Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

Sergeant Moeler laughed, a quiet, confirmatory laugh. “Well, at least you read people well, but there’s more to him than you see. I’ve worked with him for three years, and it never fails to amaze me how it appears he’s doing nothing all day, and then he solves cases,” he snapped his fingers, “just like that. I don’t have a choice, Molly. I have to give him the information. He’ll delegate it, probably, and I’ll try and stay on top of it.”

Molly fell onto her living room couch, propped up her feet, and questioned her motive for not revealing the phone call, which seemed to have slipped her mind the minute Sergeant Moeler had walked into the house. The dogs panted in Molly’s face. She shooed them away. Reluctantly, they sulked to the other side of the room and lay down.

Just as she began to relax, her cell phone rang. She debated letting it go to voicemail and begrudgingly pushed herself off of the couch to retrieve her phone; Hannah Slate flashed on the screen. “Hello?” she could not hide her irritation. “Molly!” Hannah’s voice was overly enthusiastic. “Hannah, hi, how are you?” Molly faked levity.

“I’m just fine, thanks,” she said. “I was just going out for a walk and thought you might enjoy coming with me. I was so sorry to have missed you yesterday.”

Molly’s first inclination was to decline, but then she reconsidered.

“Hannah, I hope you know where we’re going,” Molly said, “because I’m totally lost.”

“Of course I do,” Hannah laughed. “Did you think I’d bring you out in the woods and leave you here to find your way out?”

When she paused after her strange statement, Molly knew a moment of nervous fear—half wishing she had left a trail of crumbs like Hansel and Gretel.

“Come on, Molly,” she tugged on Molly’s sleeve. “I’ve been in and out of these woods for over thirty years. We’re nearing Schaeffer Road by now, I would say.”

“How the heck did we get there without crossing White Ground?” Molly asked, perplexed.

“We did cross it, at the other end of the stream. You were just too busy to notice,” Hannah stopped to rest.

Molly set her backpack on the ground and crouched next to a stream that snaked through the woods.

“This is one of my favorite places,” Hannah said. “Come here a minute. I want to show you something.” She walked up the slight incline, looking carefully at all of the large trees.

Molly watched Hannah from behind, her ponytail swayed with each step, her body tall and strong. Hannah splayed her hands on a large beech tree, gazed upward. “Look here,” Hannah beckoned Molly to come forward. Molly looked at the tree curiously. Hannah pulled Molly gently to the spot where she had been standing. “Now do you see it?” “I see something,” Molly squinted.

Hannah’s voice grew quiet, and her eyes, introspective. “That, my friend, is a heart that I carved into this tree when I first arrived in Boyds.”

Molly looked at the bark, where it had curled back from the grooves. “Your and Charlie’s initials?”

“No. What’s inside that heart is sacred—but it’s not me and Charlie. Some people aren’t meant to be remembered.”

They crossed another section of road. Molly recognized the one-lane bridge, so small it almost didn’t exist, and the creek bed that grew slender as it passed under the bridge, then widened just beyond. The bridge linked White Ground and Schaeffer Roads. They climbed the grassy bank and headed back into the seclusion of the woods. The roar of several small motors broke into the silence.

Hannah crinkled her nose and looked up toward the sky, “The model airpark. The bane of my existence.”

“Boyds has an airpark?” Molly was intrigued.

“You’re right next to it, Molly.” Hannah blocked the sun with her right hand, and pointed with her left beyond the bushes. “They have limited times that they can run the planes, but when they do, they sure are noisy.”

Molly had a nagging feeling that she should have known about the airpark.

They turned away and continued on their hike, eventually reaching the Schaeffer Farm Trail, another place Molly had never seen. “This is beautiful,” she said. “I love Boyds.”

“There’s a reason I’m still here, you know,” Hannah said.

Molly listened intently, hoping for what? A confession? Hannah was her friend. She didn’t want Hannah to be guilty of anything, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Hannah was hiding something.

They talked about Tracey’s disappearance and how similar it was to Kate’s. They shared their sadness for Pastor Lett’s loss of her brother, and Molly asked Hannah if she’d thought Rodney had been involved.

“Don’t be silly. I knew Rodney fairly well. He was kind and gentle, like Carla. I still don’t know what possessed the police to drag him in for questioning. Just like that, they were the catalyst for his murder.” As she spoke, her voice became agitated.

“What do you think happened to Kate?” Molly asked.

“I don’t know. Some people say she was taken by someone from out of town. Others say she’s holed up somewhere with a child molester. If she is alive, I just hope she’s okay.” She looked beyond Molly and grew silent. “Shhh, listen,” Hannah whispered.

Molly listened. Shouts and children’s laughter carried almost inaudibly through the air. The sun, high in the sky, had long ago tipped over the noon time ridge.

“The Adventure Park,” Hannah said in an annoyed, sharp voice, and pointed beyond Molly. “It’s right over there. I was not pleased when they put the park in. It ruined a perfect setting.”

They continued in the direction of the Adventure Park, and eventually Molly came to recognize where they were. Hannah walked right over to where Molly had seen her crouched down on the day of the search—to the hot spot. Hannah knelt and patted the ground. Molly watched, stunned. The look on Hannah’s face baffled Molly—she looked as if she might cry. Guilt? Molly pretended not to notice, unsure of how, or if, she should approach her.

Hannah closed her eyes. Molly turned away, thinking of her biggest regret, the secret she’d kept.

Hannah stood and walked back the way they’d come, leaving Molly to stare at her back, bewildered.

Pastor Lett took the keys from around her neck and methodically unlocked the back door, first the padlock, then the deadbolt, and finally, the scratched and rusty doorknob itself. The heavy oak door creaked open, releasing a rush of frigid, stale air. Pastor Lett drew her coat tightly across her chest and stepped onto the worn, wooden floors. Her footsteps echoed in the sparsely-furnished house, giving it an aura of hollowness.

She ran her fingers along the cracked plaster walls, her mind hovering anxiously between relief and panic. Her fear of exposure grew worse with every passing day. She felt her time with the kid was coming to an end and feared not for what that would mean for her, but for the kid, for Newton, and for Hannah. She moved slowly, trancelike, through the kitchen and into the musty living room. At the bottom of the wide staircase, she knelt down, as if guided there by an unseen will. She clasped her hands over her knee, bent her head, and just before she closed her eyes, she caught a glimpse of the family portrait that hung on the wall next to the staircase.

“Please, Lord, do not take this kid from me.” She prayed with such devotion that she believed God could not ignore her, unless He did so willfully. “Please do not expose our sins to the world around us. Keep this introduction silent and let us continue to find our way together, as we’ve done for so long.” Shamefully, she continued, “I realize, Lord, that this is selfish, but it is for the best. Please forgive me for what I have done, for how I have done it.”