Chasing Amanda

by Melissa Foster

  Seventeen

  Tracey stood in the dimly-lit room, shivering and sick to her stomach from the smell of urine on her clothes. She was relieved when Mummy came back through the rough-and-ready doorway with a bucket of soapy water and two fresh towels. Tracey wondered where clean towels could have been hidden in the small, filthy room but was thankful and quick to please. She reminded herself that a bucket of soapy water was not so bad. It was much better than the bad spot. Just the thought of the bad spot brought tears to Tracey’s eyes. She turned her back to Mummy and promised herself that she was not going to cry—this was just a different kind of home. She felt Mummy’s fingers on her shoulder and reflexively froze.

  Mummy turned her around and pointed to a pile on the floor, “I brought you more clothes today. Did you see them?”

  Tears of relief formed in Tracey’s eyes. She loved new clothes! She walked over to them, careful to keep her legs apart. Her panties were soaked, so cold that they stung when they touched her thighs.

  “Go ahead, honey. You can pick them up,” she said kindly. “They’re yours. Look at them. I think you’ll like them.”

  Tracey bent over at the waist, trying to keep the wet cloth away from her skin. She picked up the dark green, long-sleeved, cotton turtleneck shirt. It smelled clean, flowery, and fresh. Tracey placed it gingerly next to the pile of clothes and picked up a bright yellow sweater with pink heart-shaped buttons. “Oh, Mummy!” she smiled. “I love this!”

  Mummy smiled. “I hoped you would,” she said, sincerely. “I like to buy you things, when I can.”

  Tracey noticed a stain on the sweater but didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to make Mummy feel bad—and it was a pretty sweater—and it was new to her. She laid the sweater on the turtleneck and picked up a pair of white socks with pink ruffles at the top. “I’ve always wanted ruffly socks!” she squealed. She looked from the socks to the jeans that lay on the ground. Pink and green flowers decorated the jeans. Tracey was beside herself, forgetting about the discomfort of her urine-soaked clothes, forgetting the fear of the night before, and forgetting that Mummy had stolen her from her own mother. She reached eagerly for the brown furry boots that rested next to the pile of clothes. White pom-poms hung from the laces. She didn’t care that they had scuffs and a little tear by the heel. Tracey was beside herself. She had seen boots like these in magazines. Her heart beat with excitement as she scooped up all of the clothes and the boots and held them against her. The itchy, cold fabric of her dress was lost in her joy. “Oh, Mummy!” she said. “I love them!” She did love them. Like any little girl, she loved presents. She flew into Mummy’s arms, momentarily forgetting what had led her to her crude new home.

  Mummy wrapped her arms around Tracey and kissed her cheek. “Tracey,” she gently moved Tracey’s hair from her eyes, “I want you to be happy.”

  Tracey looked down, embarrassed. “Thank you, Mummy. Thank you for the clothes and for getting me out of the bad spot.” When she said those words, there was a sharp pain in her stomach. “I’ll be good from now on. I promise.”

  Mummy pulled her back into her arms and drew Tracey onto her lap, unconcerned by Tracey’s soiled clothes. She bounced her knee up and down. Tracey laughed, becoming more at ease with every fun bounce. After a minute or two, Mummy set Tracey down next to the bucket of water and stood.

  “Tracey,” she said, “I have to go get us some food. I need you to stay here.”

  Fear rushed through Tracey. Alone? Again? “Please, Mummy. Please let me go with you!” she begged. “I promise I’ll be good. I won’t run away. I won’t scream. I promise!” Tracey’s words were frantic, pleading.

  “No, Tracey, it’s too soon. You need to stay here and get cleaned up. Don’t forget about the toxins,” she reminded her.

  Toxins? Tracey held back her tears and nodded. Tracey worried about the toxins. What were they, and why hadn’t her own mother warned her about them? Maybe she didn’t care about Tracey. Maybe Mummy would not come back because of the toxins. Maybe they’d kill her! Tracey ran to Mummy’s side. “Please stay!” she begged. “I don’t want the toxins to get you, either.”

  Mummy knelt down and held Tracey by her shoulders. “Don’t you worry, Tracey. I will be back. I know what to do,” she said. “You get cleaned up, and Mummy will be back really fast, okay?”

  Tracey relented, fearing the toxins more than she feared being left alone. “Okay, Mummy,” she said. Her lower lip trembled, but she knew better than to cry. She covered her mouth with her hand and stood up straighter. She could do this! She had to. She had to be a big girl, and big girls didn’t cry.

  “By the time you’re cleaned up, I’ll probably be back,” Mummy said. “I’ll go really quickly.”

  Tracey nodded. Her legs trembled, and she chewed on the rough edges of her fingernail as she watched Mummy walk toward the tunnel. Mummy turned back to face her. “Tracey, honey,” she said, “now don’t you try to find our play spot, okay? There could be snakes and other dangerous things. I want my little girl to be safe,” she smiled.

  Tracey inched closer to the dirt wall of the changing chamber, “Okay,” she said. “I’ll stay right here.”

  When Mummy left the chamber, she slid the big wooden board over the entrance. Tracey heard something thud against it. She stood, staring at the board, running her eyes over every inch of it. She was alone—really alone. Just below the board there was a gap between the dirt floor and the board where the ground was uneven. Tracey wondered how Mummy thought that board might keep snakes out and began to worry. She bit her lower lip, then called out, “Mummy!” She wanted Mummy to fix the gap, but she was answered with silence. Mummy had gone. Tracey panicked. “Mummy!” she yelled again. Tears welled in her eyes. She tried one last time to get Mummy back. “Mummy!” she yelled so loudly that her body shook. She received no answer.

  Tracey told herself that since no snakes had come in when Mummy was there, there was no reason to think they’d come in with her gone. She told herself that she had nothing to worry about, that she was being a baby.

  She crouched by the tub of water, wet the washcloth, and slowly ran it up and down her shivering arms. The warm, soapy water smelled fresh, clean. It felt good on her arms, but when it began to dry, goose bumps formed. The water turned brown as she continued to wash. Yuck! As Tracey reached for her new clothes, she eyed the wood which blocked the entrance and wondered if she could find the way back outside. If she were able to find her way, could she run away? No! Stop thinking about the outside world where the toxins are! she silently scolded herself. It made her sad when she thought about the outside world, and it was better not to be sad. It won’t be that bad here with Mummy—if I can just be good.

  Tracey finished washing up and dressed in her new outfit and boots, mildly aware of her empty stomach’s rumblings. She walked over to the plywood and ran her finger over the rough surface. She thought about the maze of tunnels and knew she could never remember which one led to the bad spot and which one led outside—or even how to get to the worship chamber. The room began to feel spooky, unsafe. The silence was deafening. Tracey went back to the soiled mattress and pulled her knees up under her chin, wrapping her shaking hands around her legs. She rocked back and forth, telling herself to be brave. She rolled onto her side and stared at the barricaded exit, waiting for Mummy to return. Eventually, Tracey’s eyes grew heavy, and she drifted off into a dream.

  She pumped her arms and ran through the tunnel as fast as she could, her hair lifted from her shoulders with each thump of her feet. Her skin tingled with the feel of the outside air, replacing the stale tunnel atmosphere even before she could see the sunlight. She climbed out of the tunnel and burst into the bramble, spinning around and suddenly realizing she was alone—truly alone. Mummy was not there. She was frightened, shaking, and turned back toward the entrance to the tunnel. “Mummy?” she frantically called out. “Mummy, where are you?” Her questions were met with silence. She peered down the slim tunnel e
ntrance. A force pulled her body away from the tunnel, placing her in front of an almost imperceptible hole in the bramble. She crawled through the hole and into the open forest. She walked at a brisk pace, stepping over vines and branches, around holes, and kicking her way through piles of leaves. Suddenly, she lifted her gaze from the ground, and there were hoards of people, the air filled with voices, conversations, shouting. The crowd was pointing at the sky. Tracey lifted her eyes, shielding them from the glare of the sun. She moved closer to the crowd, squinting to see what held their attention. Then she heard her familiar, comforting voice, “Tracey!” Tracey spun around, her heart pounding with excitement. She ran, fast and hard, into the safety of her open arms, without ever being seen by the people in the outside world. “Mummy!”

  Eighteen

  Molly drove toward the police station, fully intent on giving the police the necklace she had found, hoping they would search the woods again—more carefully this time—and that this might prove that she wasn’t involved in the disappearance of Tracey Porter. She ran through her encounter with Officer Brown and their troubling conversation. Suspect? Please! She slowed at the last turn before the station and realized that by turning in the necklace, she might solidify Officer Brown’s inclination that she was a suspect; he might turn this evidence on her. Molly was in a quandary, and she didn’t like it one bit. Somehow she knew the necklace belonged to Tracey. Her thoughts were interrupted by her cell phone. She pulled the van over to the shoulder and dug through her pack to find it. “Hello?” she said, hurriedly.

  “Hey, baby,” Cole said flirtatiously.

  “Hey!” she smiled, surprised by his playful manner.

  “Are you feeling better? More awake now?” he asked.

  “Thank goodness, yes. You have no idea!”

  “That good, huh? What are you up to?”

  She was so excited, she didn’t know where to start. “Well, you won’t believe this,” she said, and told him everything.

  “You what?” he asked angrily.

  She bit her lip, unnerved by his wrath. She continued hurriedly, “Anyway, I, uh…I got the necklace.” She reached down and felt the necklace, safely coiled in her pocket.

  “This is unbelievable, Molly, really, just…unbelievable.” He paused. “You think Erik has these visions, too?” he asked with a mixture of concern and disbelief.

  “Yes, maybe, I don’t know,” she sighed heavily, thinking about the pain Erik might be in for—the agonizing feeling of not knowing when he’s innocently dreaming and when he’s being given a sign, a message. “Cole, please don’t mention it to him. I’m not sure he wants people to know.”

  “I’m his father, Molly.”

  Molly heard the hurt in his voice. “Yes, and you’re my husband, and how many years did it take for me to admit to you that I had visions?” she paused. “And you still don’t really believe me,” she said, sadly.

  “I won’t say anything,” he conceded, guiltily, “but damn it, Molly, I don’t want him to be as…cra—” he caught himself, then quickly said, “as…wrapped up in things as you get.”

  The slip up did not go over Molly’s head. She swallowed her pride and said, “I know, but there’s nothing you can do. Either he will or he won’t get wrapped up in things. You can’t control what he thinks or how he feels when it happens. I’m telling you, Cole, this…Knowing...it takes over. There’s no escaping it.”

  “So you say,” Cole mumbled.

  “What?” Molly was getting angry. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I guess I don’t really understand it all. Nothing, nothing takes my focus away from whatever I might be doing—”

  “Exactly!” she said, not giving him time to finish. “That’s what I mean. You focus on what is going on in your life. I focus on what is going on in mine. Unfortunately, I can’t change that what’s going on in mine is sometimes presented as a vision. It infiltrates my brain. I can’t turn it off. No matter what else I’m thinking about, it’s always there.’”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just…” he paused, and Molly waited, knowing it was hard for him, too, “I never know when you’re going to focus on this stuff, and it takes you away from everything else, including me.”

  Molly sighed. She knew exactly what he meant, and he was right.

  “It sounds awful, like I’m a selfish bastard, I know, but, Mol, I worry about you going off into the woods at night, getting hurt, falling prey to weird forces, and things I can’t see. I never know what’s going to happen to you.” He paused, and Molly held the phone tightly against her ear, listening to him breathe. “And goddamn it, Molly, how is our marriage ever going to survive this shit? We barely survived Amanda! Am I supposed to just sit back and watch? Wait? So what? One day I’ll get a phone call from….from Officer whatever-his-name-is, saying, ‘Guess what? She was right. She found the murderer—only this time he got her.’” Molly could imagine him running his hand through his hair, pacing as he spoke. She could hear it in the beat of his words.

  Molly answered with the only words she had to offer, “I know, and I’m sorry.” She could not promise not to follow her hunches—or the visions—any more than she could promise not to call Erik every week. She’d spent years being helpless against the visions. She’d failed Amanda, and she’d be damned if she was going to make the same mistake twice. Amanda’s sweet face appeared in Molly’s mind, just as it had in the newspaper when they’d found her body; her blonde hair cropped just below her chin, tilted up toward the camera in a gentle pose. Molly was driven to help and empowered by the drive. She just hadn’t realized it might someday become a choice between helping a child and saving her marriage. “I love you, Cole,” she said, hoping he could understand.

  “Well,” she heard the surrender in his voice, “I chose you, so now I’m stuck, I suppose.”

  Molly was hurt, Stuck? She bit back a retort and asked, hesitantly, “So what do I do with the necklace?”

  “What do you mean? Give it to the police, of course. Let them deal with it.”

  “Oh no…I can’t. If I give it to the police, then they’ll really think I’m a suspect.”

  “You could be arrested for obstructing justice or something.”

  “I know, but what if they take me in, make me a scapegoat. I don’t know, Cole. Do you really think I need to give it to them?”

  “Molly!” he said, frustrated. “You’re going to do whatever you’re going to do anyway. Why bother asking me?”

  Molly didn’t have an answer. In the tense silence, Cole pressed his point home. “What if you keep it, and that necklace is the one clue that could have broken the case? You’d feel awful if she wasn’t found because you were too selfish to turn it in.”

  “Selfish? Selfish! Is that what you think?” she screamed into the phone.

  “Who are you doing this for, Molly? For Tracey? For Amanda? Or are you doing this for you, so you can fix whatever warped part of your mind thinks you killed Amanda?”

  His words stung, and Molly could feel the truth in them, which hurt even more. She was unclear who she was doing this for, but she didn’t care. She was moving forward. “One night, Cole, one night, that’s all I need. It might bring me more information. Tomorrow, I will bring it directly to the police station. I promise. ” Molly didn’t need Cole’s approval but desperately wanted it to ease the guilt of doing what she knew was wrong. The line went dead in her hands.

  Molly had intended to go home, but, on a whim, she found herself driving toward Hannah’s. Passing the vast soybean fields brought a sense of calm to her otherwise anxious day. She rolled down the windows and let the breeze wash over her, the stress of the morning fading away. She passed Harley’s farm, the hayfields pristine, the grass perfectly mowed, and waved to Harley who stood by his truck in the driveway. Her levity fell away as Harley’s unnerving stare, his face awash of any emotion, followed her down the road.

  Molly parked at Hannah’s and stepped from the van, forcibly pushing aside t
he uncomfortable feeling of Harley’s glare. “Hannah?” she called out, and was answered by two dogs that came bounding toward her: a large, long-haired black dog that Molly thought resembled a cross between a Saint Bernard and a Great Dane, and an older hound dog. “Hey, guys,” she said as she scratched their heads. “Where’s your mama?” The horses came to attention as she entered the barn, undoubtedly looking for carrots and treats. Molly caressed their cheeks.

  “Hannah?” she called out again. The dogs’ ears perked up at the sound of their owner’s name. Molly looked in the well-organized tack room, calling out in a sing-song voice, “Han-nah?” She walked to the garage, dogs in tow, where she found Hannah’s car. Molly scanned the fields, but Hannah was nowhere in sight. The other horses, however, had gathered along the far end of the pasture where the fence edged the woods.