Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

“It’s okay, Ma. I guess it’s kinda cool, too. Maybe one day I’ll see some really hot girl as she gets undressed. That would be worth it!” he laughed.

“Ha ha, Erik, I wouldn’t hold your breath on that one,” Molly said, smiling. “Listen, you get some sleep. Maybe together we can solve this thing.”

“Okay, Ma.”

“Erik, one more thing,” she said to him. “Are you pretty sure it’s a guy with her? Are you pretty clear on that? You don’t think it’s a lady that looks like Hannah?”

“I’m not sure, but I keep seeing this guy. It’s like I just know he’s reaching out to her, but he’s also kind of not there. Shit! I don’t know, Mom.” Erik drew a deep breath. “I don’t know about Hannah, either, because sometimes I have flashes of her sitting on a log, or someone that looks like her. Sometimes she’s in the dark. It’s just freaky, Mom. I don’t know.”

“Okay, honey, go get some sleep,” Molly said, “and Erik, I’m glad you called. I love you.”

“Love you more, Mom. G’night.”

Molly leaned back against the couch and pet Stealth, and then remembered Trigger was still outside. “Come on, boy,” Molly said to the dog, “let’s find Trigger.”

At Trigger’s name, Stealth was instantly alert, on his feet, and bounding to the door.

Molly opened the door. Stealth pushed past her and darted ouside. Molly stepped onto the back porch and looked up at the stars, which sparkled across the dark sky, beseeching her to reach up toward them, which she did. Suddenly, the heat of large palms, the same palms she had felt at the cellar door of the Perkinson House, weighed heavily against her own. Her body was frozen, arms outstretched toward the sky. Molly’s heart beat faster. The dogs ran toward her barking frantically. She squinted, sure there was a formidable being in front of her, sure of the pressure on her hands growing stronger, and just as sure that she was alone.

Twenty

Molly had been riding the current of emotions for days. Between the daily battles with Cole and the guilt that consumed her, the guilt she thought she’d dealt with years ago, she didn’t know what, or whom, she could trust anymore. She began doubting her own determination. Molly put on her jogging clothes, the familiarity of them felt like an old friend returning, giving her renewed energy. She once again buried her doubts and decided to focus on the day before her. She looked forward to a quick trip to the police station, and then a much-needed run. She parked in front of the Country Store and greeted the Boyds Boys as she entered the store for a Power Bar and a bottle of water. She found Edie bent over a group of boxes. “Hi, Edie. How are you?” she asked, tentatively. “Fine,” Edie said, curtly. “Did I offend you somehow, Edie?” she asked.

“Not you, Molly. It’s not you,” Edie stood. “I want to know where Kate Plummer is. Why Rodney have to get hurt? I just don’t understand.” Years of bottled up anger came tumbling forward. Edie looked as if she were on the verge of tears.

Molly reached out and touched her arm. “I don’t know,” she said.

“Why no police investigate? No body, no proof!” she demanded. “Where Tracey? Where that little girl?” Tears fell from Edie’s eyes.

“I’m just as baffled as you are, Edie,” Molly said.

Edie walked away. Molly swore she heard her say, “He knows,” when she brushed past her. The hair on the back of her neck prickled with a frisson. She walked hurriedly to the front of the store, paid for her items, and escaped. Molly hurried down the concrete steps toward her van. Harley yelled behind her, “Running today?” Molly held up her bottle of water in answer. “Molly?” Harley’s tone stopped her in her tracks. “Yeah?” she replied, distracted and miffed by the glare of the day before. “Careful poking a sleeping bear. I wouldn’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

Molly thought she could walk into the police station, hand over the necklace and candy wrapper, and turn around and leave—a five-minute trip. She was surprised at how wrong she felt when she walked through the door and found the same young officer manning the front desk. A spark of recognition passed between them. “Hello, ma’am, nice to see you again,” the officer smiled. “You, too,” she said, mildly embarrassed. “Is Officer Brown in today?” she asked. A voice boomed from behind her, “Just who would like to know?”

Molly turned around and looked into the round face of Officer Brown, his hands clasped atop his protruding belly. He smiled as if there were no ill feelings between them. Molly tried to smile, to cover the angst she felt at seeing him again.

“Officer Brown,” Molly reached into her backpack, protectively touching the treasures she’d tucked away, and thinking about Harley’s comment.

“What brings you here today ?” he asked.

His shoes were dull, his brown pants wrinkled, almost as short as they were wide, and his jacket had a coffee stain on the front. Why, Molly wondered to herself, was she so worried about this unkempt man? She stood up straighter and decided that she would not be intimidated by him.

“I was wondering if we could talk for a minute,” she said, trying to summon her business voice from her Philadelphia days.

“Well, we surely can,” he said. He waddled in front of Molly and led her down the hallway towards the interrogation room. He winked as he passed her.

You wish , Molly thought, cringing inwardly.

Molly followed him, feeling oddly like a school girl walking to the principal’s office, unsure how to turn over the evidence without appearing guilty. Her mind wrestled with the pros and cons, but she could not bring back her resolve to give up those pieces of Tracey.

“After you, Mrs. Tanner,” Officer Brown held the door open.

“Thank you,” Molly said, clutching her backpack.

Molly sat on the same cold chair, in the same stale room, facing the same two-way mirror, and felt even more like a suspect. She reminded herself that she was there by choice—she could get up and leave if she wanted. She held the backpack in her lap, realizing that by not turning over the evidence, she was, in fact, a criminal. She rationalized in her mind that she could keep them for one more day—in case there were more messages to come, even though she knew that doing so would cause strife in her marriage. Her marriage—that was another thing Molly couldn’t worry about at the moment.

Officer Brown sat across from Molly, staring expectantly at her, his hands resting across his stomach.

“Mrs. Tanner?” he smiled. “Do you have something to tell me?”

Does he think I am here to confess? Molly was taken by surprise. “Excuse me?”

“I assume,” he adjusted his too large body in the too small seat, “that there is some reason you’re here.”

“Of course—sorry,” Molly said. “I was just wondering,” she paused, having difficulty concentrating. She glanced around the room and images came at her fast, stealing her concentration: An image of a mother crying, while her teenage son sat across the very same table, head in his hands, ashamed; an image of a large man, his veins bursting with anger, arrested after raping a young girl. They came at Molly with such power that it took her a moment to regroup, so long, in fact, that Officer Brown had asked her if she was alright.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little sidetracked, Officer Brown,” Molly sat up straighter, scrambling to come up with a reason for her visit.

Officer Brown looked up at the ceiling, rubbing his chin with his left index finger and thumb. His neck jiggled with each movement. “Mrs. Tanner?” Molly jumped in her seat. “Is there something else, Mrs. Tanner?” he asked. Molly leaned her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Officer Brown, no one was charged in Rodney’s murder, right?” He frowned, a little annoyed, “Right, yes. We’ve been over this before.” He straightened his back, looking at her more seriously. “But you never found Kate Plummer, either?”