Playing with Fire (25 page)

T
he next morning I'm getting ready for church when I my cell phone rings. It's Ebony, and she tells me she has news. I sit down on my bed and, barely breathing, wait for her to continue.

“We staked out the building last night. It fit the description perfectly. But there didn't appear to be anyone coming or going. Even so, we waited. Finally, about two in the morning, I was so exhausted that I went home. I figured we might have the wrong night. Of course the rest of the crew stuck around—just in case. Apparently, they noticed a light in the building around three. And then the light grew bigger and started to flicker, and they realized there was a fire going inside. They called the fire department, and because of the concern over hazardous materials due to the suspicion of a meth lab, they waited until the firefighters arrived. But before the firefighters could get in, there was an explosion, and a man literally exploded out the window, Samantha. Does this sound familiar?”

I nod without answering, then manage to whisper, “Yes.” “It was Tate Mitchell. He's under arrest but in the hospital being treated for third-degree burns, severe cuts and
lacerations from the broken glass, involving hundreds of stitches, and, oh yes, poisoning from inhaling the toxic smoke, and most likely lung damage. He's one sick puppy.”

“Is he going to live?”

“Oh, we feel very hopeful. He was upgraded from critical to serious this morning, and he was actually talking to the nurse. We asked the medical staff to do all they can to keep this man alive so we can take him to trial.”

“I think his punishment has already begun,” I say.

“I think it started a long time ago,” says Ebony, “back when he first started playing with fire.”

I didn't really think I had any big plans for spring break, but it turns out I was wrong. Ebony decides it's about time I have some serious training. As a result, I spend most of my week with her. It's like a cop crash course or Law Enforcement 101. Ebony and Eric teach me a lot about surveillance work, and Ebony even gives me several tests that turn out to be pretty fun. But if there's one thing she really drives home, it's that my safety is the force's number-one concern. And if I do anything foolish, anything, that puts me in danger, I will be called on the carpet—and my “internship” will be history. I take this very seriously and promise to do my best.

Zach has a busy week too. Once he hears about Tate's arrest and condition (which is upgraded to fair), he decides it's safe to cooperate with the investigation. As a result, he spends a lot of time with the police and DA. By the end of the week, Ebony privately informs me that the DA may request a lockdown rehab treatment
program in exchange for Zach's jail time. But it will be a long program.

Finally spring break and my training week come to an end. My friends are all back from their exciting (or in Alex's case, “excruciatingly boring”) vacations, and on Monday morning we are all in school again. Naturally, everyone is shocked and saddened to hear about Felicity's death. And our school allows an early release for kids who want to attend her funeral service in the afternoon. I invite Jack to ride with me to the mortuary.

“I keep wondering what happens next,” Jack says. We're on the way home from the cemetery, where we just watched Felicity's casket being lowered into the muddy ground. It's the first time he's spoken since the depressing service began more than two hours ago. Instead of having a pastor offer words of encouragement, Felicity's family allowed the funeral-home director to give her eulogy. Consequently, it was a fairly hopeless message.

“Next?” I adjust my windshield wipers. Today has been a mixture of drizzle, rain, and mist, very gray and gloomy.

“After we're dead. Like where is she really, Sam? I honestly don't think she's in that box that's six feet under right now. But is she in hell?”

I take in a sharp breath and consider my answer, but before I can say a thing, he speaks again. “She's not in heaven,” he says quickly, “that's for sure.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“She wasn't exactly a saint.”

“No one is.” Then I tell him about when Jesus was being crucified and those final words He said to the thief on the cross next to Him. “I'm sure no one expected that
criminal to make it to heaven either. But when he accepted Jesus's forgiveness, he got his get-out-of-hell card for free.”

“So are you saying that you know for sure Felicity is in heaven right now?” His voice drips with skepticism.

“I'm saying I don't know for sure that she's not.” I let out a deep sigh as I slow down for a red light. “I think there will be a lot of surprises in heaven, Jack. And I'm saying God is a God of last chances. And He doesn't want anyone to go to hell.

“Oh…”

Now I don't claim to have all the answers—nobody does—but for some reason, I feel good about this one, like maybe God was helping me with it. And Jack seems to be seriously mulling it over as I drive him home.

Thanks, Sam,” he tells me when I pull up to his apartment complex. “For everything, you know.”

“Thank you.”

He frowns. “Why are you thanking me?”

“For being my friend.”

Then he nods slightly. “Yeah…okay then…”

“See ya tomorrow,” I call as he gets out of the car.

He waves. “See ya.”

As I drive home, I feel a contrasting mixture of sadness and joy. I can't even explain it, but I think it's an emotion God is well acquainted with, and I feel honored that I can even experience it now.

As I park my car and walk toward the house, I notice the sun breaking through a slit in the clouds overhead. I look up to the sliver of golden light and am filled with an unexpected sense of hope. And suddenly I know that,
despite the hard stuff in this life, God is right here with me, walking alongside and holding my hand.

With arms spread wide, the blonde steps back, staring down at her mint green formal gown now splattered with spots of bright red blood. When she looks up, her eyes widen in horror.

She sees her date, a dark-haired young man in a neat black tux, his face twisted in pain as his fists tighten and he crumples to the floor. He curls into a prenatal ball…and a dark, shiny pool of blood stains the clean white floor.

Music blares in the background, the bass thumping a fast beat. It's a Pretty Ricky song, but the only sound the pretty blonde can hear is coming from her boyfriend as he lets out a low growl followed by a gurgle. Then he jerks suddenly, convulsing, drawing a final gasping breath.

The girl bends
over
, reaches out her hand as if she wants to help him, and then, as though sensing danger, she stands and turns and desperately dashes in the opposite direction, tripping
over
her spiky high heels as she goes but continuing on…as if she is running for her life.

I wake up clinging to my comforter and still shaking. My-heart pounds with a very real sense of fear, as if I, too, am in grave danger. It takes a long moment to realize that this was only a dream. Just a dream. But a very realistic and horribly tragic dream. Without turning on the bedside lamp, I reach for the notebook I keep handy for times like this, and in the gray dawn light, I take several deep calming breaths and begin to write.

I'm trying to capture all the still-vivid details—the style of the mint green gown (beaded with spaghetti straps, formfitting to the girl's good figure) and those metallic-toned shoes (bronze or gold?). I try to recall the girl's facial features (what made her so pretty?). I do recall what appeared to be diamond earrings, three piercings in one ear, smallest on top, largest on the bottom. (But was it only one ear? And if so, which ear was it? Right or left?) I close my eyes and try to see her again. Left. I believe it was left.

I remember the boy's hairstyle, short and neat as if he. might be into sports. I try to describe his tux, but other than it being black, I draw a blank. I can't even remember his shoes, but I think they were black as well. I even write down a description of the floor as I remember it: large square tiles of white with streaks of gray throughout. Marble perhaps? I describe what the music sounded like (I don't even know why I think Pretty Ricky since I'm not a fan, but it's what went through my head). And then I remember strings of lights, glowing blurrily in the background. Like a party going on. (A wedding perhaps?)

I pause, searching my memory for more, trying to figure out if I've missed an important detail. Another person? A sound? A smell? Who had the gun? Or was the guy even killed with a gun? Perhaps it was a knife. I don't remember that part at all. Did I even see what happened? Is it possible that the girl was responsible? No, she seemed too shocked, too frightened. And yet, if she'd committed a crime, perhaps in the heat of the moment, it would make sense that she'd be shocked and scared. I make note of this too. But there must be more. Is there
sorne little detail I missed? I shut my eyes again and just sit there in bed, trying to remember. But that seems to be it.

I close my notebook and set it back on the bedside table. I'll tell Ebony about this dream later today. I lie back down in bed, breathing deeply to calm myself. But who can sleep after a dream like that? I wish I could call Olivia and run it past her. I'm sure she'd have some thoughts. But it's not even six yet. Instead, I go to the kitchen and try to be quiet as I make coffee.

It must've been a prom, I decide as I pour water into the coffee maker. And that makes sense because it's spring, and already people are starting to pair off and plan for prom at my school. Even Olivia is starting to talk about it. She's pretty sure Alex is going to ask her. Naturally, she thinks Conrad will ask me as well. And I think it'd be fun to go to prom. That'd be a first for me, for sure. But what if there's going to be a murder that night? Still, I didn't recognize either of the people in my dream. And the girl, especially, had the kind of looks a person would remember. She looked like the kind of girl who would be well known.

Our prom is still a month away, so that gives me time. Unless it's not our prom. What if it's another school's prom? Who knows what dates that might include? I know that schools like to stagger the dates so the local restaurants aren't overwhelmed with all the high-school students going out to dinner before prom at the same time. It's possible another high school could have a prom as soon as next weekend. I will have to mention this to Ebony ASAP.