Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

Molly rubbed her ankle. “I guess, yeah. I hope they find her, Cole. You know, the longer it is with no clues, the harder it gets, until…” She found it too difficult to think about what came next.

“They’ll find her, Mol, don’t worry. It’s a small town, someone probably saw something.”

The way his voice trailed off, Molly knew that he’d realized what he’d said, and what it meant to her. He was trying to remain hopeful about Tracey, she knew, but this wasn’t about hope. She’d seen something. She’d failed Amanda, and they both knew it. Her inability to let go of that guilt lay between them like a great chasm.

Within fifteen minutes of Nelly’s emergency call, the fields were swarming with police officers. They weaved in and out of the fields, walking in neat rows so as not to miss the smallest hint of a child. They filtered into the woods in groups of three, some called out Tracey’s name. Others just yelled out, “Hello!”

Suddenly, the officers converged on the lower field, less than fifty feet from where Molly had fallen. “Get back!” Molly heard someone yell. “Give us some room!” This was followed by loud gasps and murmurs.

Molly felt supremely frustrated—watching from afar and longing to run into the field. She tried to stand, but her ankle sent a sharp pain shooting up her calf. Nelly ran out of Kerr Hall, where she had been tending to the children, and said, “What happened? I heard yelling.”

“Over there,” Molly pointed to the area where the search party had gathered. “They found something. Oh God, Nelly, I hope it’s Tracey! Go see, please!” Molly watched her run toward the commotion. She hadn’t made her way halfway through the field when the crowd began to disperse. Nelly stopped to talk to a middle-aged police officer. Molly watched as Nelly’s shoulders dropped. She feared the worst. Nelly ran back to her and sat down on the picnic bench, out of breath. “They found…” she paused as she caught her breath, and Molly held hers. “What? What is it? Did they find her?” she asked. Nelly’s face was drawn, as if she carried horrific news. “They found a family of foxes.” She put her hand on Molly’s knee. “I’m so sorry.”

Molly exhaled, confused. She looked toward the field and could feel her entire body deflate. Her renewed hope dwindled. Tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving thin wet streaks. “What…” she whispered, “what about the crying?”

“The mother fox is injured. It looks like she has a broken leg, and when she heard you coming she must have been trying to get her cubs to safety. The crying must have been her screaming in pain as she moved them along.”

The enormity of the disappointment devoured Molly. She could barely focus on what Nelly was telling her.

“They said they’ll probably have to put her down. I don’t know about the pups, though.” Nelly stood up, “I’m going to get you some juice. I’ll be right back.” She started toward Kerr Hall, paused, and turned back to Molly. “The oddest thing, though, one of the baby foxes had one of those Airhead candies in its mouth. When they approached the pup, he dropped it and curled up around it.” She looked toward the field. “Weird, huh?”

Molly reached for the picnic table as the world around her began to spin. The taste of apple candy pooled in her mouth.

Molly was sitting at her computer, her leg elevated, and a bag of frozen peas perched atop the swollen protrusion that was her ankle when she heard Cole enter the den. She didn’t look at him, for fear of hearing those dreaded words, “I told you so.” She feared she’d cry, the devastation of the foxes still rode the surface of her emotions. He walked behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, kissing the top of her head. “Hi,” he said sweetly. She craned her neck back and looked up at him. “I brought you something,” he said, handing her a plastic bag.

Molly loved presents, even the smallest of gifts—a card, a token from an airport—she was appreciative of the thought behind them, and Cole always seemed to give her a little something at just the right time.

She grabbed the bag and reached her hand inside, curiously. “What is it?” She grasped the gift, recognized the feel of it, and said, “Oh no! You have to stop doing this.” She pulled the sack of Hershey’s Gold miniature candy bars from the bag, “I didn’t even get to run today. I’ll be as big as a cow soon!”

“I figured you could use a pick-me-up,” he said, and started toward the family room. “Besides,” he called over his shoulder, “you can put them away and eat just one each day.”

“Yeah,” she called back, laughing, “you know how that works. I’ll hide them from myself, then spend every two minutes jumping up to get one, as if there’s a spring on my butt, until the entire bag is gone.” She stuffed the candies in her desk drawer and locked it. “Thank you!” she called out.

Molly spent hours researching “ground-emitting heat” on the internet, to no avail. She had skipped dinner, asked Cole to fend for himself because of her ankle, a convenient excuse, and had Cole take their dogs for their nightly walk. She had dismissed the call from her mother, and once again put off calling Erik. Frustration brewed within her—there didn’t seem to be any plausible reason for the phenomenon. She read about the greenhouse effect, heat flux, man and nature, physical geography as modified by human action, and several other topics that a week before she couldn’t have cared less about.

She spun around on her chair and decided to take a different angle. She accessed the library resources, which made the old microfiche archives seem like the dark ages—a skill she learned from her technological-virgin of a husband, who had learned it from his library specialist at work. She searched “Kate Plummer” and immediately found several sites referencing the little girl’s disappearance. She scanned through as many as she was able before fatigue set in. The only new information she gained was that the investigation had ended shortly after Rodney Lett had been killed.

Molly leaned back in her chair, listening to the sounds of the television filter in from the family room. She sat up suddenly, disliking herself as she turned back to her laptop and googled “Hannah Slate”. Nine pages of data were found. The new search renewed her energy, and she scanned the materials until finally finding something relevant to the Hannah Slate she knew. A local Gazette article in the Community News and Events section recognized her for her many contributions to the community regarding equestrian issues and lobbying efforts, and noted her twenty-plus years of employment at the Department of the Navy. It also noted her recovery from a hospital stay for “undisclosed trauma.” The article was from the same year as Hannah’s divorce. Molly recalled attending a prayer meeting, at the urging of Pastor Lett, when she had moved to Boyds. It was there that she had first met Hannah who’d been attending the prayer group since her divorce. Molly shuddered, remembering how she had wanted to run from that room, the religious overtone too strong for her at a time when she had been so angry at God.

Molly’s eyes grew tired, and she scolded herself for thinking that Hannah could have been involved in Tracey’s disappearance.

Molly shut down her computer and put the bag of watery peas into the freezer. She hobbled past Cole, asleep in the family room, and gingerly mounted the stairs. She crawled into bed and quickly fell asleep. She was awakened an hour later as Cole wrapped his warm body around hers like a cocoon. Her body settled against his, and she fell asleep, comforted by his embrace.

Nine

Molly woke with a start at dawn, covered in sweat and shaking all over. She sat upright in bed, took a deep cleansing breath, and tried to maintain the flow of air to her lungs, a sickeningly sweet syrupy taste swam in her mouth. As she’d done many times before, she leaned over and grabbed her notepad and pen from the wooden nightstand. She began quickly sketching the images as they flew through her mind: a dark cavernous hole, trails leading out of the hole and into other shadowy cavernous rooms, a wooden box the size of a crate of wine, sealed with nails. Just as Molly’s throat began to relax, her mind was assailed again, thrusting her body forward. Cole rolled away from Molly, unaware of her difficulty. The image of a shovel flashed before her and was blacked out by a thick mass of trees. As quickly as Molly was overwhelmed by the Knowing, it vanished, leaving her exhausted and energized at the same time. It had taken Molly thirty years to understand the difference between dreams and visions, thirty years to realize that looking out a window after a dream washed it away, leaving a mere shadow in her mind, while nothing could erase the images from her visions which lingered for days, taunting her and leaving her feeling adrift, helpless, and curious.