Beyond Reach (3 page)

Then, after asking and answering a few more questions, we are finally allowed to leave the airport.

“Free at last,” I say as we head for the parking lot to hunt for Ebony's car. I can hardly believe we parked it there just two days ago, back when we set out on our mission to Phoenix. Was it only this morning that we were out on the desert searching for Kayla and her kidnapper? It seems like two years must've passed since that time. What a day!

“You might've just saved a whole lot of lives tonight, Sam.” Ebony opens the trunk of her unmarked police car. We both set our bags inside, and she closes it with a thunk.

“Not me,
God,’

“Yes, but you were listening, Sam. You were tuned in.”

I consider this as she drives us back to Brighton. I suppose I was tuned in. But really, it seemed like I didn't have that much to do with it. I mean, besides being on the receiving end of things. But then I guess that's how it is with God's gifts. They just come—unexpected.

Even so, I'm ready for a little break just now. Or maybe even a big break. I'm not saying I want to tune out completely, but I wouldn't mind a few nights (maybe even a few weeks) of dreamless sleep. I silently beg God to give me some time off during Christmas break—it doesn't seem too much to ask. It's not like I'm telling Him to get lost. I just want Him to leave me alone for a while. Just give me a break. That's all.

T
he holidays passed in a surprisingly quiet way. This was partly due to the fact that my brother, Zach, is still in drug rehab up in Washington State.

Mom was a little blue about him being away from home, but I reminded her that it was much better than last Christmas, when Zach was “home” but went on a serious binge during the holidays and we never saw him at all. At least we don't have to be worried about him getting arrested or killed this year since he's locked up, or sort of locked up. His rehab place's philosophy is actually founded on “trust and free will.” Let's just hope Zach stays trustworthy and willing long enough to get better.

He called us on Christmas Day, and it sounded like he was doing okay. Sure, he had regular complaints about things like having to get up too early, his neurotic roommate, and the revolving menu… Who wouldn't complain? But for the most part, I think he's sticking to the program. Even so, he's not even halfway finished with his treatment, so I've really been praying for him lately, begging God to help him hang in there—to beat his methamphetamine addiction once and for all. My best friend, Olivia Marsh, has been praying too. She's always
been a good prayer partner when it comes to my wayward brother.

Anyway, I'm thankful for this much-needed calm during Christmas vacation, and I think maybe God realized that I needed a break after all. But the new year has begun and it's time to go back to school. I'm a little concerned about Kayla Henderson. Her story was in both the local and national news on Christmas Day and a few days afterward. At first they ran it as a Christmas miracle story, which it was, and thankfully they didn't give all the details about how she was found or who was involved. So my anonymity seemed safe. As Olivia drives us to school, suddenly I'm worried.

Will Kayla be back in classes today? And if so, will she get to talking and let it out that I played a rather strange role in her rescue down in Arizona?

At the time I told her I was working “undercover” with Ebony and begged her to keep it quiet. But so much has happened since then… What if she forgot? Maybe I should've reminded her about this when we talked on the phone a few days after Christmas. I'd called just to check on how she was doing, and to be honest, it didn't sound like she was doing that great. But I tried to encourage her, and I promised to pray for her. I even invited her to youth group, although she declined, saying she wasn't ready to see people yet.

“You okay, Sam?” Olivia glances at me as she pulls into the school parking lot.

“Yeah.” I reach for my bag. “I'm just worried that Kayla might spill the beans about me.”

“I thought you had some kind of an arrangement with her.” Olivia snags a good parking place and turns off her car. “And seriously, why would she want to talk about all that crud anyway? I mean it's pretty humiliating to her, falling for a cyber jerk like that Colby creep and then actually going down there to meet him. Ugh!” She makes a face. “If I were Kayla, I'd be keeping my mouth shut.”

“You're probably right.”

Olivia softens. “Just the same, we can look for her, Sam. You could give her a gentle reminder.”

“Good idea,” I say as we walk across the foggy parking lot. The air feels like it's laced with ice today, and I wish I'd remembered the cashmere gloves Mom gave me for Christmas.

Once inside the building, we head straight for where Olivia thinks Kayla's locker used to be. But we don't see Kayla anywhere. So we walk around, checking out the usual places, and even ask Emma Piscolli, not exactly Kayla's best friend, if she's seen her this morning.

Emma just shakes her head. “And I've been looking for her too. I asked Brittany and Amelia if they'd seen or talked to her, but apparently no one has.”

“Why don't we call her cell?” Olivia suggests.

“I don't know her number,” I point out.

“I do,” says Emma.

“Are you guys talking about Kayla?” asks Kendall Zilcowski.

Now, although Kendall and Kayla couldn't be
any more
different (Kayla being a wild child and Kendall being a wallflower), the two girls had become fairly good
friends last fall, back before Kayla went mysteriously missing.

“Yes,” I tell Kendall. “Have you seen her?”

“Sure. We hung together during winter break, after Christmas…you know, after she came home from Arizona.”

“How's she doing?” asks Olivia.

Kendall makes an uncertain face. “It's not easy…”

“Is she here?” I ask.

Now Kendall shakes her head. “She wasn't ready to come back to school. She's pretty freaked that everyone will treat her weird…you know, because of all the stories that have been in the news. She thinks the whole thing will get blown even more out of proportion with her friends talking about stuff and that everyone will want to know all the gory details about her kidnapper and the murders and all that crud.”

I slowly nod. After the capture of Colby Buckley, bits and pieces of the “Internet abductor” story slowly surfaced in the news. We learned how this criminal used the Internet to lure unsuspecting teen girls into his make-believe world with lies and promises and fake photos. Then, after getting them soundly hooked, he would wire them money to come visit. And once he got a girl down there, he would hold her captive and sexually assault her. Then he would brutally murder her and bury her remains in the desert. So far six victims have been identified by their remains. Horrifying stuff.

“I can't blame her,” says Olivia. “I wouldn't want everyone staring at me or asking me questions either.”

“Exactly,” says Kendall. “So she and her mom have decided to move away from Brighton. Kayla plans to dye and cut her hair and use a different name. Hopefully she'll get a fresh start someplace where people aren't as tuned in to the story.”

Okay, I feel guilty for being glad about this, because it's a selfish kind of glad. But then I realize that I'm glad for Kayla's sake too. Coming back to Brighton High after everything, well, it would be pretty hard. “I hope she gets some good counseling too,” I say as I remember Ebony's concerns.

“She's already going to a counselor,” says Kendall. “And I'm sure she'll keep it up. Her mom was adamant about it. In fact, her mom's seeing a counselor too. I guess the one good thing that came out of all this is that Kayla and her mom are working some stuff out now.”

“That's worth a lot,” I say. Of course, I'm thinking it couldn't possibly be worth all that Kayla's been through— God only knows what that was like—but I'm glad that she and her mom are finally getting along. I vaguely wonder if Mom and I would get closer if I went through something like Kayla's ordeal. No thanks. I know for a fact that I don't want to go there. Not for anything!

“Well, I plan to keep praying for her,” announces Olivia.

“Me too, “I agree.

“So will I,” Kendall says, which surprises me since I wasn't sure that she was a Christian.

“Cool.” I decide I should get to know this normally. quiet girl a little better.

But the warning bell is ringing now, and since it's the first day back at school, we all skitter away like we don't want to be late for class. As I head for English, I try to remember what we were working on before winter break. I seriously don't understand why our school insists on having four quarters like this. I wish we were like a college and simply have three terms with breaks in sensible places. It seems crazy to go nearly brain-dead during winter break only to return to school in time to kick it in gear for finals. What is with that anyway?

A couple of uneventful weeks pass and everyone seems quieter than usual around school. Maybe we're all just buckling down to our studies, or maybe it's simply the winter blahs. But to be fair, I can't blame my moodiness completely on finals. I can't even blame it on the cold, foggy weather, which really is depressing. The truth is, something else is bugging me. At first I tried to pretend it was no big deal. But as days pass and nothing changes, it begins to get to me. Now I'm getting concerned.

No, I'm not obsessing over a boy. I still like Conrad Stiles, and he seems to still like me. We've gone out a couple times since Christmas, but his schedule is pretty full with varsity basketball right now, which means I don't see him that much. But that's not what's getting to me anyway. It's something much bigger than Conrad, something I can't really talk to anyone about. I haven't even told Olivia. In some ways I haven't fully admitted it to myself.

But here is the truth: I feel like I haven't heard a word from God in ages. No dreams, no visions, nothing out of the ordinary. Just peace and quiet. I know I should be grateful. But I'm not.

Naturally, I read my Bible and pray regularly. How could I not? And, of course, I go to church and youth group, and while I get something out of all those things, I'm just not getting any special messages like I did before. As much as I hate to admit it, this has me seriously worried.

I haven't forgotten my little prayer on Christmas Eve, after the terrorist incident on the flight home from Phoenix. I was feeling weary. I remember how I begged God to give me a break.

And I think I might've sounded horribly ungrateful, like I was whining and complaining because God had used me to do something that really was amazing and miraculous. And now I wonder if He's decided to give that incredible gift to someone else. Someone more worthy. And by mid-January, right before finals week, I am feeling totally bummed.
What have I done?

“Dear God,” I pray before going to bed, “please, forgive me if I seemed unappreciative a few weeks ago. I really am glad that You chose me for that particular gift. I love thinking that You trust me enough to show me important things. I think I was just worn out from everything that had happened. I'm so sorry if I said or did something wrong. Please, forgive me for being so selfish. And if You want to give this gift back to me, I'll try to always be grateful for it. And I'll try to always use it for Your glory.”

I take a deep breath and steady myself for this next line. “And, dear God, if You should choose not to give me this gift again, well, I just want You to know that it won't change how I feel about You. I will still love You and trust You—with all of my heart. Heavenly Father, I know You know what's best for me. I am Your servant. Amen.”

Then I feel surprisingly peaceful as I go to sleep. And I suspect I might even have a dream tonight. But morning comes and, with it, no dream. At least nothing I can remember. Nothing that came from God. Just the same, I remember my promise to accept whatever God chooses for me. Even if that means it's over and He's not going to send me any more messages. I am okay with that.

Still, I try not to feel too disappointed as Olivia drives us to school that morning. I attempt to carry on what seems a normal conversation and don't tell her how I'm really feeling underneath. I ask about her three-day weekend. (It was Martin Luther King Day yesterday, and her dad took them skiing for all three days.)