Chasing Amanda

by Melissa Foster

  Tracey remembered what came next. It was her favorite part. Her voice grew louder as her confidence grew. The words flowed as easily as a nursery rhyme. “We thank You for giving your angels charge over us to keep us in all ways and that your angels’ hands will lift us up so we do not dash our foot against a stone. We thank You that we can tread upon the lion and serpent and trample the young lion and the dragon under our feet. We thank You that when we call upon You, You will answer us, be with us in trouble, deliver us, honor us, satisfy us with a long life, and show us your salvation.”

  Mummy took her hand, and together they said, “Amen!” She pulled Tracey in her arms and hugged her tight. Tracey was proud of herself and gleamed with excitement.

  They climbed the stairs, Molly following Pastor Lett down the dimly-lit hallway. Tormented sounds came from the room at the end of the hall. From her visions, Molly recognized the burly mass of a man who sat huddled on the floor of the dark room, rocking furiously, forward and back, forward and back, his head bent over his lap, his hands clasped firmly together. The weight of his upper body propelled him, picking up momentum with each forward motion.

  “Rodney,” she whispered.

  Pastor Lett looked at her with almost imperceptible relief, “Yes, this is my brother, Rodney.”

  “How long has he been like this?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I found him this way,” she spoke with concern.

  “Does he always do this? Rock?”

  “Only when he has visions—but never this hard, and he never…he never cries,” Pastor Lett’s voice rose with her elevating panic.

  Molly looked down and noticed wet stains on Rodney’s thighs and tears that streaked his face. Pastor Lett moved closer to Rodney, reaching her arm around her younger brother’s back. Rodney was completely unaware of the familiar touch.

  “Honey,” Pastor Lett said, “what is it? What’s wrong?”

  Rodney didn’t acknowledge her presence.

  “Rodney, let me help you,” she urged.

  There was still no response.

  Rodney made no move to look at his sister or at Molly. He rocked harder, faster. Molly moved to his side, compelled by the connection of the drawings to her visions. She placed her hand on top of his. Rodney opened his eyes and lifted his gaze. His body shifted slightly, out from the safety of Pastor Lett’s embrace. He spoke in a quiet monotone, “M…Molly.” Molly gasped, alarmed, and stepped backward. Rodney dropped his gaze again, his rocking pace quickened.

  Suddenly he stopped rocking. “Rodney know Molly!” he said in a hushed, serious tone. “Molly see bluebirds,” he cocked his head, as if waiting for an answer. Molly stood stock still. “Rodney see bluebirds,” he said, slowly rising to his feet, and towering over Molly. She stepped backwards once again, aligning herself with Pastor Lett. Rodney reached his enormous hands out and grabbed Molly’s hands. Molly stiffened. He lifted his hands and placed his palms flat against hers. A look of wonder crept across his face. “Rodney know Molly!” he crooned.

  “It was you,” she whispered, feeling the perfect fit of his giant paws against her own small, shaking hands.

  “Molly find girl.” He stared at Molly expectantly, lowering his hands to his sides.

  Images raced through Molly’s mind. Her brain somehow confused Amanda with Tracey, and suddenly she couldn’t separate the two. I’m okay. It’s not my fault, she told herself, grappling to remain in the present and not slip into the past. She lifted the drawings of a woman with a child—eating, playing, walking one in front of the other, on their knees praying—the harshly-drawn pictures of trees and bushes, the forest floor, and in an uneasy voice, Molly asked, “Who is this, Rodney? Who is this little girl?”

  Rodney stared.

  “Do I know this girl?” she persisted.

  His chin dropped—half a nod.

  “Amanda? Is this her, Rodney?” she said, accusingly.

  Rodney touched her arm, and in that second she understood. It was not Amanda. It was Tracey. Her eyes darted quickly to Pastor Lett. “Is this the girl that’s missing?”

  Pastor Lett simply lifted her eyebrows.

  “Not missing,” Rodney answered flatly. “Girl not missing. Girl in dark place,” he said. “You see them, too.”

  Molly saw Pastor Lett lean forward, listening intently. She bit her lower lip and took a deep breath. “See who?” she asked, fearing that even she’d forgotten her path.

  “The girl. Mommy.”

  “Who is the girl, Rodney?” Pastor Lett asked.

  “Molly know who girl is!” Rodney looked at Pastor Lett sternly and said in an angry, guarded tone, “Carla not know. Molly know!” Rodney turned away from them.

  Molly’s eyes darted between the giant man before her and Pastor Lett, who paced, clenching and unclenching her eyes, fisting her hands. A moment later there was a loud thud. Rodney had dropped to his knees. Molly ran to his side. Rodney rocked, emitting a short, low moan. Instantly, the movie Son Rise flashed in Molly’s mind. She dropped to her knees next to Rodney, and began to rock at the same fast pace. “Is it Tracey?” Molly asked.

  At the sound of her voice, Rodney stopped rocking. He made no move to look at her, but sat still, tears dripping from his chin. He began rocking again, slowly. Pastor Lett stood by, anxiously frustrated. Molly was on the verge of tears, her nerve endings afire. She reached for her bag and withdrew the necklace and candy wrapper, silently placing them on the floor in front of Rodney. He closed his eyes, and he stopped rocking again. Pastor Lett stopped pacing, her eyes trained on her younger brother, concern written all over her face. Rodney reached his bulky hand out and covered the necklace and wrapper slowly, not touching them, but cupping his hand over them, as if he’d caught a mouse. He began to moan, a long, low, sorrowful sound, which broke only as he took a shallow, almost invisible breath. He rocked slowly again, leaving his hand protectively over the treasures.

  Molly knew she was crossing dangerous territory. She had no idea how Rodney would react, only that he would. She spoke in a calm, measured voice, “Rodney, tell me.”

  The moan continued. He scooped the items into his cupped hands and lifted them to his face. He breathed in deeply through his nose, his eyes firmly shut. Molly’s thoughts were scattered, consumed by both excitement and fear, she knew all too well the gripping, gut-wrenching feeling that he was sure to be experiencing.

  His hands began to shake, and the moaning grew louder. Pastor Lett rushed to his side, but Molly put up her hand and shook her head. His moan turned to sobs, wracking his body, his large chest heaved up and down as his hands remained cupped below his nose. He sobbed so hard that Molly wanted to beg him to stop. Just when she felt she could no longer fight the urge to comfort him, he turned to her and opened his eyes. He lowered his hands. Constant tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “Rodney?” Molly whispered.

  He shook his head. Tears welled in Molly’s eyes, fearing the worst. Rodney moved his hands under hers, her hands rested on the thick base of his thumbs. Molly closed her eyes and was met with an insistent force, one that she could not escape, a force that was more powerful than anything she had ever experienced. The taste of candy apple filled her mouth, saliva pooled below her tongue and seeped around her teeth. Images came at her at an alarming rate, almost too fast to recognize: the image of a young girl passing through a familiar wooden opening. Pitch dark tunnels, and a deep, hollow hole—a lantern illuminated a tall woman with dark hair and a small girl. A rush of ease and acceptance passed through Molly, which she knew came from Tracey—a contentedness, which scared Molly even more than if she’d been terrified. Molly’s breath caught and somehow she realized that the moaning she was hearing was now coming from her own throat.

  Rodney pulled his hands away, and Molly opened her eyes, instantly finding his and holding his stare. The Knowing passed between them like a secret. Rodney turned Molly’s hands over, placing the necklace and candy wrapper in her palms. He withdrew his hands and no
dded. Molly stood on shaky legs, clinging to Pastor Lett as if she were about to slip underwater. “I know where she is,” she whispered.

  Twenty Six

  The afternoon seemed to Tracey to go on forever, and she was anxious to get out of their small room and play. She was proud to have remembered the words to their prayer this morning. Seeing the joy in Mummy’s face, feeling her happy embrace at her success had given Tracey confidence. She watched Mummy write in her journal, mumbling under her breath.

  “Mummy, can we go outside?” Tracey asked.

  Mummy turned to her, a faraway look in her eyes, opened her mouth to speak, then turned silently back to her journal.

  “Mummy?” Tracey asked again.

  Mummy’s pencil stopped moving. She kept her eyes trained on the full page. “They didn’t want me,” Mummy said quietly, then scribbled furiously in the journal.

  Tracey bit her lower lip, confused. “What Mummy?”

  Mummy did not answer. Tracey knew better than to push. She sat quietly on the mattress watching Mummy, and wondering why Mummy was acting so weird. She stretched out on the mattress, her head resting on her forearms.

  Mummy stood up and paced. Tracey rolled over and watched her. As if she’d just realized Tracey was in the room, Mummy abruptly stopped pacing and glared at her.

  Tracey sat up and pulled her knees into her chest, new fear forming.

  Mummy shook her head. “That won’t do,” she said.

  Tracey panicked, “I’m sorry!” she said breathlessly.

  A funny smile crept across Mummy’s face. “Yes, let’s play.”

  “I haven’t told anyone where he is. Not even our parents knew.” Pastor Lett’s eyes remained on the road before her. “They believed he was dead and buried.” There was a coldness to her voice, the shock of where they were headed still fresh.

  Molly didn’t know what to do other than comfort her. “You’ve held onto this burden for so long.”

  “It’s no burden,” she said. “Rodney is not a burden.”

  “No, not Rodney, I’m talking about the secret. I mean, you must feel the weight of it, like a tether holding you down. You must have wanted to cut it free hundreds of times.”

  She nodded.

  “Your parents—why?” she asked.

  “Because if anyone came looking for Rodney, as you did,” she looked up at her accusingly, “they would have found him if I didn’t have him buried—and he might have met the same fate once again.”

  Molly asked her how she had been able to fake the burial, and her explanation seemed convenient.

  “I told the coroner that I wanted to bring his body in and be with it until it was in the coffin and sealed for his final interment. I was long-time friends with the embalmer. He owed me one. I knew I could trust him.” She ran her hand over her face again, as if wiping away the thought of it. “That night we took him to his house, and together we nursed him back to health. He pretended to do the embalming, and we packed the casket with sand bags—a lot of sand bags, Rodney’s a big guy. My parents, they didn’t want to care for Rodney, not when he started having visions. It was too much for them. In the years he was with me here, they never even visited him, so I didn’t figure it was any worse for them if they thought he had passed on.”

  “Jesus,” Molly said, instinctively covering her mouth with her hand, and whispering from behind her fingers, “sorry!”

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  Molly watched her reach into her pocket for her sunflower seeds and slip a few into her mouth. Her jaw quickly went to work on the tiny shells.

  “Do you see him often?” Molly asked.

  She nodded. “I see him often. You see, that’s the wonderful thing about being a pastor. No one holds your schedule. There is no time clock. I have freedom to simply tell my secretary that I’ll be gone a few hours, and she doesn’t question me, ever.” She sighed, a long, relieved, sigh.

  Silent minutes passed like hours.

  Molly’s nerves were on fire. Pastor Lett parked the car and Molly asked, carefully, “Does he remember…the beating?”

  Pastor Lett shook her head. “He remembers living with me here, in Boyds, and he seems haunted by the little girl who was in a dark place with her mommy. Sometimes it gets really bad, and he goes into his own little world, rocking and saying things over and over, like he used to, but,” she smiled, “he’s alive, Molly, and for me, that’s been all that matters.” She stared at the road before them. “But the drawings,” she paused, then looked at Molly, “and the state he’s in today…”

  As they pulled into the parking lot, Molly turned to Pastor Lett, “We have to make a decision. Do we go on our own or call the police?” Molly spoke before Pastor Lett could voice her concern. “I won’t mention Rodney. This can be all me—my vision, as far as they know.”

  Pastor Lett’s body visibly relaxed. She pulled Molly’s cell phone from her bag and handed it to her. The light of the afternoon had gone, replaced with a cool, gray evening. Molly dialed Sergeant Moeler’s number, his voice instantly calmed her. “Mike,” she said, relieved.

  “Molly,” he said flatly.

  Molly paused at the tone of his voice, “I need to talk to you and Sal. I know where she is.” She listened to Mike sigh on the other end of the phone. “Mike?” she said tentatively.

  “Molly, we’re not—”

  “Mike! This is important. I know where to find Tracey!” she said emphatically, annoyed at his hesitation. Something was very wrong.

  “Molly, we aren’t going to follow your leads right now,” he said in a professional, cold tone. “Officer Brown felt that today was a big waste of station time and money.”

  Molly’s jaw dropped. “But—”

  “Molly,” Mike said dismissively, then spoke in a kinder tone, “Sal and I appreciate all that you’re doing. We even think it’s possible that you might have these…visions…or whatever they are, but we can’t waste resources on hunches.”

  She was pissed, “Hunches? That’s what you think these are? I can’t even believe this! I know where she is! Please!

  “I’m sorry, Molly.”

  Pastor Lett gave her a sympathetic look as she cursed at the dead phone line.

  “Sorry,” Molly said as she dialed Cole’s number. She told him what had transpired. “Cole, can you come with me? Please? I need you.” Nerves made her chest ache.

  “Tunnels, Molly? You really want to go traipsing through some freaking tunnels in the dark? No way. Now you’re going too far. This is a job for the police, not you.” Cole’s voice sounded firm, angry.

  “I told you, they won’t come!” she said defensively.

  “Doesn’t that tell you something, Molly?”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck what the police say, Cole. I know where Tracey is! I saw it all! Will you come or not, because I’m going!” her hands shook. She ignored the incredulous look on Pastor Lett’s face. She was consumed with anger, which only fueled her determination to go into the tunnels and find Tracey.

  “If you go, Molly, that’s it. I’m done.”

  “What?” she could not believe the threat.

  “You heard me. This time, Molly, you’re going too far. You’re putting yourself in what could be severe danger—and if the police don’t believe you, then back off. You have no business in those tunnels, and I’m not going to be waiting around when you come out empty-handed.”

  Molly had never heard Cole that angry, not once in all the years she had known him. She contemplated his words but could not turn her back on Tracey as she had on Amanda. Molly was haunted by images of five-year-old Amanda’s terrified eyes, her screams, as she was shoved into the black minivan almost ten years earlier. The look of the man’s eyes as she turned to Molly in the parking lot and said, “She didn’t get the dolly she wanted.” If only she’d gotten involved. If only she’d followed her gut. If only she hadn’t turned her back on the dreams she’d had over the ensuing three days. Maybe then Amanda would stil
l be here, alive, her abductor in jail. She’d be damned if she’d have the blood of another child on her hands.

  With no small amount of fear—fear at what looked like the end of her marriage—she said, “You do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I have to do.” With trembling fingers, she disconnected the call.

  The church parking lot was empty, illuminated by two lights perched at either end of the lot. As she drove over the curb and up the grassy hill toward the campsite, Pastor Lett tried to convince Molly not to go forward with her plans, citing the dangers, the unknown, but Molly was adamant. She asked Pastor Lett to wait outside the tunnels, just in case she did not return. On the outside, Molly was confident, determined. On the inside, she was petrified. The thought of losing Cole devastated her, but the thought of Tracey being in those tunnels for one minute more than she had to be, the thought of not finding Tracey alive, drove her to override her own dilemma and push forward. Pastor Lett stepped out of her car and opened the trunk, returning with two industrial-sized flash lights.

  Molly nodded, afraid her voice would fail her.

  They crested the hill to the end of the tree line that led to the clearing. Molly took long deep breaths to calm herself. She turned to Pastor Lett and said, “I’m sorry, for everything.”

  She nodded solemnly. They got out of the car and walked down the path toward the campsite, her energy renewed with each step, hope forming in the illuminated path before her. Pastor Lett put a hand on Molly’s shoulder. “Are you sure you want to do this? You could be endangering yourself and maybe even Tracey,” she tried again to dissuade her. “We could go to the station and convince them, come back later.”