Chasing Amanda

by Melissa Foster

  “I’m sorry, Newton.” Molly touched his shoulder, thinking of Amanda’s funeral, which she’d watched from her car across the street—the way Amanda’s mother’s shoulders had hunched and shaken from her sobs, Amanda’s little brother’s spindly arm hanging onto his mother’s dress, thumb in his mouth, and the tiny coffin, perched and ready to be lowered into the ground forever.

  Newton turned, and Molly followed him further up the hill to the rear of the cemetery where the grave of Cathy Mall overflowed with photographs, trinkets, flowers, and stuffed animals. A metal frame cradled an eight-by-ten photo of Cathy, standing in that very spot, with her arms reaching toward the sun, or was she reaching for heaven? Newton told Molly that Cathy had been the founder of the preschool, and that when she was told her breast cancer was malignant, she had chosen that particular grave so she could watch over the children. He explained how Cathy had asked that her insurance money be used to build the playground behind Kerr Hall, a church-owned building that was built just behind the church. Molly wondered if children still played at the simple playground with the massive Adventure Park just five minutes away.

  Molly’s heart ached for Cathy, wondering if Cathy somehow knew that Kate Plummer had disappeared from the very playground where her dreams for children had come true. The sadness closed in on Molly’s heart, creating a pressure in her chest. She closed her eyes, willing it away, and just as she realized it was not sadness, but the Knowing, she was met by a slow montage of images and smells: A lanky, dark-haired girl, wearing a flowing dress, walking into the cornfield, the stalks split before her, as if she had followed someone. Then she was gone. The powdery fresh smell of her lingered like smoke from a fire. Molly stared straight ahead, the images still playing before her eyes—children, oblivious to the girl’s disappearance, playing, smiling. Adults gathered in a group, talking, completely unaware. Molly had an urge to scream, to run toward the image she’d seen, and warn her, No! Don’t go! But she was rooted to the grassy hill, an onlooker to a past tragedy.

  Tracey clutched the new clothes to her chest, her heart beat excitedly. She ran over and gave Mummy a big hug. “I love them!” she exclaimed. “Did you get yourself anything, Mummy?”

  “Yup,” Mummy said, and she reached deep into her pockets, then splayed her hand out for Tracey to see.

  “What are those for?” she asked, wondering why Mummy thought quarters were a fun gift.

  “They’re for our other worship chamber—our deep chamber. We leave them as gifts, and God grants our wishes.” She put them in a pile on the makeshift shelf.

  “Deep chamber?” Tracey asked, envisioning the bad spot and growing increasingly anxious.

  “The one where my mummy is.” Mummy sat down on a log and reached for Tracey’s hand. “We’ll go there soon,” she said.

  Tracey touched her necklace, the best gift of all. The charm rested comfortingly between her two collar bones. She ran her fingers over the chain and smiled. Mummy had told her that she had been such a brave girl, staying in their sleeping place all by herself, that she deserved it. She was going to be good, she’d decided. She would make Mummy proud of her.

  Mummy told her that it was time to thank God for the things they had.

  “Tracey,” she said, “remember when I told you that little girls sometimes get sick out in the big world?”

  “Yes,” Tracey looked up through the fringe of her hair.

  “Well, sometimes little girls get sick, and they don’t know it. Sometimes they don’t know until they are too sick and ready to die.” She looked right into Tracey’s eyes and squeezed her hand.

  “Why, Mummy? Why does that happen?” Tracey asked in a quivering voice, sure Mummy had been referring to her.

  “I don’t know—no one knows—but that’s why we have to keep you away from all of the toxins that are out there. We never know just what will make you sick.” She patted Tracey’s hand with her free hand. Tracey leaned her body against Mummy, scared.

  “Okay,” she said, relieved, and silently hoping that she wouldn’t get any of the bad toxins in her when they went outside to the bramble place.

  “I’ll take care of you,” Mummy assured her.

  “Okay,” Tracey whispered.

  “C’mon, Tracey, let’s put on your church dress,” Mummy pulled the dress out of one of the green bags. Tracey was surprised, and happy, to see that it had been freshly washed.

  “Do I have to change?” she asked in the least whiney voice that she could muster.

  “Today we’re worshiping, and we need to show respect to God. Come on now. It will look pretty with your necklace.”

  Tracey felt for the necklace and smiled at the now-familiar feel of it. She took the dress and went to the corner to change her clothes. She had gotten used to changing as quickly as she could, using her arms to cover up her body. She brought her arms across the front of the dress, walked to Mummy, and turned around. Mummy hummed as she zipped Tracey’s dress.

  Mummy spoke as they left their room and headed toward the worship chamber, “That my heart may sing to you and not be silent. O Lord, my God, I will give you thanks forever.”

  Tracey walked nervously with her arms wrapped tightly around her—the dirt walls intimidated her. She could see the worship chamber up ahead and was happy when Mummy sped up her pace.

  Tracey stood quietly in the doorway while Mummy lit the candles. “Come now, Tracey,” she beckoned. “Let’s give thanks to the Lord for keeping us safe.” She patted the ground next to her as she knelt down.

  The scratchy cold feeling of the dirt on Tracey’s knees made her sad. She didn’t want to get sick, but she was still a little scared to be underground. Mummy steepled her hands, and Tracey followed. Mummy didn’t have to tell Tracey to close her eyes, she knew the routine, closed her eyes, and listened to Mummy whispering.

  “Hebrews 12:28. Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe.”

  Mummy rested her hand on Tracey’s thigh. Tracey recoiled, opened her eyes. Upon seeing a smile on Mummy’s face, she relaxed again and closed her eyes.

  “Dear God, thank you for bringing me Tracey to take care of. She needed me. Thank you for allowing me to keep her safe, keep her healthy. She’s a wonderful girl, and I am thankful to have her as my family.”

  The word “family” made Tracey bristle. She stifled the urge to cry. She had almost forgotten how much she missed her real family. How could she have done that, she wondered. Have Mommy and Daddy forgotten about me? What about Emma?

  Mummy lifted her hand from Tracey’s thigh, “Tracey, honey, what’s wrong?”

  Tracey didn’t realize that she had clenched her eyes shut. She opened them, and tears spilled onto her cheeks. She knew better than to cry in front of Mummy. She wiped her eyes and clenched them shut again.

  Mummy took Tracey in her arms and held her quaking body, fresh tears landed on Mummy’s shoulder. Tracey tried to fight the tears, but she was powerless—she sobbed in Mummy’s arms. Mummy rocked her and hummed the same tune she had hummed earlier, a tune Tracey did not know.

  “It’s okay, honey. You don’t want to get the sickness and die, too. You belong with me. You needed to be saved. ”

  No, Tracey thought, I don’t want to die from the toxins! She didn’t know what they were, but she thought of them as little bugs that got under her skin and traveled through her body. She grabbed Mummy’s hand and held it tight.

  Mummy whispered, one big hand on Tracey’s back, the other patting her hair, “God told me, Tracey. He told me, ‘Exodus 15:13. In your unfailing love you will lead the people you have redeemed. In your strength you will guide them to your holy dwelling,’” she said. “So you see Tracey, I was put here to find you and love you and keep you safe. This is our holy dwelling. Nothing can hurt you here.”

  Safety, Tracey thought, safety from the toxins. She sniffled and pulled back from Mummy so she could see her face
. She wanted to be kept safe. She wiped her nose on her arm and was overwhelmed with relief that she hadn’t gotten in trouble for crying.

  Mummy smiled at Tracey. “I am safe. Look around us, there are no toxins here, nothing to hurt us or get into our bodies. We have each other. We have safety. We have the Lord.”

  Tracey slipped off of her lap and positioned herself to pray. She whispered, “God, if you can hear me, thank you for saving me. I want to be healthy.” She spoke quickly. “Thank you for my necklace, too.” She reached for the necklace, and held the cool gold tightly in her fingers. Mummy opened her arms, and Tracey went to her, willingly, thankfully. In the back of Tracey’s mind, she wondered why her own mother hadn’t wanted to keep her safe from the toxins. She wondered if her own mother had really loved her at all.

  Molly arrived home, let the dogs out, and went straight to her office to review the notes, drawings, and other clues that she had compiled. A stream of sunlight illuminated her desk, highlighting the drawings in her notebook. She wrote a list of each item in her notebook, and tried to decipher the clues. Her cell phone rang three times before she reached for it, and was met by a deep, unfamiliar voice.

  “Mrs. Tanner?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Sergeant Moeler from the Germantown Police Department. Officer Brown asked me to follow up on a few leads that you might have regarding the disappearance of Tracey Porter.”

  “Okay,” Molly replied, curiously.

  They agreed to meet that afternoon. Molly confirmed her address and then picked up the phone to call Cole.

  “Hey, you!” she said, happy to hear his voice.

  “How was your run?” he asked.

  “Okay. I ran into Newton, and we talked for a while.”

  “Did you go to the police station?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Did you give them the necklace and the candy wrapper?”

  Molly was silent, fiddling with her pen, trying to figure out how to answer without lying.

  “Molly? Did you give them the stuff you found?” he repeated more sternly.

  “I went there,” she said coyly.

  “Mol, I thought we agreed that the best thing to do was turn that stuff in. You can get in so much trouble!” His voice sounded flat-out angry.

  “Well, I went there with every intention of turning it in!” she insisted.

  “Mm-hm.”

  “I did! I was going to, and then when I got there, Officer Brown was…I don’t know…annoying me, and I got to thinking—what if I gave them the stuff, and they just filed it away? You know how they let cases just die out? And then I thought, well, maybe there’s more that I’m supposed to know—to gain—from the necklace and wrapper. Maybe I just haven’t looked hard enough yet.”

  “Give it in, Molly. This is no time for bullshit. This is real trouble. You’re withholding evidence!” Molly waited to hear if his voice would soften. It didn’t. “Molly, what do you think will happen when they find out? They’ll go, ‘Oh, it’s Molly Tanner, no problem, we’ll overlook it!’”

  “No!” she protested. “But…I just thought that a few more days wouldn’t hurt. Maybe I’ll track her down today, maybe tomorrow. Who knows? But something didn’t feel right,” Molly paced her office. “It felt like a betrayal to give it to them. They aren’t even doing anything to find her!” she said too loudly.

  “Do what you want, Molly, but just think of Erik and me, okay?” Cole asked, his every word biting. “What will we do while you sit in jail wondering how you could have been so stupid?”

  Molly’s bravado deflated. She knew he was right, to an extent. “Cole, they don’t know I have it. They could never know how long I’ve had it!” she pleaded. “When I turn it in, I’ll say that I just found it. Besides,” she took a deep breath, and mumbled, “the fingerprints would be gone now anyway.”

  “What?”

  “The fingerprints,” she raised her voice. “They’d be gone now anyway! I’ve touched it! It’s been in my bag! I screwed that up!” The admission weighed heavily on her. She had screwed up—again.

  “Great!” he fell silent.

  The silence was worse than when he had been yelling at her. Molly closed her eyes tightly, her tentative voice sliced through the silence, “I think I saw Kate Plummer disappear today.”

  “Tell me,” he said flatly.

  Molly told him the details of the vision, which he promptly told her was probably transference—that she had taken the details that she already knew, coupled with the guilt that she still carried for Amanda’s death, and that her mind had run with them.

  Molly rolled her eyes, Always the fact man.

  “I saw her dress. If I could find out what she was wearing when she disappeared, that would tell me if it was her or not,” she retorted.

  “And how does that help find Tracey?” he snapped.

  “I don’t know!” she said, exasperated. “Look, I’ve got to go. The police are sending someone over. I’ll call you later.” She hung up the phone before the tension could grow any thicker. She stared at the phone, wondering how she’d ever be able to repair the damage that she was creating in her marriage and knowing she wouldn’t let another child’s life end if she could help it.

  Molly pushed aside her frustrations with Cole, and mentally raced through her to-do list:

  1. Look up Kate’s clothes when missing.

  2. Who was in the cellar?

  3. Call Hannah.

  Molly turned on her computer, and, while it booted up, she walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She leaned against the sink and looked outside where Stealth and Trigger sat by the back door. She let them inside, and Stealth pushed his body against her leg as he walked by. The comforts of home settled around her, making her feel sad for Tracey, for Kate, and for Amanda. Their safety had been abruptly stolen away from them.

  The phone rang, and Molly immediately hoped it wasn’t Cole, then hated herself for the thought. Reluctantly, she reached for it, cursing herself for choosing a decorative phone instead of one with caller I.D.

  “Hello?”

  “Molly Tanner?” The voice sounded like a teenage girl’s.

  “Yes? Who is this?”

  “Someone wants you to know there’s a guy who can tell you what happened to Kate Plummer.”

  Molly’s heartbeat quickened. “Who is this?” she asked anxiously. “What guy?”

  “I don’t know,” the girl was irritated, rushed. “I just know that I’m supposed to tell you that, like, you have to find the guy.”

  “Where? Where do I find this guy? Who are you?” Molly pleaded desperately.

  “She paid me to tell you this,” she said in an annoyed, exasperated teenage fashion. “I don’t know where to find the guy. I don’t know anything about this,” the girl spat her answers. “She said, like, he would know about Tracey, too.”

  “Who paid you? I’ll pay you twice as much to tell me who paid you!” Molly said eagerly.

  “No, I can’t. I want no part of this. I…I have to go—”

  “Wait!” Molly yelled. “Just tell me who told you to call.”

  The caller covered the phone. Molly heard muffled voices. When the caller returned to the phone, she asked, “Who is Kate Plummer?”

  Molly sighed, deflated. The girl was merely a pigeon—a messenger. “Who paid you? Please tell me!” she pleaded. “A child’s life is at stake.”

  “What?” Molly heard fear in the girl’s shaky, unsure voice.

  “A child has been abducted—Tracey Porter. If you know anything, please, please tell me. This is life or death!”

  “Jesus, I’ve heard about that girl,” she said. “I saw her on the Missing Children flyer that came home from school. Fuck! I don’t want no part of this!”

  “Wait! Who told you to call me?” Molly begged. “She may be involved. I may be able to save the girl! I’ll pay you! I’ll do anything you want!”

  “Shit! Fuck this shit!” The girl
yelled distantly, as if holding the phone at arm’s length. She pulled the receiver close again, “I don’t know, alright!” she yelled. “Some woman! That’s all I know!”

  Molly’s heart sank with the resounding click. She yelled, “Goddamn it! Give me a fucking break!” Molly stared at the phone as if it were evil, “Goddamn you! Help me find her! This is goddamn bull shit!”

  For the next hour, Molly played the phone conversation over and over in her mind, like a bad rerun. She had tried to use *69 to trace the call, to no avail. She had called the operator only to be told that they didn’t offer a tracing service—she’d have to go to the police. When the doorbell rang, the dogs went crazy, barking and jumping up at the front door. Molly was frustrated. She tried to ignore the door, hoping the person would just go away.

  There was another hard rap at the door, “Mrs. Tanner?” a deep voice boomed through the door. “It’s me, Sergeant Moeler.”

  “Just a minute!” she called out, remembering their appointment and trying to decide if she should mention the phone call, knowing they’d tap her phone if she did. Undecided and flustered, she answered the door.

  The stocky man she had seen when leaving the interrogation room stood before her looking serious, then quickly smiled, revealing large, square, white teeth. Stealth and Trigger’s tails wagged excitedly next to Molly.

  “Heel!” she commanded, and they obediently came to her side. She managed a smile, “Hello, Sergeant, thanks for coming.”

  “Sorry I’m early, ma’am. I had a break so I decided to head over.” His face was warm and his blue eyes friendly. His neatly-combed brown hair and ironed uniform gave him a youthful look. He extended his hand to Molly, and Molly shook it, pensively.

  She stepped aside. “Come in. They bark but don’t bite unless they hear the secret command,” she smiled.