Payback (3 page)

Thinking of Felicity makes me even more determined to uncover what last night’s dream was about—and who was in danger. I just hope I figure it out in time to prevent another death. I don’t think I can bear to see someone else getting hurt. So I shoot up a quick prayer, once again asking God to help me, to guide me…asking that I’ll be tuned in to hear Him.

I can’t imagine how I would deal with my life without God. These visions and dreams would probably drive me seriously
crazy—straight to the loony bin. But knowing that they come from Him and that He has the answers makes all the difference. Consequently I am able to focus on my classes for the better part of the day. And I nearly forget about those hard-to-understand things like dreams and visions until the school day is almost done.

I’m on my way to my last class, which is Art, when something stops me. Because the art building is separate and a good distance from the Social Studies department, where I’ve just been, I’m hurrying across a mostly deserted walkway. But as I turn a corner, something catches my attention in the covered walkway ahead. So I slow down to see what it is. But as I look, I experience that familiar flash of light—my clue that what I’m seeing isn’t really there. I stand still and continue to watch, focusing as much with my inner vision as with anything else.

At first I think I see a group of five or six guys just messing around. But then I realize the group is picking on a smaller guy. He’s your average-looking kid, dressed in ordinary sort of clothes, and he’s wearing glasses. He’s now being pushed and shoved back and forth, and I briefly wonder if it’s my friend and lab partner, Garrett Pierson. But then I get a closer look and realize it’s not him. This kid has sandy-colored hair that’s sort of wavy. I see a glimpse of his face, and he seems angry at first, but then he becomes seriously frightened as the bullies get rougher with him.

If this was actually happening in real life, I wouldn’t hesitate to run over there and yell at those stupid thugs. I’d tell them they were big cowards and bullies, and somehow I’d make them stop. But it’s not really happening. At least not right now. Not right here. It’s a vision, and as a result I have no control.
I simply stand there and watch as one of the bullies lands his fist right in the victim’s face, resulting in a bloody nose. A few more hits, kicks, and punches. Then they all laugh and take off running.

Just like that the whole thing vanishes. Now you see it, now you don’t. Even so, the adrenaline is still pumping through me, and my heart is pounding like I’ve just sprinted a hundred meters. And I feel frustrated and angry, like I just witnessed a crime but could do nothing about it. Hopefully it hasn’t happened yet…Maybe I can do something to prevent it from happening at all.

My hands are still shaky as I walk into the art room, late. Thankfully, Mrs. Morrow seldom marks anyone tardy, and she simply looks up and smiles at me like “no problem.” So I go to my favorite table in the back of the room and try to understand what I just witnessed. Although it makes no sense. I try to link it to the dream I had last night, but nothing in this vision seems related to the other. The only common denominator is that I don’t know any of the people in the dream or the vision. But that in itself isn’t so unusual. For some reason God gives me only a few pieces, and I have to work to fit them together. I guess it’s a way for me to partner with Him.

So I attempt to sort the vision out. For starters, the boy being picked on was totally unfamiliar, and although I couldn’t see the faces of the bullies clearly, they didn’t seem familiar either. Of course, every school, including Brighton, has guys like that. The type who pick on others for no reason except that they can. And I suspect they usually get away with it too. Before I start working on my charcoal sketch, I pull out my notebook and write down exactly what I remember about
the vision. It doesn’t seem like much, but if God gave me that vision, there must be a reason for it. It’s possible that it’s connected to the shooting dream I had last night. But the general feeling of the vision, as well as the setting, the people, the time of day, the level of seriousness—it all seems dissimilar. My inclination is that these are two totally separate situations.

After seventh period ends, I walk slowly back toward the main building. I look all around as I stroll along, and I have my cell phone on and ready to make a call. I am seriously hoping to spot the group of thugs, hoping to catch them and to stop them before they have a chance to pounce on the sandy-haired kid with glasses. But I make it all the way back to the locker bay without seeing one single thing that’s even slightly out of the ordinary.

“Everything okay?” asks Olivia when I join her at our locker.

“I guess…”

“What’s up?” she asks with curiosity.

I quickly explain my latest vision.

“But you didn’t know any of the guys?”

“No. I got a look at the kid being bullied, but I couldn’t really see the others too well. The guy getting beat up was totally unfamiliar.”

“Still, you don’t know everyone in this school.”

“Obviously not. And I’m sure there could be someone like that around here that I never noticed before.”

Just then Olivia nods over to where a short, blondish guy is shaking the handle of his locker like he can’t get the thing open. He glances over his shoulder as if he’s embarrassed to be observed having this problem—especially when everyone should know their locker combination by now—and notices us
looking at him. I toss a casual smile at him, but that only seems to embarrass him even more as he refocuses his attention on the stubborn lock.

“That’s not him,” I tell Olivia.

“That doesn’t mean he’s not around here somewhere,” she points out. “Want to walk around school and see if we notice anything?”

“Sure.” So we get sodas from the machine by the cafeteria and casually stroll around the school grounds, just sipping our drinks and talking. Who would ever guess that we’re out here looking for trouble?

“Seems fairly quiet,” Olivia says as we finish our rounds.

“Pretty dead, if you ask me.” I glance at my watch now. “And I need to meet with Ebony, so I should probably get going.”

“I’ll catch a ride home with Alex today I was going to his track meet anyway.”

“Tell him good luck.” I wave to her and then head out to the parking lot, still looking right and left and expecting to walk up on a group of thugs at any given moment. But there aren’t any to be seen. I know I should be relieved or even happy about this, but I’m not. I feel as if I’ve missed something. And I’m even more concerned about the kid getting picked on or brutally beaten. Still, I know better than to obsess and worry. Instead, I pray for him as I drive across town to the precinct. God knows who this kid is and how to help him. I’m just a small part of that process.

“How are you doing?” asks Eric as I enter the police station. Eric is a good-looking guy who works with Ebony sometimes. He doesn’t wear a uniform, and if you saw him on the street,
you’d never guess he was a cop. In some ways he reminds me of my brother, Zach.

“Okay,” I tell him.

“Ebony’s in her office,” he says with what seems a knowing smile. Eric is one of the few officers who know about my gift. And I suspect by his expression that she’s already told him about my latest dream. Maybe he’s been helping her do some research.

Ebony seems eager to see me. She quickly greets me and then gets straight to business. “First of all, you should know that there have been some terrorist threats to the Portland metro area recently.”

I nod, trying to take this in. “You mean terrorist threats from outside the country?”

“Actually, we think they’re insiders but obviously related to al Qaeda or the Taliban or someone in the Mideast who hates us.”

“Why Portland?”

“Why anywhere?” she says with a deep sigh. “I suppose it’s because we’re one of the larger cities on the West Coast. A major port city. Any number of crazy reasons. Does it ever make sense?”

“I guess not. But why are you telling me this?”

“I’m wondering if it might have something to do with your dream last night.”

“But my dream involved guns, not bombs.”

“According to our sources, guns will be involved.”

“But it still doesn’t make sense,” I tell her. “These kids were my age. Why would a terrorist have any interest in them?”

“According to our sources, the target won’t be typical.”

“Who
are
your sources?”

Ebony just smiles, and I know that means it’s classified. But I can’t help feeling curious.

“The point is that we’re on high alert in the Portland metro area, especially when it comes to any group events. And particularly those that involve students. That has been made crystal clear.”

“But why students?”

“How about if I read a portion of the threat to you, Samantha?”

“Can you?”

“Yes.” Ebony turns to her computer screen now, pulls up a document, and begins to read. “The execution will eliminate a small portion of immorality of the next generation, but it is a beginning.’” She sighs loudly. “Then they go on about reaping what we sowed and how judgment is coming and how they will be rewarded for killing. But between the craziness, it seems obvious to everyone that the threat specifically targets teens.”

“Oh…”

“So given the fact that your vision was about high school students at an event that we can only assume was a prom, we have to put two and two together and take it as a serious possibility.”

I nod. “Right…”

“So are we ready to move on?”

I nod. “Absolutely.”

Now she points to a wipe-off board with what looks like a list of the high schools in our area. “These are the schools within the Portland metro area that haven’t had their proms yet.
As you can see, I’ve listed the schools with the nearest prom dates at the top—as in top priority.”

“Wow, North Shore has one tomorrow night.”

‘Yes, that’s the school we’re focusing on right now.” Then she has me go over all the notes from my dream with her again.

“Would you recognize this girl if you saw her?”

“I think so.”

Ebony hands me a blue and white yearbook. “Start looking.”

So while Ebony does some searching on her computer, I scan the pages of the North Shore High annual. But after nearly an hour of page after glossy page, I feel confused and frustrated. Every pretty blond girl is starting to look exactly the same to me. If only I could see her in that dress, with her hair like that…or those earrings…I know I’d recognize her then.

“This isn’t working,” I finally admit, closing the yearbook.

“I was afraid of that.”

“But what if that girl is in here? What if I missed her?”

“I have a plan, Samantha.”

“Okay…”

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

I nod as I begin to suspect where she’s going with this. “Do I get to do some reconnaissance?”

“Yes. My plan is for you to go to the North Shore prom. Are you up for that?”

I laugh. “What? I just walk in, and no one notices—”

“Of course, you’ll have to go incognito. You’ll be dressed for the prom.”

“But I’m going stag?”

“No…I’ve asked Eric to escort you.”

“Eric?”

“Yes, I think he can pass for a high school guy, don’t you?” I consider this. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“And that way he can be ready if anything starts to go down.”

“Right…” The disturbing image of the splattered blood on the mint green formal gown hits me again. Combine that with the terrorist threat, and this is serious. Very serious.

“Are you okay with this?”

“Of course.” I nod, hoping to appear confident.

“I’ll be there too.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll pretend to be an employee at the hotel. Along with a few others. They’re having the prom at a Marriott in northwest Portland, a hotel which happens to have white marble floors in the lobby.”

I feel my eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yes. We’ve already been there, Samantha. Without giving away too much, I’ve spoken to the manager, and it’s all set.”

“Wow.”

“And the FBI is aware of what’s going on as well.”

I nod, still taking this in.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks with concern in her dark eyes. “Of course.”

“And just so you know, I’ve already spoken to your mother as well.”

“Did you tell her about my dream?”

“Not the details…I’ll leave that to you. I just wanted to make sure she was okay with this before I asked you to be involved.”

“Was she okay with it?”

“She seemed fine. She really has great confidence in you, Samantha. And of course, I assured her that we wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Mostly, I just want to get you in and out. You affirm that it’s the right prom when you find the girl from the dream, and we’ll take it from there.”

“But what if she’s not there? What if this is the wrong prom?”

“That’s a possibility. But it’s also a possibility that it’s not the wrong one. And that’s a chance we’re not willing to take.”

“Me neither.” Suddenly I remember the vision I had earlier today, and I get out my notebook and share the details with Ebony. “I don’t know if it’s related to the dream though.”

“What’s your gut feeling?” she asks with concern.

I shrug. “I honestly don’t know. I mean, I’m not trying to downplay the whole bullying thing, but in light of this terrorist threat, well, I suppose it seems less critical.” I close my notebook. “I also know that God is the only One who can make it make sense. In the meantime, it seems like I need to focus my energy on this possible terrorist attack.” I shudder to think of armed terrorists crashing a high school prom and senselessly shooting those in attendance.

Then Eric joins us, and after an hour we’ve worked out most of the details, including our fake names and believable explanations as to who we are and why we’re at the North Shore prom—in case anyone asks. I will be Betsy, a new student, and Eric (a.k.a. David) is my college-aged boyfriend.

As I drive home, it hits me. I will be going to my first prom tomorrow night. But not Brighton’s prom. And not with Conrad. I wonder if he’d feel bad or be jealous if he knew I was going to a prom with Eric. No, of course not. It’s not like this is a real
date. This is work—crime-solving work. Although I can’t deny that Eric’s a good-looking guy and it’ll be fun to see him in a tux. Still, I’m not taking this lightly Most of all, I just want to prevent what looked like a gruesome murder—possibly one where terrorists are involved. That thought sends a serious shiver down my spine. But I know God will protect me. Still, this whole thing needs to be wrapped in lots of prayer.