Beyond Reach (15 page)

“But do you think he's okay?”

“It's hard to say. But he did promise to e-mail me the notes for chemistry, and I'm thinking it might be my way to get to know him better, you know, by e-mailing him back. This kid seems pretty shy when we're talking face-to-face.”

“Sounds smart. I'll be praying for him, Samantha. And for you too.”

After Ebony drops me home, I call our church and make an appointment with Pastor Ken. His secretary, Myrna Glass, sounds cheerful but curious. I haven't been in for a counseling session for several years now. When I came a few years ago, it was mostly to help me deal with my dad's death from a Christian perspective. My mom's counseling friend, Paula Stone, the one who thought I was slightly nuts because of “seeing things,” never gave me much support on a spiritual level. But Pastor Ken has been encouraging.

“I just need to ask him some advice about something,” I tell her. Not that she needs to know everything, but I figure
it can't hurt to assure her that nothing serious is wrong with me. I'm sure they get plenty of that.

“Well, Pastor Ken is a good one for giving advice,” she says. “How does Thursday afternoon at four sound?”

“Sounds perfect.”

As I hang up, I realize that this presents a small problem. I'll need to tell Pastor Ken about my gift now, and it's something I don't really like to disclose. Of course, being a pastor, he's used to keeping people's secrets, and I'm sure he respects confidentiality. But I also know that life could get difficult for me if word of this leaked out into the congregation. What if people started asking me to find things out for them? That could get seriously twisted.

Anyway, I'll share my anonymity concerns with him, as well as my concern about working for the police department and getting paid for it. The problem is that I'm afraid I'm not exactly neutral about this.

The truth is, I really would love to work for the police department. I find it exciting and fulfilling, like it's something God has made me good at. And the possibility of being paid for helping Ebony on cases is way cool. But what if it's wrong? What if God has a different plan for me?

T
rue to his word, Garrett e-mails me the chemistry notes, and I e-mail him back, asking if this means he doesn't plan on being at school tomorrow, I figure this is a pretty natural question since he is my lab partner.

I wait a few minutes after e-mailing him, but he doesn't e-mail back right away, so I decide to check out the suicide website. Like I need more depressing stuff. Or maybe I'm just curious as to the status of the death wish crowd. But to my surprise there is one positive response to the e-mails that Olivia and I sent on my birthday.

This is so exciting that I copy it and paste Becca's post in an e-mail to Olivia. Since she'd been as bummed as I was when she read the negative responses we'd gotten, I'm sure she'll be glad to hear that someone was listening. I'm also pretty sure she hasn't gone back to check it out since then either.

I decide to read more of the e-mails. I'm thinking about Peter and how he supposedly participated in that site before killing himself. But more than ever, I'm convinced that's not the case. After seeing Cody's reaction to Ebony's questions, I have to agree with her that someone else was involved. Someone who faked Peter's identity on this very website. Someone who I believe was intent
on
carrying out a well-planned and premeditated murder. Of course, I have no idea why that would be. I do know drugs were involved somehow, and I know, because of my own brother's various drug-related dilemmas, that it can really complicate everything.

As I'm spacing out, pondering the possibilities of Peter's death, I notice a new message pop up on the suicide site. The name of the writer is slightly familiar from the last time I was visiting. As I recall, he goes by “gay guy” or “gg,” and his main excuse for wanting to check out is because he can't deal with being gay— it's too hard. Somehow his homophobic dad found out a few weeks ago, and he's been making gg's life miserable ever since. Pretty sad. I wonder why the mom doesn't intervene.

Before I can even think about it, I decide to write this poor guy back. Maybe he's just trying to get attention, but he sounds truly desperate—way more than the last time I read one of his posts. And he's right—he does need help. And not just a new recipe for suicide either.

I've just hit Send when my cell phone rings. I figure it's either Ebony or Olivia, since they're the only ones who use this number. It turns out to be Olivia.

“Are you home yet?”

“Yeah, what's up?”

“Well, after you skipped out on the Honor Society meeting after school, I actually went to it and got roped into heading up the decorating committee for the Sweethearts Ball.”

I laugh. “For Valentine's Day?”

“Yeah. Ironic, isn't it?”

“Actually, it's great. You'll be really good at decorations.” I don't add that this might also help to keep her mind off Alex.

“Well, I signed you up too.”

“Olivia!”

“Come on, I need some help, Sam. Nobody
wants
to do this. I was actually trying to slip out the back door when Emma Piscolli nominated me.”

“Why didn't you nominate Emma right back?”

“I did, but they put it to a vote and I won.”

“Lucky you. Congratulations.”

“Thanks a lot. And now you
have
to help me, okay?”

“All right,” I agree. “It might actually be a nice change of pace.”

“You mean as compared to working on gruesome things like murders, suicides, and kidnappings?”

“Olivia!” I use a warning tone. “Is anyone listening to you?”

“I'm in my car. Chill.”

“Okay.” Then I tell her about the response we got from Becca on the suicide website. “I e-mailed it to you. It's enough to give a person hope.”

“Well, I better hang up and head for home now. I just wanted to make sure I had your support for the decorations.”

I make a dramatic groan. “But let's keep it simple, okay?”

“Exactly.”

“And let's recruit more helpers. How about if we get some of the sophomores who got inducted last spring?”

“Good idea. They have to do what we tell them to.”

“If it wasn't basketball season, I'd try to get Conrad to help.”

“And if Alex hadn't—”

“Don't go there, Olivia,” I say quickly. Then we hang up. Good for Olivia. At least she's out there doing something different. First she's auditioning with Cameron Vincent's band, which I remind myself is on Friday, and now she's heading up the decorations committee for the dance. I have to hand it to her.

I'm about to turn off my computer when I notice that Garrett has replied to my e-mail. Eager to see how he's doing, I open it.

I decide to write back. Maybe I can draw him out some more. I don't want to lead him on exactly, but it's okay for him to know that I think he's a nice guy.

I hit Send and wait a few minutes, thinking maybe he's still online. Maybe he'll write back and I can continue the conversation. But there is nothing. And for some reason this worries me. So I get another idea and send him a message titled “PS.”