The Color of Hope

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE





Stephanie had jumped into the car once again after a phone call about Sam. But this time she had a posse with her—Lindell and Janelle, and they’d picked up Marcus on the way. Stephanie was sure she’d get pushback from Sam’s mother about seeing her. Whether it made sense or not, she felt that a group—especially one that included the assistant principal—Would let the woman know how serious this was. Given Sam’s tendency to seclude herself, she probably wasn’t yet aware of the video, but it was imperative that Stephanie let her know—then figure out how to cope with it.

“This street right here, Lindell,” Stephanie said. “Turn here.”

“No, the whole thing blew up this morning,” Marcus said. He was in the backseat talking to the principal. “Right . . . Absolutely. Definitely a fiasco.” He blew out a sigh. “You think news organizations might get hold of it? I hadn’t thought about that . . . Okay, will do.”

“What did he say?” Stephanie said.

“He wants me to call him back once we see how Sam’s doing,” Marcus said. “We’re meeting later this afternoon to determine what administrative action should be taken.”

“Every time I think about it, I just want to cry,” Janelle said.

“I can’t believe it.” Marcus had said it about a hundred times. “I really cannot believe Ben did this.”

“I don’t put anything past him,” Stephanie said. “I have no words for how I’m feeling right now.”

She hadn’t told them that the video was actually of a rape. She’d promised Sam she wouldn’t say anything until she talked to her. Stephanie had called her right before she found out about the Facebook post, but she hadn’t answered.

“That’s her house,” Stephanie said, pointing. “Huh. Her mom’s car isn’t there. I hope Sam’s home.”

They filed out and looked as Charley’s car came crunching over the gravel. She’d said she would meet them there.

They all walked to the door.

Stephanie knocked. “Sam, you in there?” She waited. Knocked harder. “Sam? Are you home?” She turned to the others. “What if she already knows about the video? She might be too humiliated to open the door.”

Marcus knocked this time, his fist making a louder sound.

Stephanie pulled out her phone and called again. No answer. “Where could she be? She hardly goes anywhere.”

“Is there a home she could go to if she wanted to escape all this?” Janelle said.

“Just ours.” Stephanie looked over at the front window. “That’s Sam’s bedroom.”

She stepped into the dirt and brushed against the bush in front of the window, trying to peer in. The blinds were partially open, and she saw a cell phone on the bed. And the bed was unmade. Stephanie’s heart pounded.

“I’ve never seen her go anywhere without her phone,” Stephanie said. “And she’s a neat freak. Says she doesn’t feel right unless her bed is made.” She walked back over to them. “I’m trying the door.”

“We can’t just walk into the girl’s house,” Lindell said.

“I have to. Something is wrong.” Stephanie didn’t want to reveal what Sam said last night—that life wasn’t worth living. And that was before knowledge of the video.

“This door is locked,” Stephanie said. “I’m going around back.”

“Steph,” Janelle said, “I’m a little nervous about creeping around this girl’s house. Maybe we should come back or call later when we’re sure someone’s home.”

Stephanie ignored her. She jiggled the doorknob on the back door, and it opened. “I’m going in.”

The door opened to a narrow, dim hallway off the kitchen. Stephanie heard footsteps behind her as she walked through the kitchen, past a bathroom and living room, then to the left where Sam’s bedroom was. The door was closed.

Stephanie knocked. “Sam? Are you in there? It’s Miss Stephanie.” She turned the knob. “It’s locked?”

She stared at it, thinking. Then, “This is a flimsy door. I know we can kick it in.”

Marcus looked at her. “I’m with you. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

At Marcus’s swift kick, the lock popped and the door flew open.

They walked into an empty room. Stephanie sighed, glancing around at the bedroom furniture and decorations, wondering what to do next.

“Oh, God!”

Stephanie turned. Janelle had fallen to her knees, hands to her face in shock after opening the closet door. Stephanie’s entire body tensed as she walked to where Janelle stood.

“No!” Stephanie wailed. “No! Oh, God, no!”

She was still wailing as Lindell hurried past her to the closet.

“Call 911,” he shouted.

Marcus put his arm around Stephanie, gently pulling her aside.

Seconds later Lindell had carried Sam’s body to the bed and was performing CPR.

Charley was talking to the 911 operator. “An ambulance is on the way,” she told them. She went back to answering questions.

Lindell stopped the CPR and slid to the floor, face buried in his hands.

In silent sobs, Stephanie knelt by the bed. “Sam . . .” She stroked her hair. “I’m here. It’ll be all right. Help’s on the way. Sam, please, I know you hear me. Please hear me.”

Charley and Janelle were holding hands, heads bowed, praying. Marcus was pacing.

Stephanie kept talking to Sam, stroking her hair, until the ambulance came. Marcus went to open the front door and let them in.

As the paramedics rushed in, Stephanie moved out of the way so they could tend to her. Her eyes caught Sam’s phone on the bed. Curious, she picked it up and flipped it open, awakening the screen, surprised to see that her phone with prepaid minutes had Facebook.

Stephanie brought it closer. Sam’s profile page was open, her wall flooded with recent comments.

Ur the real slut, not Kelsey, one girl wrote.

Another, Why do you act all quiet in school? Ur just an undercover whore.

Stephanie’s blood boiled.

Didn’t know Ben liked black girls, one guy said. Gotta ask what dark meat is like. lol

Charley came beside her. “What’s on there?”

“Facebook posts. She knew.” Stephanie threw the phone on the bed. “I can’t read any more of that filth.”

She found a piece of paper and left a note by the front door for Sam’s mother to go to the hospital. Hopefully she’d be home soon.

But Stephanie knew already—it was too late.





Stephanie left the Rocky Mount hospital at 5:14 p.m., the moment she heard Sam had been taken off life support and pronounced dead. She didn’t want to hear a single word or engage with anyone. She knew Lindell understood.

She got in her car and zoomed out of the parking lot, taking the route back to the highway. But she wasn’t headed to Hope Springs. She would keep driving and driving. If she knew the way, she would drive all the way back to St. Louis. Where life made sense. Where people worshiped together. Where you didn’t get a gun stuck in your face for dating a person who looked different.

Where she didn’t have to worry about her heart getting ripped out because she’d gotten so close to a young girl.

Is that what this was about, Lord? It wasn’t enough to stay in St. Louis in my own selfish world. You had to bring me to Hope Springs so I could experience what it felt like to extend myself, to love another, and to witness a tragic end? I had to experience what it was like to pray for someone, then watch her suffer in such a despicable way? Oh, and for added measure, I got to see prejudice up close. Nice.

“I should’ve stayed in St. Louis!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “I hate Hope Springs.”

The image of Sam’s body came to mind, and just that fast, her emotions turned back to overwhelming sadness. Her eyes filled with tears. Sam, I wish you had called me. I wish I could’ve been there for you . . .

Her mind went through what Sam must’ve been thinking and feeling, how much she must’ve been hurting to actually go into that closet . . . Lord, this is so painful . . .

Would the tears ever stop? When she pictured the scene today, she cried. When she pictured Sam running through the house with Tiffany on her back, she cried.

And she cried when she recalled Sam’s mom, Teri, at the hospital, hearing the news.

When Teri had arrived, no one on the hospital staff was available immediately to speak with her. Stephanie approached, and Teri was clearly not pleased that Stephanie knew what was going on and she didn’t. It only got worse when she learned that they’d come to her house, let alone entered her house. But when Teri grasped what Sam had done to herself, she broke down.

Stephanie went further, telling her what had happened last night and this morning with the video. Teri walked away, lost in her grief. After a nurse came and got her, they didn’t see her again.

Now Stephanie’s phone rang, and the only reason she gave it a thought was because she recognized the ring as Cyd’s.

She answered. “Lindell must’ve called you.”

“He did. I’m so sorry, Steph,” she said. “I know how much Sam meant to you. This is absolutely devastating.”

Stephanie nodded, as if Cyd could see.

“When was the last time you talked to her?” Cyd asked.

“I was with her last night.”

“Oh, wow,” Cyd said. “So you were one of the last people she talked to. That’s a blessing.”

Stephanie stared at the road stretching out in front of her. “How is that a blessing? It obviously made no difference.”

“You don’t know that, Steph.”

“I don’t?”

“I’m just saying, from everything you told me, you made an impact.”

“Yeah. Okay. Next time I guess I should make less of an impact.” She sighed. “I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m just wondering, maybe if I hadn’t come along, and Sam was living life as usual, maybe she would’ve been on a different track that didn’t lead . . . here.”

“I don’t believe that.” Cyd had her resolute tone. “You can’t tell me that your presence in her life was anything but positive. Still, what happened is beyond heartbreaking.”

Scenes from today pierced her again. “Cyd, I’ve got to go.”

“I understand,” her sister said.

“And, Cyd?”

“Yes?”

“Can you pray for Sam’s mother?”

“She was actually already on my heart, but what made you ask?”

“I just figured, if that sweet girl made such an impact in my life in two short months, I can imagine how much her mom must be hurting.”

Stephanie’s phone beeped with another call. She took a glance but didn’t recognize the number.

“Okay, really gotta go now,” she said. “I’d better see who this is.” She clicked over. “This is Stephanie London.”

“Ms. London, this is Officer Fraser. I believe we met briefly at the police station last night.”

“Okay. Yes?”

“Ma’am, we need you to come back down to the station to give a statement.”

“Regarding what?”

“Regarding an alleged crime of sexual assault upon one Samara Johnston.”