Chasing Amanda

by Melissa Foster

  The newspaper clipping nagged at Molly. She retrieved it and scanned the article.

  Relief of one sort was provided today to the family of Kate Plummer. The prime suspect, Rodney Lett, was found beaten to death in the home of his sister, Pastor Carla Lett…The body was taken to Delaware for burial in the family plot…The body of Kate Plummer has not been found. Rodney Lett’s confession included a statement that the girl was with her “mommy.” Police interpreted the information to mean that she was dead. Mrs. Plummer, a cancer patient, is alive, though it is unclear if Rodney Lett understood that at the time of Kate’s disappearance.

  She tossed the article on her desk, “So that’s their proof?” Molly was disgusted with the realization that the police could lead such a shallow investigation, and that the search would be dropped without ever finding Kate’s body.

  Frustrated by the fight with Cole and her internal conflict, Molly decided to try and put their argument behind them. She went downstairs to their exercise room. “Almost done?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he huffed. Cole hated to run, but as he did with most aspects of his life, he did what he was supposed to do because it was best for him, not because it was something he enjoyed.

  “How would you feel about dinner out tonight? I sort of need to clear my head.” Molly asked, flopping, defeated, onto the couch.

  “Sure, whatever you want,” he said, as Molly had expected he would.

  “Café Miletto okay?”

  “Sure, whatever, I’ll be done in a minute.”

  Molly dressed for dinner and then looked beneath her pillow, confirming that her evidence was still in place. She thought of Tracey, out there somewhere, terrified, hungry, cold. Molly ran her fingers over the necklace, then picked up the candy wrapper. Instantly, she tasted apple candy. Her palm became warm, and she could feel Tracey’s soft little hand grasping the wrapper. She could feel her fear, her breathing becoming rapid, shallow. She closed her eyes, hoping for more—slowly, gray images came to her: trees, leaves, the wooden boxes. The wrapper grew cold and fell from her hand.

  Molly jumped when Cole put his hand on her shoulder. She pushed the pillow down over the wrapper and the necklace. “Good God, Cole,” she said, “how long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough,” he said.

  Café Miletto was quiet. There were four other tables with patrons, two young couples, one older couple, and a couple who appeared, from behind, to be middle aged. They sat in the corner with their backs to Molly and Cole. Molly reached for Cole’s hand across the table, trying to mend the widening abyss between them. Cole withdrew his hand.

  Molly blinked back tears and gazed out the window, inadvertently listening to the couple that sat nearby. Their voices were hushed whispers.

  “I don’t know what to do. I think someone has been there,” the woman said.

  “Oh no, I’m sure not,” said the man.

  “It’s just been so long, you know?” she paused. “How long can I do this?”

  “As long as you have to,” the man replied. “If you come out now, can you imagine the terror it would bring to the community, the distrust?”

  Molly recognized the voices and chided herself for listening. At that point, she couldn’t help it, she was drawn into their conversation, listening for the sake of curiosity.

  “You did what you felt like you had to do. People will be angry, maybe try to railroad you. Send you to jail even,” Newton whispered adamantly.

  “Look what I’ve put the kid through.” Pastor Lett sounded beaten down.

  Molly looked over, her heart speeding up.

  “I’ve put that kid in a prison and for what? Somehow, what started to be about the kid, ended up really just about me. I’m so selfish.”

  Molly was riveted by their conversation. Cole looked at his menu, unaware of her fixation. He reached across the table and grabbed Molly’s hand. The relief she felt was overshadowed by her curiosity.

  “And look what I’ve put you through,” Pastor Lett said.

  Molly suddenly felt like a voyeur. She pulled her hand away from Cole’s, who looked up, surprised.

  “What?” Cole asked.

  Molly hid behind her menu. She tilted it sideways and looked into Cole’s eyes. “Shhh,” she whispered, motioning with a finger in front of her lips. She pointed behind him and mouthed, Don’t let them see you.

  Cole angled his body to the side, crossing his legs and stretching. He recognized them instantly, spinning back and leaning over the table toward Molly. “Pastor Lett and Newton—so what?”

  “Oh my God! So,” she whispered frantically, “they’re talking about something awful that Pastor Lett did, about a kid kept in a prison!” She lifted her finger to her lips again.

  “Damn it, Molly. Let it go,” he seethed.

  The waitress brought Pastor Lett her check. She reached for it and handed the check and a credit card back to the waitress.

  Cole and Molly sat in silence.

  They stood to leave, and Molly quickly pulled her menu in front of her face again. Cole tried, but failed to mimic her speed—Newton’s eyes met his. Newton anxiously wrung his fingers, looking from Molly to Cole, then down at the ground, then at them again.

  “Well, Molly, Cole,” Newton’s eyes shifted toward Pastor Lett, then back at Molly. “How are you?” he asked in a shaky voice.

  Molly stretched a sleepy arm underneath her pillow, reassured by the feel of the necklace and candy wrapper. She wondered why they hadn’t brought her more information, more visions. She turned toward Cole, who was sleeping soundly, and snuggled next to him, but her mind was already too alert, making it impossible for her to sleep. She moved gently off the bed and padded downstairs, dogs in tow.

  “Okay, guys,” she said quietly to the dogs, “but I warn you, it’s cold out there.” She opened the door and let them run out. Seconds later, Stealth was scratching to come back in. “What did I tell you?” she smirked and let Stealth back inside. Molly filled a glass with water and took it to the family room, where she curled up under a blanket and clicked on the television, catching the tail end of a local news clip about Tracey Porter. The reporter stated that they were looking to the community for answers. Molly fought the urge to call the police and recommend that they question Pastor Lett and Newton Carr.

  Molly jumped when the phone rang. She answered it tentatively, “Hello?”

  “Mom, it’s me,” Erik’s voice was wrought with purpose. Before Molly could ask, he said, “Don’t worry, everything’s fine. I just need to talk to you.”

  “Okay, okay, slow down. What is it?”

  “I saw that little girl on TV tonight—you know, Tracey.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Molly said, relieved that he was okay.

  “Mom, she’s alive. I know she’s alive. I can feel it. Can you feel it?” he asked, hopefully.

  “I do think she’s alive, Erik. I’m just stuck on where to find her.”

  “Mom, every time I think of her, I see this guy. He’s big, like Dad,” he paused, and Molly knew he was pacing the floor, just as his father did when he was on the phone. “I don’t know who he is, but I know he’s big. Who could it be?”

  “I don’t know, honey. I’m trying to figure that out, too.” She thought about telling him about Pastor Lett and Newton, then quickly reconsidered. She didn’t want to taint his feelings against them in case her suspicions were wrong. “I found her necklace, I think. It’s a gold chain—”

  “With a heart—I know,” Erik said.

  “How did you know? Did Dad tell you?”

  Erik’s voice was hesitant, “No, Mom, I just knew.” He quickly grew angry. “I hate this. I really hate it. I can’t put it away or turn it off. Something just happens. It’s like seeing Hannah in the woods. Mom, how do you ever know what it all means?”

  Molly heard the fear in his voice and wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him, engulf him with love and safety, and somehow protect him from the infiltra
tion and pain of the Knowing. “I don’t,” she admitted, sadly. “I hate it too. I can only believe that we’re given this information to save her.” Molly paused. “Do you see anything else? Do you feel anything else?”

  “Yeah, she’s scared sometimes, terrified. I know that. Sometimes I’m sitting in my classes, and this fear comes over me, and when I try to figure out what I’m afraid of, all I see is darkness.”

  “Oh, Erik.”

  “Sometimes I see candles, and once…once I saw that big man with his hands stretched up, like he was…I don’t know, reaching for something? It looked like he was reaching for the sky, but I know that sounds stupid.”

  “I saw that too, Erik. Can you see anything else, like where she is?” Molly asked.

  “Not really. Sometimes, I see an old creepy house, and sometimes I see just darkness, like she’s in a hole or something. I can just sort of feel that she’s there, but not really see her,” he paused. Molly could tell that he wanted to say more.

  “What is it, Erik?”

  “Once…once I saw Tracey outside.” His voice grew quieter, “I just don’t know where outside, and that’s killing me, but I saw her, and it was like I was seeing out of her eyes or something. It scared the shit out of me. I was in the woods, with one of my lab partners looking for samples, and suddenly it was like I was her. I can’t explain it. God! This is so frustrating!” Molly heard him swear under his breath, then return to the phone. “I saw woods, thickets—like the ones where Dad and I used to hunt?”

  Erik became silent. Molly grasped the phone tight against her ear. Knowing that Erik would be powerless to walk away from the visions pained her.

  “I don’t know what it means. I wish I could take it away. When you were little, I could blow on your scrapes and you thought I was magical, the pain would blow away with my breath, but, well, you know. I’m not magical. It kinda sucks. I’m powerless, and I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Ma. I guess it’s kinda cool, too. Maybe one day I’ll see some really hot girl as she gets undressed. That would be worth it!” he laughed.

  “Ha ha, Erik, I wouldn’t hold your breath on that one,” Molly said, smiling. “Listen, you get some sleep. Maybe together we can solve this thing.”

  “Okay, Ma.”

  “Erik, one more thing,” she said to him. “Are you pretty sure it’s a guy with her? Are you pretty clear on that? You don’t think it’s a lady that looks like Hannah?”

  “I’m not sure, but I keep seeing this guy. It’s like I just know he’s reaching out to her, but he’s also kind of not there. Shit! I don’t know, Mom.” Erik drew a deep breath. “I don’t know about Hannah, either, because sometimes I have flashes of her sitting on a log, or someone that looks like her. Sometimes she’s in the dark. It’s just freaky, Mom. I don’t know.”

  “Okay, honey, go get some sleep,” Molly said, “and Erik, I’m glad you called. I love you.”

  “Love you more, Mom. G’night.”

  Molly leaned back against the couch and pet Stealth, and then remembered Trigger was still outside. “Come on, boy,” Molly said to the dog, “let’s find Trigger.”

  At Trigger’s name, Stealth was instantly alert, on his feet, and bounding to the door.

  Molly opened the door. Stealth pushed past her and darted ouside. Molly stepped onto the back porch and looked up at the stars, which sparkled across the dark sky, beseeching her to reach up toward them, which she did. Suddenly, the heat of large palms, the same palms she had felt at the cellar door of the Perkinson House, weighed heavily against her own. Her body was frozen, arms outstretched toward the sky. Molly’s heart beat faster. The dogs ran toward her barking frantically. She squinted, sure there was a formidable being in front of her, sure of the pressure on her hands growing stronger, and just as sure that she was alone.

  Twenty

  Molly had been riding the current of emotions for days. Between the daily battles with Cole and the guilt that consumed her, the guilt she thought she’d dealt with years ago, she didn’t know what, or whom, she could trust anymore. She began doubting her own determination. Molly put on her jogging clothes, the familiarity of them felt like an old friend returning, giving her renewed energy. She once again buried her doubts and decided to focus on the day before her. She looked forward to a quick trip to the police station, and then a much-needed run. She parked in front of the Country Store and greeted the Boyds Boys as she entered the store for a Power Bar and a bottle of water. She found Edie bent over a group of boxes.

  “Hi, Edie. How are you?” she asked, tentatively.

  “Fine,” Edie said, curtly.

  “Did I offend you somehow, Edie?” she asked.

  “Not you, Molly. It’s not you,” Edie stood. “I want to know where Kate Plummer is. Why Rodney have to get hurt? I just don’t understand.” Years of bottled up anger came tumbling forward. Edie looked as if she were on the verge of tears.

  Molly reached out and touched her arm. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Why no police investigate? No body, no proof!” she demanded. “Where Tracey? Where that little girl?” Tears fell from Edie’s eyes.

  “I’m just as baffled as you are, Edie,” Molly said.

  Edie walked away. Molly swore she heard her say, “He knows,” when she brushed past her. The hair on the back of her neck prickled with a frisson. She walked hurriedly to the front of the store, paid for her items, and escaped.

  Molly hurried down the concrete steps toward her van. Harley yelled behind her, “Running today?”

  Molly held up her bottle of water in answer.

  “Molly?” Harley’s tone stopped her in her tracks.

  “Yeah?” she replied, distracted and miffed by the glare of the day before.

  “Careful poking a sleeping bear. I wouldn’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

  Molly thought she could walk into the police station, hand over the necklace and candy wrapper, and turn around and leave—a five-minute trip. She was surprised at how wrong she felt when she walked through the door and found the same young officer manning the front desk. A spark of recognition passed between them.

  “Hello, ma’am, nice to see you again,” the officer smiled.

  “You, too,” she said, mildly embarrassed. “Is Officer Brown in today?” she asked.

  A voice boomed from behind her, “Just who would like to know?”

  Molly turned around and looked into the round face of Officer Brown, his hands clasped atop his protruding belly. He smiled as if there were no ill feelings between them. Molly tried to smile, to cover the angst she felt at seeing him again.

  “Officer Brown,” Molly reached into her backpack, protectively touching the treasures she’d tucked away, and thinking about Harley’s comment.

  “What brings you here today?” he asked.

  His shoes were dull, his brown pants wrinkled, almost as short as they were wide, and his jacket had a coffee stain on the front. Why, Molly wondered to herself, was she so worried about this unkempt man? She stood up straighter and decided that she would not be intimidated by him.

  “I was wondering if we could talk for a minute,” she said, trying to summon her business voice from her Philadelphia days.

  “Well, we surely can,” he said. He waddled in front of Molly and led her down the hallway towards the interrogation room. He winked as he passed her.

  You wish, Molly thought, cringing inwardly.

  Molly followed him, feeling oddly like a school girl walking to the principal’s office, unsure how to turn over the evidence without appearing guilty. Her mind wrestled with the pros and cons, but she could not bring back her resolve to give up those pieces of Tracey.

  “After you, Mrs. Tanner,” Officer Brown held the door open.

  “Thank you,” Molly said, clutching her backpack.

  Molly sat on the same cold chair, in the same stale room, facing the same two-way mirror, and felt even more like a suspect. She reminded herself that she was there by choice�
��she could get up and leave if she wanted. She held the backpack in her lap, realizing that by not turning over the evidence, she was, in fact, a criminal. She rationalized in her mind that she could keep them for one more day—in case there were more messages to come, even though she knew that doing so would cause strife in her marriage. Her marriage—that was another thing Molly couldn’t worry about at the moment.

  Officer Brown sat across from Molly, staring expectantly at her, his hands resting across his stomach.

  “Mrs. Tanner?” he smiled. “Do you have something to tell me?”

  Does he think I am here to confess? Molly was taken by surprise. “Excuse me?”

  “I assume,” he adjusted his too large body in the too small seat, “that there is some reason you’re here.”

  “Of course—sorry,” Molly said. “I was just wondering,” she paused, having difficulty concentrating. She glanced around the room and images came at her fast, stealing her concentration: An image of a mother crying, while her teenage son sat across the very same table, head in his hands, ashamed; an image of a large man, his veins bursting with anger, arrested after raping a young girl. They came at Molly with such power that it took her a moment to regroup, so long, in fact, that Officer Brown had asked her if she was alright.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little sidetracked, Officer Brown,” Molly sat up straighter, scrambling to come up with a reason for her visit.

  Officer Brown looked up at the ceiling, rubbing his chin with his left index finger and thumb. His neck jiggled with each movement. “Mrs. Tanner?”