Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

Pastor Lett wondered how long one woman could carry on her ritual. When she had left the Perkinson House the evening before, the kid was rocking back and forth. She could not get the kid to speak to her—it was getting to be too much for her, and yet she found herself compelled to continue. Even if she had wanted to stop at that point, she wasn’t sure she could. She felt it was her calling.

As she approached the altar, she reluctantly released the bag of seeds in her pocket, withdrew her hand, lit a candle, and knelt down as she did every morning, though this day it was afternoon, with the sun already perched high in the sky. She had slept late, her arms and legs ached from her recent labor. Her mind, devoid of energy, had acquiesced to a night of dreamless sleep.

She bowed her head and whispered, “Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned. You know this, of course,” she said. “I’ve been a sinner for so many years that I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, but I am going to anyway. Please forgive me, Lord. I love this kid. I know it’s wrong—keeping the kid locked away like this.” She choked on her words, took a minute to pull herself together, and then said, “People would never understand. I need a sign, Lord. I need a sign that you understand what I have done and why.” She rested her head in her hand, her aged fingers splayed across her tired eyes, rubbing them as if by doing so, the simple motion would bring her clarity.

She startled when the doors of the church slammed closed. She jumped up and turned around, hoping her visitor had not heard what she had said. “Molly,” she said, surprised, “what brings you to church this morning?” She smoothed down her jacket and walked toward her, trying to read her expression.

“Hi, Pastor Lett,” she said, “I…I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing.” The kindness in Molly’s voice eased her mind.

As Molly limped toward her, Pastor Lett wondered if Molly could see her fatigue. Molly’s head was cocked slightly to the side, as if she were studying Pastor Lett, analyzing her. Pastor Lett wiped her face anxiously.

“I’m okay, Molly,” she said uncomfortably. “Worried about the Porters, of course, but doing well, thank you.”

Pastor Lett motioned to Molly’s wrapped ankle, “Running accident?” she asked.

“This?” Molly lifted her ankle and twisted it, looking it over. “Yeah, kind of,” she shrugged. “I’m worried about Tracey, too. As time goes by, there’s less of a chance of finding her. My God, it’s so scary.” She paused. “Oh! I’m so sorry!” she offered quickly.

“It’s okay, Molly. I’m sure He understands,” she said, motioning up toward the ceiling. “Is something on your mind? Are you feeling a bit overwhelmed? Want to talk?”

“No. Yes,” Molly said, flustered. She was feeling overwhelmed, but didn’t want to talk about it for fear that she would then have to deal with those feelings. “Pastor Lett, it’s your brother.”

Pastor Lett stiffened. She turned away to hide her discomfort and settled herself into the rear-most pew. She breathed slowly, unable to find her voice. She had known this time would eventually come. “Pastor Lett, are you okay?” Molly asked. She nodded her head in confirmation and managed, “Yes, fine. Tired.” “No wonder, with all that’s going on. It’s so reminiscent of what happened with your brother. I’m so sorry.” Pastor Lett kept her eyes trained on the wooden pew before her, wondering how much Molly knew about Rodney.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” Molly said, bringing her hands together in her lap. “I just recently learned that you had a brother,” Pastor Lett felt her glance at her, “and that you lost him.” Pastor Lett’s body visibly relaxed as the statement replaced her fear with relief. “Yes, years ago,” she said. “I know. I wanted to tell you that I’m so sorry,” Molly said. Pastor Lett felt the comfort in her voice. “Thank you,” she said. “He was a special person.”

Molly looked away, then back into her eyes, and said, “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been.” She hesitated, contemplating discussing Rodney on a level that would expose parts of her past that she’d never discussed with Pastor Lett. “May I ask you a few things about him?”

Pastor Lett repositioned herself in the pew, cleared her throat, “Sure,” she said.

“Well, I was told that he ‘knew’ things about Kate Plummer’s disappearance. Do you know about that? Anything about him knowing things?” she asked with innocence, not accusation.

“Yes,” she sighed as if she had been asked about that one too many times. “He knew a lot of things. Sadly, his gift became his misfortune. People found out.” She looked at the stained glass window on the right wall of the church, noticing for the first time how very bright the reds and yellows were against the more vivid greens and blues. The complexity of the colors, like life, made her half-smile, half-smirk.

She looked at Molly, but knew she couldn’t talk about Rodney with truth in her eyes, so she lowered her gaze. “He was apparently walking around town, like he usually did when I was running the church, or holding services, and he was repeating what he saw, or rather, what he knew—and I guess a few people heard it and went straight to the police.” Pastor Lett shrugged, rolled her shoulders backward, as if she could rid her body of a pesky ache. “I accepted long ago that those people were just trying to protect their own children. Not many people really knew Rodney.”

Molly nodded, sitting forward in the pew.

“He was the kindest boy. Never hurt a fly. He was a bit slow. Drove my parents crazy as they got on in years,” she looked away, as if reliving a memory. “They passed a few years back. Mom, of cancer, and my father, well, I think of a broken heart. I brought Rodney here with me twenty-five years ago, he was just twenty-one years old then.” At the mention of his age, Molly’s eyes grew wide. “Rodney was…an accident if you will,” she turned her head to the side and looked at Molly. “There were eleven years between us.” Molly nodded again, understandingly, she thought.

“He used to help out the residents with yard work, stuff like that, but even those he helped didn’t really get to know him. They considered it charity.”

“Pastor Lett,” she began, “I sort of… know things, too. I wanted to find out if he knew things the way I sometimes do.”

She smiled, ruefully. Everyone thinks they’re special . “Well, what do you mean?” she asked, to humor her.

“I have visions—I guess you call them that—sometimes early in the morning when I’m not really asleep but not really awake, other times when I am near a place where there is danger or something is going to happen,” she said, her hazel eyes pleading for understanding.

Pastor Lett politely paid closer attention. “Go on,” she said.

“I’m not always sure if what I see is real or not,” she looked away, as if embarrassed by her admission.

“I’ve never met anyone else who truly possessed the same power as Rodney,” Pastor Lett said. “Perhaps, Molly, your insecurities, or your past, interfere with your present,” Pastor Lett said authoritatively.

Disheartened, Molly replied, “No, I’m sure it’s not that.”

Pastor Lett continued, “When Rodney was a little boy, he used to tell me that things were going to happen. Bad things were going to happen. I never gave any credence to what he said to me, but then, as I got older and started really paying attention, I realized that they had started coming true, and the connection was undeniable.”

Molly released a breath, her disappointment subsided. “So it is true. He did know things.”