Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

Molly sighed with relief that Cole was home. The clutter of her busy mind had finally been waylaid by the contentment of the soothing bath.

“Baby,” Cole whispered, his breath was warm against her cheek. “Have you been doing a little shopping?” She sighed and opened her eyes. “Hi.” “Tired?” he asked. “Mm-hmm,” she said, closing her eyes again. “Sweetie, you’ve got a package.” He held up the padded envelope, swinging it teasingly in front of her. “I didn’t order anything,” Molly said. “Your baseball cards? Ebay maybe?”

He shrugged and ripped open the package, shaking the contents, an old newspaper clipping, into his hand. Molly raised her eyebrows.

Cole scanned the article, “It’s an article about Rodney Lett.”

Molly read the concern in his eyes, heard the annoyance in his voice.

“It says that he was beaten to death and that he was responsible for the abduction of Kate Plummer. Mol, this is from October 1989. ”

“Who sent it?” she asked, nervously rising to her feet and draining the water from the tub.

“Who knows, Molly?” he said agitated. “What exactly are you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?”

Molly tried to calm his anger and temper her own growing concern, “It’s probably nothing. It’s a gag or something. No one even knows what I’m doing.” She leaned her naked body forward and put her arms around his neck, ignoring the irritation on his face. “C’mon,” she pleaded. “Don’t ruin tonight.” Cole resisted her efforts. She kissed his cheek, his neck. “Don’t be mad at me, Cole,” she said between kisses. “I didn’t write the note.” “You need to tell the police,” his tone had softened. “Mm-hmm.” She felt the tension in his shoulders release as he pulled her toward him and kissed her lips. “Whoa, wait a minute,” she laughed, “we have to get ready. Hand me a towel?” Cole stood in front of her, leering lustily, and holding the towel just out of her reach, “Not so quickly.”

Molly blushed, turned away from him, and feigned anger. He wrapped his arms around her, the water from her wet body soaked his clothes. Standing in the bathtub brought her closer to his height. Embarrassed, Molly pushed him away, “Okay, towel, please.”

He playfully tossed her the towel, grinning like a Cheshire cat. As he walked out of the bathroom, he picked up the torn package and looked it over. “Mol, there’s no return address.” He ripped the package completely open and inside was a yellow Post-It note. Cole’s face swiftly changed from lovingly playful to clearly annoyed once again. “Molly,” his tone was serious, angry, “what the hell is going on?”

She looked at him in confusion.

He crushed the note in his fist and threw it, and the torn package, into the trash can and stormed from the room. Molly hurried over to the can to retrieve the crumpled paper, unfolding it as quickly as she could. Scrawled in pencil were the words:

LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE.

Pastor Lett stood against the wall, waiting for the right time to let her presence be known. The kid stood like a statue in the dimly-lit room. She watched the kid turn slowly on trembling legs.

Her eyes met the kid’s. “Honey,” she said in a low, gentle voice, “it’s me. It’s okay.”

The kid stared at her as if she were a stranger. Guilt rose within her, and she pushed it away as her irritation grew. She walked closer to the kid, leaving the garbage bag behind on the dirt floor.

She had thought they’d established an understood vow of compliance, an acknowledgement of how things had to be in order for them to live happily. What had changed? Why, she wondered, had the kid reverted to fear? But she knew why. She knew she had crossed the line, scared the kid—perhaps beyond repair. She moved closer, slowly, crouching down so she wasn’t too imposing. “Honey, it’s okay. I’m here to take care of you, to keep you safe. We’re going to be happy.” She reached toward the kid, but the kid pulled back, out of her reach. “God put me on this Earth to care for you,” her voice rose, and she tried to gain control of her emotions. She wiggled her fingers, urging the kid toward her. “C’mon, it’s okay.” Slowly the kid moved, hesitantly, toward her.

“That’s right, sweetie. Come to me.” Pastor Lett reached out and pulled the kid’s reluctant body close, “What were you doing, honey?”

The kid stared up at her—big round beautiful eyes, innocent and scared. Pastor Lett held the kid at arm’s length, her heart pounded with love and admiration, mixed with an underlying grief. She hated holding the kid hostage like that. She knew the kid should be outside, enjoying life, not stuck in this damn dungeon. She whispered, “Were you getting ready to pray? Talking to God?” The kid nodded nervously. “It’s okay. We all talk to God.” The kid looked up, acknowledging her words with a sense of relief. “What were you praying for? Do you need something?” Pastor Lett asked. Her question was met with silence. “What do you want from God? Are you not happy?” she asked, desperately wanting to make things as comfortable as she was able.

The kid began rocking, barely noticeable at first. Pastor Lett had seen it before, a slight rock back and forth, almost non-existent, yet she understood the message—the kid was uneasy, frightened.

“Sweetie, let it out. I can help,” Pastor Lett urged. “Let’s see what I’ve brought you!” she said, reaching for the bags. The kid eyed the bags curiously. Pastor Lett reached deep inside the bag and pulled out a stuffed bunny. The kid’s eyes lit up, and Pastor Lett handed the prize over, gratified. The kid held it tight, then tucked it under one arm.

“There’s that smile I love,” she said. “Let’s see what else I’ve brought you.” The kid moved closer, less afraid, renouncing the rocking for the promise of gifts.

Pastor Lett reached into the bag and pulled out a brown shirt and white sweater. “What is this?” she teased. “It looks like clothes.” Pastor Lett held the clothing up, pretending to inspect them. “Hm, they look to be just about your size.” She glanced at the kid, “Let’s just see if they might fit.” She held them up. “Yup. Perfect. They must be yours!”

The kid snagged the clothing from Pastor Lett’s hands. Pastor Lett watched the kid smell the clothing, smile. Her spirits lifted. As much as she loathed material items bringing joy, at times it was all she had to offer. She was well aware of what she had done, what she would continue to do, but people had forced it upon her. She was compelled to live a lie. It was unfair, and she knew it. The kid was often left alone, and she hated that, but she knew, or at least she hoped, that God would look over their place, protecting them from harm, protecting them from the cruel, unforgiving world.

The kid stared at the bag, wordlessly asking for more. Pastor Lett pushed aside her melancholy thoughts and laughed a little. “Oh, you want to see what else I might have brought? Don’t you have enough yet, kiddo?”

The kid smiled.

“Okay, well, let’s see,” she said, trying to keep the mood lighter than it had been. She put her arm in the bag and pretended that the item was stuck, cringing and pulling backward. “I can’t get it out,” her voice was strained as she pretended to use all of her strength to retrieve the contents of the bag.

The kid’s face contorted, painfully waiting for the prize to be revealed.

“It’s stuck in here,” Pastor Lett said. She pretended to be yanked into the bag, flailing her head and arms and falling to the floor.

The kid laughed.

Pastor Lett’s voice was muffled by the bag, “Help! Help! Honey, I’m stuck!”

There was a moment’s hesitation—then Pastor Lett felt warm hands on her back as the kid tried to pull her from the bag. She used all of her strength to remain in the bag, continuing the game, relishing in the kid’s delight. After a minute, they both fell backward, tumbling together, laughter filling the dimly-lit room. Slowly, their laughter faded, and Pastor Lett peeked in the bag, creating a dramatic scene—eyes wide, arms outstretched. She turned to the kid, “No way am I going in there again.” She sat back on her heels. “You go,” she instructed.