understand. I know this is hard. But I do understand.”
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