Chasing Amanda
Page 16
“What am I doing?” Molly curled her legs up beneath herself and skimmed through her notepad. Visions, she wondered, or just scenes made up by a delusional mother’s subconscious? She was too tired to deal with Cole’s suspicion that her visions were just her mind working overtime, a thought she could not make go away, no matter how hard she tried. She put the notepad down and withdrew the folded messages that she’d tucked in the back of the pad. She stared at the creased pages, pages she knew she had not fabricated. They were tangible evidence that someone, somewhere, knew she was trying to find Tracey. She wondered why the person wouldn’t come forward and simply go to the police. She folded the papers, frustrated, knowing she had memorized them the first time she had read them. Molly was too irritated to relax. She wondered if Cole was right, if she should go back into therapy, try to deal with the remaining guilt of losing Amanda. The dogs barked and pawed at the rear door. Molly walked through the house feeling useless. She let the dogs in and walked back out the front door to retrieve the mail.
She leafed through the junk mail and set the rest in a pile on the counter. She let out a sigh, her hopes of finding a catalogue, or something distracting to leaf through, dashed. She’d have been happy with a coupon flyer. She fed the dogs and felt as if she were moving robotically through the motions.
Molly ran a warm bath, pouring in extra bubbles so she wouldn’t have to see her aging body distorted through the water. She pulled off her jeans and felt the unfamiliar bulge in her pocket. She gently removed the necklace and candy wrapper, and sat down on the edge of the tub in her underwear. She laced the necklace in and out of her fingers, dragging the chain across her palms. The cold metal felt lonely, hollow. The heart trinket was smeared with dirt. She walked into her bedroom and placed it, along with the candy wrapper, under her pillow. Molly finished undressing and lowered her body into the warm bubbly water, a consolation for a hard afternoon’s…What? she wondered. Work? Research? Search? She quickly decided that she had no idea what to call the way she had been spending her time lately but reassured herself that the bath was still her due. She lay back and closed her eyes.
She had been drifting toward sleep when the phone rang.
“Damn it,” she said, opening her eyes and bracing herself to stand up.
“I got it!” Cole yelled up the stairs.
Molly sighed with relief that Cole was home. The clutter of her busy mind had finally been waylaid by the contentment of the soothing bath.
“Baby,” Cole whispered, his breath was warm against her cheek. “Have you been doing a little shopping?”
She sighed and opened her eyes. “Hi.”
“Tired?” he asked.
“Mm-hmm,” she said, closing her eyes again.
“Sweetie, you’ve got a package.” He held up the padded envelope, swinging it teasingly in front of her.
“I didn’t order anything,” Molly said. “Your baseball cards? Ebay maybe?”
He shrugged and ripped open the package, shaking the contents, an old newspaper clipping, into his hand. Molly raised her eyebrows.
Cole scanned the article, “It’s an article about Rodney Lett.”
Molly read the concern in his eyes, heard the annoyance in his voice.
“It says that he was beaten to death and that he was responsible for the abduction of Kate Plummer. Mol, this is from October 1989.”
“Who sent it?” she asked, nervously rising to her feet and draining the water from the tub.
“Who knows, Molly?” he said agitated. “What exactly are you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?”
Molly tried to calm his anger and temper her own growing concern, “It’s probably nothing. It’s a gag or something. No one even knows what I’m doing.” She leaned her naked body forward and put her arms around his neck, ignoring the irritation on his face. “C’mon,” she pleaded. “Don’t ruin tonight.”
Cole resisted her efforts.
She kissed his cheek, his neck. “Don’t be mad at me, Cole,” she said between kisses. “I didn’t write the note.”
“You need to tell the police,” his tone had softened.
“Mm-hmm.” She felt the tension in his shoulders release as he pulled her toward him and kissed her lips.
“Whoa, wait a minute,” she laughed, “we have to get ready. Hand me a towel?”
Cole stood in front of her, leering lustily, and holding the towel just out of her reach, “Not so quickly.”
Molly blushed, turned away from him, and feigned anger. He wrapped his arms around her, the water from her wet body soaked his clothes. Standing in the bathtub brought her closer to his height. Embarrassed, Molly pushed him away, “Okay, towel, please.”
He playfully tossed her the towel, grinning like a Cheshire cat. As he walked out of the bathroom, he picked up the torn package and looked it over. “Mol, there’s no return address.” He ripped the package completely open and inside was a yellow Post-It note. Cole’s face swiftly changed from lovingly playful to clearly annoyed once again. “Molly,” his tone was serious, angry, “what the hell is going on?”
She looked at him in confusion.
He crushed the note in his fist and threw it, and the torn package, into the trash can and stormed from the room. Molly hurried over to the can to retrieve the crumpled paper, unfolding it as quickly as she could. Scrawled in pencil were the words:
LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE.
Pastor Lett stood against the wall, waiting for the right time to let her presence be known. The kid stood like a statue in the dimly-lit room. She watched the kid turn slowly on trembling legs.
Her eyes met the kid’s. “Honey,” she said in a low, gentle voice, “it’s me. It’s okay.”
The kid stared at her as if she were a stranger. Guilt rose within her, and she pushed it away as her irritation grew. She walked closer to the kid, leaving the garbage bag behind on the dirt floor.
She had thought they’d established an understood vow of compliance, an acknowledgement of how things had to be in order for them to live happily. What had changed? Why, she wondered, had the kid reverted to fear? But she knew why. She knew she had crossed the line, scared the kid—perhaps beyond repair. She moved closer, slowly, crouching down so she wasn’t too imposing. “Honey, it’s okay. I’m here to take care of you, to keep you safe. We’re going to be happy.” She reached toward the kid, but the kid pulled back, out of her reach. “God put me on this Earth to care for you,” her voice rose, and she tried to gain control of her emotions. She wiggled her fingers, urging the kid toward her. “C’mon, it’s okay.” Slowly the kid moved, hesitantly, toward her.
“That’s right, sweetie. Come to me.” Pastor Lett reached out and pulled the kid’s reluctant body close, “What were you doing, honey?”
The kid stared up at her—big round beautiful eyes, innocent and scared. Pastor Lett held the kid at arm’s length, her heart pounded with love and admiration, mixed with an underlying grief. She hated holding the kid hostage like that. She knew the kid should be outside, enjoying life, not stuck in this damn dungeon.
She whispered, “Were you getting ready to pray? Talking to God?”
The kid nodded nervously.
“It’s okay. We all talk to God.”
The kid looked up, acknowledging her words with a sense of relief.
“What were you praying for? Do you need something?” Pastor Lett asked.
Her question was met with silence.
“What do you want from God? Are you not happy?” she asked, desperately wanting to make things as comfortable as she was able.
The kid began rocking, barely noticeable at first. Pastor Lett had seen it before, a slight rock back and forth, almost non-existent, yet she understood the message—the kid was uneasy, frightened.
“Sweetie, let it out. I can help,” Pastor Lett urged. “Let’s see what I’ve brought you!” she said, reaching for the bags. The kid eyed the bags curiously. Pastor Lett reached deep inside the bag and pulled out a stuffed bu
nny. The kid’s eyes lit up, and Pastor Lett handed the prize over, gratified. The kid held it tight, then tucked it under one arm.
“There’s that smile I love,” she said. “Let’s see what else I’ve brought you.” The kid moved closer, less afraid, renouncing the rocking for the promise of gifts.
Pastor Lett reached into the bag and pulled out a brown shirt and white sweater. “What is this?” she teased. “It looks like clothes.” Pastor Lett held the clothing up, pretending to inspect them. “Hm, they look to be just about your size.” She glanced at the kid, “Let’s just see if they might fit.” She held them up. “Yup. Perfect. They must be yours!”
The kid snagged the clothing from Pastor Lett’s hands. Pastor Lett watched the kid smell the clothing, smile. Her spirits lifted. As much as she loathed material items bringing joy, at times it was all she had to offer. She was well aware of what she had done, what she would continue to do, but people had forced it upon her. She was compelled to live a lie. It was unfair, and she knew it. The kid was often left alone, and she hated that, but she knew, or at least she hoped, that God would look over their place, protecting them from harm, protecting them from the cruel, unforgiving world.
The kid stared at the bag, wordlessly asking for more. Pastor Lett pushed aside her melancholy thoughts and laughed a little. “Oh, you want to see what else I might have brought? Don’t you have enough yet, kiddo?”
The kid smiled.
“Okay, well, let’s see,” she said, trying to keep the mood lighter than it had been. She put her arm in the bag and pretended that the item was stuck, cringing and pulling backward. “I can’t get it out,” her voice was strained as she pretended to use all of her strength to retrieve the contents of the bag.
The kid’s face contorted, painfully waiting for the prize to be revealed.
“It’s stuck in here,” Pastor Lett said. She pretended to be yanked into the bag, flailing her head and arms and falling to the floor.
The kid laughed.
Pastor Lett’s voice was muffled by the bag, “Help! Help! Honey, I’m stuck!”
There was a moment’s hesitation—then Pastor Lett felt warm hands on her back as the kid tried to pull her from the bag. She used all of her strength to remain in the bag, continuing the game, relishing in the kid’s delight. After a minute, they both fell backward, tumbling together, laughter filling the dimly-lit room. Slowly, their laughter faded, and Pastor Lett peeked in the bag, creating a dramatic scene—eyes wide, arms outstretched. She turned to the kid, “No way am I going in there again.” She sat back on her heels. “You go,” she instructed.
The kid approached the bag tentatively, looking into it, then back at Pastor Lett. A shake of the head and a smile egged her on.
“Uh-uh,” she said. “Why do I have to do all of the dirty work? It’s just not fair!” she said, pretending to pout. “You can do it. You’re strong,” she urged.
Again, the shake of the head.
“Okay, okay, fine.” She resigned her stance and dove into the bag so fast that the kid jumped up and down excitedly.
Finally, a single word escaped the kid’s lips, “Funny!”
Pastor Lett felt her heart melt like chocolate on a warm afternoon. She wanted to grab that one word and tuck it away safely in her pocket. Instead, she scrambled around in the bag, like she was wrestling with an animal. Suddenly, she stopped thrashing and backed out of the bag, cradling a small box in her hands. She sat on the floor next to the kid whose eyes were wide with anticipation. The kid reached for the box, crouched next to Pastor Lett, and looked over the box, slowly lifting the lid, and removing the gold chain. The kid stared, mesmerized. Tears of joy slipped down the kid’s cheeks. Pastor Lett had never imagined that a necklace would evoke such a reaction. The token, an icon of Pastor Lett’s love, hung from the chain like a star in the sky, sparkling and bright.
The kid clutched the necklace as if it might disappear. Not to worry, Pastor Lett thought to herself. I will be here to make sure it stays right where it belongs.
When Molly finally made her way downstairs, she found Cole stewing in front of a football game. She came to sit on the coffee table in front of him, blocking his view of the game. She held his gaze until he abruptly clicked off the television and gave her his full, enervated attention.
His eyes said, “Well?” but she didn’t know where to begin to fill the breach. The tension was deafening.
She tentatively reached for his hand and said, placatingly, “Cole, how could I know that this would happen? No one even knows I’m looking for her, really.”
“No one even knows,” he said, mocking her. “Someone does,” he said, accusingly. “That little present you just got,” he sneered, “is a threat.”
Molly peeled her gaze away, “I don’t think…” she began timidly. “Maybe it’s not really a threat,” she tried, lamely.
Cole threw his arms up in the air. “What?” he yelled. “Do you know, do you even have a clue, how dangerous this is?”
She stood with her hands at her side, wanting to say something, anything to make him understand why she had to pursue this, but words failed her. Finally, she took a deep breath and, deciding not to tell him about the other notes, released the air slowly, trying to keep control of her emotions. She turned and looked into his scornful eyes.
“Oh, Cole,” she began, “I can’t help it. I feel like I have to find her.”
Cole let out a hiss of anger. “Molly, why do you think you can find this girl? You couldn’t help Amanda, and you can’t help Tracey!” he yelled.
Molly was too hurt, too angry to speak.
Cole looked away, momentarily ashamed, but the anger came raging forward, “How much more do you know than the police? It sounds like you’re all over the place—in the woods, at the Perkinson House. Don’t you think if she were in the Perkinson House, someone would have found her? Why don’t you just ask Pastor Lett? I’m sure she’ll tell you she’s not there.”
Molly fumed.
“For God’s sake, Molly, she didn’t take her. I have no idea how you can live like this, wondering, tracking things down. Where do you get the energy, much less the desire? She’s not even your daughter.”
“I know she’s not my daughter, Cole!” she yelled through angry tears. “What if I can find her? The police didn’t find her necklace, I did. What am I supposed to do? Turn my back on this little girl? Walk away like I know nothing when clearly someone, somewhere is trying to send me messages about her? Let her die like I let Amanda die?”
Cole sat on the couch, his eyes focused on nothing.
Molly was caught between walking out and never coming back, and trying to bridge the gap between them. Cole dropped his head into his hands. Molly eyed the foyer, then looked at the photos littered around the room of them in happier times. She walked over to Cole, stood between his legs, put her hands on his shoulders, and leaned her forehead against his. She whispered, “What if it were Erik, and one person was being given details, and that one person ignored them? Would you want that to happen?”
He whispered back, “No, of course not.” He pushed Molly aside and walked out of the room.
Molly listened to the rhythm of Cole’s heavy footfalls and the hum of the treadmill. She settled in front of her computer and opened an email from Hannah.
Molly, I saw your car here today. Sorry I missed you. Were you out running? Hannah.
Molly replied, responded to a few other emails, and was relieved to reach the last one which was from Newton Carr.
Molly, I’m glad I found you today. I thought everyone knew about the campsites, but I suppose not. You should stop by some time. I can fill you in on much of the history of Boyds. I can even show you Colonel Boyds’s grave. He was an amazing man.
Take care, Newton.
P.S. The photo you saw was actually of another home in Boyds that no longer exists. As I mentioned before, Molly, please stay away from the Perkinson House. Grant the Perkinson family their privacy.
Molly, I’m glad you enjoyed your walk through the woods. Next time, though, why don’t I go with you? Hannah.
Molly replied, Sounds great!