Payback (4 page)

W
ho knew you could rent a dress?” says Olivia as I turn into the parking lot at the strip mall Ebony told me about and stop in front of what looks like a normal formalwear store.

“Weird, huh?”

“Well, considering that you’re wearing the formal as a disguise, you could think of it as more like a costume rental.”

I’ve already told Olivia about tonight’s assignment. She’s one of the few people I can usually confide in—not always, but most of the time. And one of the main reasons I like having her in the loop, besides that she’s totally trustworthy, is because I know she will pray. Olivia takes prayer as seriously as I do.

“Do you think they clean the dresses between rentals?” I ask as we get out of the car.

She laughs. “Of course. I’m sure there must be laws about things like this. Guys rent tuxes all the time, Sam. And I’m sure they’re professionally cleaned.”

Feeling relieved, I push open the door and see rack after rack of gowns. “Wow,” I say as I look around the colorful room. “There are a lot of dresses here.”

“Looks like they’re organized by size,” Olivia says as she begins to peruse a rack of size eights. She pulls out a red dress with sequins and holds it up. “How about this little number?”

I laugh. “A little too red for my taste.”

“But with your dark hair, you’d look good in red.”

Thanks, but no thanks.” I pull out a light yellow dress and hold it up.

“No,” says Olivia with a firm shake of her head. “That is definitely not your color.”

“Remember, this is just a costume,” I say quietly.

“Even so, you don’t have to look sick. And that yellow makes you look anemic.”

“Oh…” I put the yellow dress back on the rack.

Finally we decide that my gown must (1) be a color that doesn’t draw too. much attention, (2) be a comfortable style with no cleavage showing, and (3) have a full enough skirt that I could run for my life if necessary. We narrow the selection down to eight gowns and finally decide on one that Olivia calls periwinkle but I call purplish blue. The color seems to change as I move around. Olivia says that’s because it’s iridescent. The dress is sleeveless but not the kind with skinny straps, and the neckline isn’t too low.

“That empire waist should make it really comfortable,” Olivia tells me. “And the skirt has plenty of room to move.”

“But how does it look?” I ask as I peer at myself in the three-way mirror. Suddenly I realize that even though this is a working dress, I do want to look pretty.

“Beautiful,” she says. “You look like a princess.”

I frown at her. “Princess as in a five-year-old playing dress-up?”

“No, as in elegant, sophisticated. I think you should wear pearls with it.”

“Pearls?”

She nods. “I have some that I’ll loan you.”

“But I don’t want to take any chances with something valuable.”

“They’re just cultured pearls that my grandmother gave me when I was twelve. I don’t think they’re that valuable.”

After getting the dress, we go to Shoes 4 Less, which is next door. Olivia tells me this is a big mistake, that I should at least get decent shoes, but I tell her that Ebony gave me a pretty tight budget. “And they’re only for one night,” I say as we go inside.

I try on about ten different pairs of shoes and eventually settle on a pair of strappy sandals that are sort of pearly looking. Olivia likes the color but not the thick heels. “They look like old lady shoes,” she points out as I walk around in them with my jeans rolled up.

“But I could run if I had to,” I say quietly. “Remember this is a mission, not a fashion show.”

“Yeah, yeah…but if we go to our own prom, you have to promise you won’t wear those, Sam.”

I laugh. “We’ll see…”

“And no rental dresses either.”

“Hey, I was just starting to see how sensible it would be to rent all my clothes.”

She groans as we walk up to the cashier. “And when I think of all my hard work trying to educate you in the refinements of fashion and style…”

“Yeah, right.” I laugh as I set the shoebox on the counter. Just then I notice a guy emerging from the men’s section. He
looks slightly familiar, but as he glances at us, there’s no recognition in his eyes. He’s not very tall, not very well dressed, with wavy, sandy-colored hair and glasses. I stare at him and try to remember how I know him. And then, just as he exits the store, I realize he’s the kid I saw getting beat up in that vision. I fumble for my money to pay for the shoes, and the cashier takes way too long to ring up the purchase, then bag the shoes.

“Come on,” I say to Olivia as I grab the bag. “Let’s go.”

“What’s the hurry?”

I rush outside and look around the parking lot, but it’s too late. He’s gone. Then I notice a bus pulling away from the curb and wonder if he might be on it. “What time is it?” I ask Olivia, reaching into my purse to pull out my notebook.

“Twelve twenty,” she says. “Why?”

As I write down the time and location of this bus stop, I explain about the guy, reminding her of yesterday’s search for the kid in my vision.

“That was him?”

“I think so.”

“I barely saw him.”

“Hey, maybe we should follow that bus,” I say, “and see where he gets off.” But by the time we get in the car and reach a busy intersection where the bus might’ve turned, I have no idea which way it went.

Olivia gets her phone out. “I’ll call mass transit,” she says, “and ask where that bus is headed.” But when she calls, she is immediately put on hold, and by the time she gets a live person, who’s not even helpful, I’m sure it’s too late.

“How about lunch?” I say as I spot a Baja Fresh on the next corner. She agrees, and I pull in and park, then let out a
long sigh. “I wish I’d been more with it. It’s like I had this chance and I blew it.”

“I should’ve been more help,” she says as we go inside. “Next time something like that happens, just tell me what’s up. If I’d known, I could’ve gone out and followed him. Or I could’ve paid for your shoes while you chased him down, Sam.”

“Maybe it’s for the best,” I admit. “I mean, I should probably focus on this prom thing first. That’s a much bigger deal. Not that I don’t feel sorry for the kid being bullied, but his life didn’t seem to be in danger.”

“You’re right. Solve this thing first.”

Just the same, I call Ebony and leave her a brief message, simply stating the time and place where I believe I spotted the kid in my vision. As I hang up, I feel kind of silly. It seems like a small thing in light of this terrorist development. Besides that, the kid seemed perfectly fine. No black eyes or bruises or anything. Times like this make me wonder. What if I didn’t get it right? What if I was getting mixed messages? All I can do is pray—and trust that God will lead.

After lunch, I take Olivia home, and we sit out in the sun and give ourselves pedicures and look at some of her latest fashion magazines. “I’m pretending that this is our prom night,” says Olivia, pointing to a pale pink dress in the magazine, “and I’m wearing this.”

I study the photo. “You know, that looks kind of like the dress in my dream. Only that girl’s dress was mint green.”

Olivia flips to the back of the magazine and peers at the fine print. “It says that this dress comes in pink peony, cream, and celadon green.”

“What’s
celadon
green?”

“It’s a pale green.”

“Like what I’m calling mint green?”

“That’d be my guess.”

“Let’s write this down,” I say suddenly.

“Better yet.” She rips out the page of the magazine with the information as well as the one with the photo. Take these.”

“Thanks.”

Olivia loans me her pearl necklace and some earrings. “What about a bag?” she asks.

“Huh?”

“You know, an evening bag, for your cell phone and lip gloss and things.”

“Oh yeah, right.”

“I’ll borrow something from my mom.” Then Olivia takes off and returns with a pretty beaded bag in colors that actually look great with my dress.

“Thanks,” I tell her. “Are you sure your mom won’t mind?”

“Nah, she’s got lots of them.”

And then, because Olivia has band practice, I decide I should probably head for home.

“I’ll be praying for you tonight,” she says as we both get in our cars. “Keep me posted, okay?”

“Definitely.”

“I’ll be up late.”

I nod. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Be safe.”

I wave to her. “Of course!”

But as I drive away, I wonder just how dangerous tonight might be. So far I haven’t told my mom all the details of my dream. In fact, I got the distinct impression that she’d rather not
hear them. And this morning she seemed perfectly fine about the whole thing. Like she actually thought I was going to another school’s prom just for the fun of it. Maybe ignorance is bliss when it comes to my mom.

Knowing I might need it tonight, I charge my phone, first making sure I have both Ebony’s and Eric’s numbers on speed dial. Then to distract myself, I clean my room, which has been in serious need, and after that I actually do some homework. But while reading a boring section of text for U.S. History, I become seriously sleepy and decide I’m due for a nap. With the heavy book still lying open on my chest, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

When I wake up, I’m still in the grips of the horrible nightmare. It feels like I can’t breathe, and I realize my history book is still on top of my chest. I shove it away and sit up, trying to calm myself, to breathe evenly…and to remember the details of that horrible dream. It was very similar to the last one: the same blond girl, same pale green dress, bright red blood splatters…Only just before I woke up, I saw what the girl was seeing—like looking through her eyes. Or perhaps only partly. I can’t be sure. But in this dream I witnessed at least a dozen other kids, who all appeared to have been shot…all in formalwear…all on the same marble floor…some motionless as if dead…others crying out for help. It was ghastly. Gruesome. Terrifying.

With shaking hands, I reach for my phone, but before I can dial Ebony’s number, it rings. I answer it with a hoarse-sounding “hello.”

“Hey, Sam,” says Conrad’s voice. “You okay?”

“I just woke up,” I admit. “I was sort of having a nightmare.”

“Good thing I woke you then.”

I start to explain that he didn’t wake me, but then wonder, why bother? “What’s up?”

“Just checking to see if you want to go to youth group with me tonight.”

“I do…but I can’t.”

“Oh…”

I hate to lie to Conrad, but I can’t tell him the whole truth either. “I already promised to go to this…this thing,” I say, grappling for some believable explanation that’s not a lie. “It’s with an old friend of my dad’s. She actually used to be his partner on the force, and I told her I’d go with her tonight. So I don’t see how I can get out of it.” Then I remember something. “Hey, isn’t it supposed to be bring-a-friend night at youth group? Why don’t you invite someone else to go with you—like Garrett or Jack?”

“Great idea, Sam. I’ll give them both a call.”

“Cool.”

“We’ll have ourselves a guys’ night out.” He laughs.

“Awesome.”

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

I consider this. Hopefully tonight will go smoothly and life will be back to normal by tomorrow. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Just thought maybe we could do something after church. This weather is so great. Maybe something outdoors.”

“That sounds fantastic.”

“Cool.”

We talk a little longer, and by the time I hang up, I no longer feel totally freaked by my bad dream. Still, I need to take it seriously. I carefully write down the details before I forget and then call Ebony on her cell, since I know she’s probably not at
the precinct on a Saturday. But my call goes straight to her messaging. Even so, I describe the details of my most recent dream, explaining that I feel certain a gun, or guns, are involved. But as I say this, a definite chill goes down my spine.

“It really did seem like it could be a terrorist attack,” I finally admit. Then I hang up. It’s nearly six o’clock now. Eric will be here in an hour to pick me up. Our plan is to arrive at the prom slightly early, which although a nerdish thing to do, is also a good way to keep an eye on things…hopefully to prevent something before it has a chance to start.

I pray as I get ready for my “big” night. I also apply several layers of antiperspirant. This could be a long evening. Then before slipping my cell phone into the beaded bag, I call Olivia and tell her about my most recent dream and ask her to pray

“Oh, man!” she exclaims. “That’s freaky scary, Sam. Are you sure you should even go tonight?”

“Hopefully, it won’t happen,” I say with a confidence I don’t feel. “My purpose in going is to make sure that it
doesn’t
happen.”

“I will really be praying hard tonight. I wish I could ask the whole youth group to pray for you too.”

“Maybe you can,” I say. Then I explain what I told Conrad and suggest she could ask for prayer for me because I’m doing something with my dad’s old partner. “You could say it’s really important that things go right tonight. Something sort of vague but pressingly urgent.”

“You got it.”

“Well, Eric should be here any minute.”

“How do you look?”

I stand and stare at myself in the full-length mirror on my closet door. “Okay…”

“Just okay?”

“Hang on, I’ll send you a photo,” I say as I hold my phone at arm’s length and take a shot of myself. Then I wait for her response.

‘You look gorgeous, Sam. And you put your hair up just like I showed you.”

“Sort of. Anyway, I tried.”

“Well, have fun…if that’s even possible. And I know God is watching out for you, but do be careful. I’m praying!”

I thank her and promise that I’ll be careful, then go downstairs where my mom gets all teary eyed when she sees me. “You look so pretty, Samantha,” she says as she runs for her camera.

I protest as she snaps shots. This isn’t a real prom,” I point out.

“I don’t care,” she stubbornly tells me. “You still look beautiful, and you’re not getting out of here without proof.”