“Seriously?” I turn and study my best friend. “You got a feeling?”
“Yeah. But that was all it was. Just a feeling. It's not like I saw anything. But because of that feeling I've really been praying for you, Sam. And I understand how you feel about all this stuff. I mean, I remember how hard it was for you last year when you went to the shrink and everything. And I know how you believed that you weren't going to have any more dreams or visions. But I just keep getting this very strong sense…that God is going to use you somehow.”
She sighs. “Or maybe it's just hopeful thinking on my part.” Olivia turns and looks at me as she waits at the red stoplight. “Maybe it's just because I'm seriously worried about Kayla. I think she's in trouble.”
Now, besides my mom and her shrink-friend, who really didn't believe me anyway, Olivia's the only person who I've told any of this stuff to. And she's heard almost all of it—the dreams and visions and everything. And while I know she doesn't totally understand it (and neither do I), she's very understanding about it, and like my dad, she seems to respect that it's from God.
As the stoplight turns green, I believe that God is giving me a green light as well, so I open up to her. First, I tell her about this morning's dream and how it seemed resolved— well, other than seeing Kayla in it. Then I tell her about the vision of Kayla crying in the backseat of a car during biology.
“But we were watching this weird DNA video,” I point out, almost as a disclaimer. “And I was looking at Kayla's empty chair and probably remembering my dream…and, well, maybe I just imagined it.”
“You don't really believe that, do you?”
“No…”
“So was that it then? Just the dream about the wreck and then the vision of Kayla in the car? I mean, not that those things aren't big. Or not enough. But I guess I'm just not sure where you'd go from there.”
“I know.” So then I tell her about Shakespeare and Hamlet and Ophelia played by Kendall then surprisingly overridden by Kayla—at least for me. “It's like I really saw her standing right there, and I heard her reading Kendall's lines like it was really from her heart. And she had tears in her eyes.”
“Freaky!”
“Tell me about it.” I quickly open my backpack and pull out the script. “You want to hear the lines?”
“Sure.”
So I read the lines again, And this time they seem to make even more sense than before. “You see, Ophelia is talking about betrayal,” I explain. “She says 'before you tumbled me'—meaning like you tricked me—but she's saying that before he promised to marry her. And it would've been 'done by yonder sun,' like it would've been done yesterday, but he never showed up. Isn't that weird?”
“Wow…”
“I know…wow.” co
“so do you think this colby guy promised to marry Kayla and then changed his mind?”
I shrug. “Maybe…”
“Then wouldn't she come back home?”
“You'd think.” 5”
“But I wonder why she was crying in the backseat of a car?” muses Olivia. “I mean, why the backseat? Why not the front seat?”
“I don't know.”
“Do you think she's in some kind of real trouble?”
“I'm not sure, but there's another thing…”
“What? No holding out on me, Sam.”
“Okay. But for now let's just keep all this stuff between us, all right? I don't want anyone thinking I'm going off the deep end again. Especially my mom. She's got enough on her plate with Zach right now.”
“But I thought he was doing better. Isn't he still working at the video store?”
“Yeah, but I guess he's missed a couple of days, and he's been late coming home again. Not a good sign.”
“No…” Olivia sighs. “I'm sorry, Sam.”
“Yeah. Me too. I just hope he's staying clean and sober.”
“Well, I pray for him every day.”
“Me too. If only prayers alone could change people.”
“But back to Kayla, you said there was something else. Another vision?”
“No. More like a confirmation.” I reach into my pack for my Bible, opening it to the place I marked with a scrap of notebook paper. “In the bathroom, I was feeling pretty -c freaked, so I asked God to help me to figure this thing out, to show me whether it was really from Him, you know? And I did the random thing, just opened the Bible up, and this was the first Scripture I laid my eyes on.” I read it to her.
“Wow!” She just shakes her head. “That is amazing. Do you think Kayla has been led astray? Or abandoned in the mountains?”
“Yeah, like there's a lot of mountains in San Diego.”
“It might be metaphorical,” suggests Olivia.
“But even though she's left home, I doubt that she would've forgotten where she came from already. It's only been a few days.”
“Unless she has amnesia.” Olivia says this in a dramatic voice.
“I think that's just something they do in soap operas. I don't think real people get amnesia that much.”
“Well, it looks like God is confirming this thing, Sam. I think He's definitely trying to tell you something.”
“I know. I just wish I had a better idea of what exactly it is so I could actually do something… Well, besides pray that is.”
“Do you think you should tell her mom?”
“I'm not sure. I've been thinking about it. But I don't really know Mrs. Henderson that well. And I could end up sounding like'a nutcase.”
“What about the police?”
“I've been thinking about that too. But I'm worried about the same thing there. I mean, how do I go in and tell a policeman that I saw Kayla playing Ophelia in drama today but she wasn't really there? Even if I got him to believe me, what does it all mean?”
“But what about the car? Did you see a license plate? Or could you tell what make it was?”.
“Just a metallic blue. With gray interior.”
“Well, that sure narrows it down.” Olivia kind of laughs.
“But what about my dream this morning? It was pretty right-on because that woman, Cindy James, really did have a wreck just like in my dream. But I don't get why Kayla was in the dream too. That makes no sense.”
“Maybe God just wanted to get your attention,” she says thoughtfully. “Maybe He wanted you to see that your dream really was on target so that you'd trust Him.”
“I don't know…”
“And maybe He put Kayla into that dream so you'd be thinking of her, so you'd know that she needs help too.”
“I suppose that could be.”
“Remember, God really does work in mysterious ways, Sam.”
“You can say that again.” But now I'm obsessing over the Ophelia lines, those words about promising to marry and then being jilted, and it feels like it's a big clue. But if Colby decided not to get married, which makes perfect sense now that I know more about him, then why wouldn't Kayla be back home by now? I run these thoughts past Olivia, and she just shakes her head.
“Man, it seems like the more you know, the murkier it gets.”
“That's just what I was thinking.” I sigh and look out the window.
“But you do know this, Sam.”
“What?”
“God wants you on the case. He's trying to show you something. You need to stay tuned in.”
I kind of laugh now. “Right, stay tuned in. Like I was going to tune God out.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I guess. But I have to admit that it's making me uncomfortable. I really thought the whole vision and dream thing was over and done with. It had been nearly a year, Olivia.”
“But I had a feeling.” She smiles as she reminds me. “I got a really strong sense that it wasn't over.”
“So why doesn't God show you these things instead of me? Why can't you be the one to have visions and dreams and all this crazy stuff?”
“You'd have to ask God that one,” she says as
she pulls up at my house.
“Thanks a lot,” I tell her without enthusiasm. “Maybe I will.”
“I'd invite myself in, but I have a mountain of homework, and I need to practice my flute solo for the winter concert. Plus it's midweek service tonight. Need a ride?”
“Sure.”
“But before you go in, I want to tell you about this Scripture I read in 1 Corinthians 12 last night. It reminded me of you because it talks about the different spiritual gifts the Holy Spirit gives us and how God works in our lives in different ways. It's really cool. To one person He gives the gift of special knowledge, to someone else He gives the power to heal the sick, and to another the ability to prophesy. But the Holy Spirit is the only One who distributes these gifts.”
I nod. “Yeah, okay…”
“God is the One who decides who gets what, Sam.”
Thanks.” I smile at her.
“Seeya.”
I go into the house, trying to feel encouraged by the Scripture she just told me about, but as I drop my backpack on my bed, I still have to ask God, “Why am I so special? Why are You letting me in on all these things? What is it about me?”
I stare at my rather ordinary reflection in the mirror above my dresser, taking in my curly brown shoulder-length hair and hazel eyes, those few stubborn freckles, and the somber expression Zach used to tease me about, bugging me about why I was always so serious. And all I can think is that I look like such a kid. Even if I am going on seventeen in January, I sometimes think I could pass for twelve or thirteen. And I almost laugh.
“Seriously, God, You must be pretty hard up for help to call on someone as insignificant as me.” Then I feel bad for sounding ungrateful or even unwilling. So I add, “Even so, You know that I want to do Your will. And as long as You're the one doing the leading, I promise to follow.”
I just hope I don't end up looking like a total fool.
Five
I had almost expected God to show me something new about Kayla at the midweek service tonight, but while the worship was good and the sermon encouraging, I experienced no visions, and since I didn't fall asleep, no dreams—nothing out of the ordinary,
Naturally, Olivia questions me on this during the drive home.
“Nada,” I tell her. “And I was really trying to listen too.”
“Maybe you shouldn't try so hard. I mean, you were never trying during those other-times, were you?”
I nod. “Yeah, you're right. They just seemed to happen.”
“Maybe God needs you to be more relaxed.”
“Maybe.” I let out a deep sigh and lean back. “But it's a heavy load, Olivia. If God really is trying to tell me something about Kayla, like if she's in danger or something…well, it seems like a lot to expect of a person… like me.”
“God must believe you're up to it.”
“But don't you think it's kind of weird?”
“Of course it's weird, Sam. Visions, dreams…it must be pretty spooky sometimes. I'm not sure I could handle it myself.”
“I don't mean weird like that.” I'm trying to think of a way to describe what's bugging me right now, but I feel stuck.
“What then?”
“Well, remember last year, when I was going to that shrink-friend of Mom's? I keep thinking about the time when o she pointed out that some Christians might think some of my o experiences are kind of New Agey. Like I'm claiming to be some kind of a Christian clairvoyant. She even pointed out how some people might actually assume that I'm demonized or working in cahoots with the devil, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I remember you told me about that and how it bothered you.”
“I mean, it's pretty hard to describe this kind of thing or what it really means—I guess it even makes me nervous. I'm sure that's why I never talk to anyone about it.”
“You talk to me about it, Samantha.”
“And I thank God for you, Olivia, I honestly think I'd be going crazy if I had to keep this all to myself—especially today.”
“So anyway, you're worried that something's wrong here? Like if you really are a psychic, how could you be a Christian too?
“Bingo!” I nod. “It's like an oxymoron—a Christian psychic. Who would believe it?”
“But see, that's where I think some Christians shortchange God. It's like they want to put Him in this tiny little box. How can anyone say that God can't gift people in whatever way He chooses? He's God, isn't He? And not to put you on their level, but what about the old prophets in the Bible? Wouldn't some people call them New Age or even -c religious psychics today? Wouldn't they be ostracized for their ability to predict the future even if it was God-given?”
“Maybe so…” I kind of laugh. “Come to think of it, a lot of them weren't treated too well during their own time.”
“Exactly. And that's only because we humans don't usually know what God is up to.”
“And even if God tries to let us in on things, sometimes we question it anyway.”
“Well, I believe that God has lots and lots of gifts to give His kids,” she persists. “Including things like prophecy and dreaming dreams and having visions. But maybe some of us are just too busy to notice.”
“Maybe…”
“Or maybe you're just special, Samantha.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, maybe…”
“Just know that I'm here for you,” she says as she pulls in front of my house. “I'm praying for you, and you can talk to me about any of this. And I won't tell anyone about it either.”
“Thanks.”
I can tell by Zach's old beater car in the driveway that my wayward brother must've decided to come home before midnight for a change. I say a quick prayer as I go into the house. Zach hasn't exactly been easy to get along with lately, and I'm guessing my mom is still at the park district board meeting.
My brother is sacked out on the couch in the family room as an obnoxious action movie is blaring from the TV. Zach's coat and backpack and shoes and junk, along with ca the remnants of what looks like the entire contents of our refrigerator, are spewed all over the room like a hurricane just swept through.
“Zach?” I whisper. But no answer. I turn off the TV, thinking the silence might rouse him, but he's just lying there. I actually go over to look more closely, worried that something might really be wrong, but it appears that he's just totally conked out. I hope it's just plain tiredness, but I know that it could be something more.
I put a throw blanket over him, gather up some of his mess, and take it into the kitchen. It's not like I want to be an enabler exactly, but at the same time, I don't enjoy the idea of Mom walking in and seeing him like this. She has enough stress.
On my way to my room, I pause in the stairway to look at a family photo that was taken when I was eleven. It was my first trip to Disneyland and our last family vacation. The four of us are standing in front of the entrance together— we're all smiling, looking forward to a fun day of rides and adventure. Zach was about fourteen, and although he was starting to act like an obnoxious teenager, things were still going fairly smoothly for us as a family. And as I recall, it was a really fun trip. As I study this photo, I think that for all practical purposes, we just look like your average ail-American family. Not perfect, of course, but relatively happy. Like life is good, and it can only get better…
A lump grows in my throat as I consider how much things have changed since that photo was taken. Within that year, Dad was killed. Then Mom pretty much turned -c into a workaholic, struggling to make ends meet. Later on Zach got involved with alcohol and drugs and has been in and out of rehab twice this past year. And here I am thinking God's sending me messages, which I know some people would equate with insanity. And I'm asking myself, what's wrong with this picture?
Once I'm in my room with the door closed, the lump in my throat gets bigger. It makes me so sad to consider how things once were, how we can never go back. It's times like this when I miss Dad the most. And sometimes I wonder if h
e can see us now. And if he can see us, what does he think? Does it break his heart? Does it hurt him like it's hurting me?
But then I think that God must have a different way of showing things down here; He must do it in a more complete way. Like maybe Dad can see how things will be, like when things get better for us—surely they will get better. Because honestly, I don't see how heaven could be heaven if Dad was looking down and seeing how things, really are—right now anyway. I think it would just kill him all over again.
I try to distract myself from these melancholy thoughts, as well as from my growing concern about Kayla, while I finish up the last of my homework. But finally I'm done and just turning out my light when Mom pokes her head into my room to check on me and to tell me she's home.
“Did you talk to Zach?” she asks.
“He was asleep.”
“Oh…” She nods. “At least he's home.” do
“Yeah. Good night, Mom. I love you.”
She smiles. “I love you too, Sam. Good night.” q
Then she closes the door, and I hear her going into her room. Worried that she might cry herself to sleep again tonight, I put in a good CD, turning it up just enough to drown 5” out her sobs—just in case. Then I get into my bed and I pray My theory about praying is that you can do it anywhere and everywhere, and if it makes you feel better to kneel by the side of your bed, then do it. If you prefer to stand on your head to pray, then do it. Most important, just do it
After I've qovered my family as best I can, I pray for Kayla again. I pray that God will keep her safe and get her home as quickly as possible. And then I go to sleep.
It's stifling hot in here. And dry. So dry that my nostrils are burning. And I am so thirsty that my mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton.
Then I realize I can't even part my lips. It's as if they're glued together, but I can tell by the smell of vinyl that my mouth is taped shut.
It's too dark to see anything, other than a narrow strip of light over there. It must be a window draped with something very dark. I lie on my side, on something lumpy and covered with fabric, maybe an old mattress. But it smells horrible. Like a dog, or worse.
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