Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

The second message was a hang up, and the third was from Officer Brown. “Mrs. Tanner, this is Officer Brown with the Germantown Police Department,” his tone was professional, distant. “Just wanted to make sure Sergeant Moeler came by today. Please let me know if he has not yet contacted you.”

The message gave Molly pause. Officer Moeler had left hours ago and said he would have to provide the information to Officer Brown for direction. Molly retrieved his card and quickly punched in his phone number—she was redirected to his voice mail.

“Sergeant Moeler—hi,” she paced the kitchen nervously. She was not known for her patience, and that trait had caused her trouble in the past. She knew if Cole were there he’d caution her against bothering Sergeant Moeler—but Cole wasn’t there. “This is Molly Tanner. You were here this morning to get some information on leads? I just received a message from Officer Brown wondering if you were here yet. So…I’m just wondering what’s happening with the notes I gave you. Thanks. I can be reached on my cell. Bye.” She hung up the phone and pressed her lips between her teeth, hoping that he wouldn’t think she was the nagging type. Her mind shifted, worrying that maybe he was one of those people who said all of the right things but tended to drag their heels unless someone was sitting on them every second. She let out a long, loud breath, “No, Molly, he isn’t like that,” she said out loud, mocking herself. She grabbed an iced tea from the refrigerator and headed to her computer.

Molly didn’t have long to ponder the comfort of her chair before she received a near-frantic phone call from Erik. He wanted to know if she had found the guy that he had told her about.

“No, not yet,” Molly answered, “but I’m working on it.”

“Mom, you have to find him! Soon!”

“I know. I’m trying.” Erik’s rising anxiety worried her. “What’s going on Erik? Why are you so worried?”

“I just have an awful feeling, like, like…we’re going to lose her, the little girl. You need to find this guy. I can almost feel her slipping away, like...like…hell, like when I was little and I had that box kite at the Cape, remember? And the string slipped through my hands? Remember? And it was like slow motion as it rose in the sky, until we couldn’t see it anymore? That’s what it feels like, like I knew it was gone forever, and instead of fighting it, I just accepted it.”

Molly closed her eyes, remembering the kite he had loved so much. “I’m sorry, Erik. It’s all my fault.”

“What’s your fault?”

“This! Those feelings! You feel it all because of me, who I am, because I have that sixth sense, or whatever it is they call it. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have to deal with it at all.”

“So what? I don’t care about what I have to go through. Who cares about that? I just want to find the girl,” he said urgently. “Ma, I gotta go. I have a lab this afternoon.” “Okay. I’ll call you when I know something.” “’Kay. Love you,” he said. “Love you more.” Molly waited to hear the line go dead before she hung up the phone.

Twenty Two

Tracey couldn’t tell if today would be a good or bad day for Mummy who was already dressed in jeans, a blue turtleneck, and a blue sweater. Tracey had gotten used to the cool air of their sleeping chamber—the smell, too; she barely noticed it anymore. Now it just seemed like home—like when she’d walk into her grandma’s house, and it had a smell all its own.

All morning, Mummy had been busy collecting things in a basket. She had her Bible and other worship books, bottles of water, and the quarters that she had lined up on the top shelf. Tracey remained still under her blanket—partly for warmth and partly because it was fun to peek at what Mummy was doing. She watched Mummy pull two picture frames off of the top shelf. She smiled when she looked at them, then placed them back up on the shelf. She felt sad as Mummy’s hand drifted to cover her heart, as if it hurt. Tracey wondered if Mummy missed her mother. Tracey felt a pang in her heart, but tucked it away with annoyance—she still couldn’t believe that her own mother hadn’t wanted to keep her safe from the toxins that were outside—and what about Emma? Would she die from them? Maybe they were already sick, and that’s why her real mom wanted her to be with Mummy. Maybe her real mother set it up so that Tracey would be saved by Mummy.

Tracey reached for her new doll. Tracey held her doll tight against her chest and touched her necklace. She smiled, relieved that it was still there. Thank God, she thought and liked the new way that she had come to think of God. She liked thanking Him, knowing He was watching over them. “Good morning, Tracey,” Mummy said sweetly. Tracey lowered the blanket and smiled, “Morning.” “Guess where we’re going today?” Mummy asked, settling herself on the edge of the mattress. Tracey looked at her, asking with her eyes.

“We’re going to see my mummy.”

A shiver ran up Tracey’s back. “But,” she said, tentatively, “I thought she was dead.”

“She is, honey, but we still go visit her.” Mummy handed Tracey the sweater and pants she’d worn the day before and walked to the other end of the chamber. Tracey dressed under the covers to avoid the cold. She wasn’t scared of their dirt room anymore. Something had changed inside of her. She now thought of their chamber as warmly as she thought of the cabin in Little House on the Prairie —one of her favorite DVDs.

“Tracey, you have to eat a good breakfast today. We’re going to do a lot of walking, and I don’t want you to get tired.”

“Okay,” Tracey said.

Mummy busied herself making breakfast. She removed the butter and milk from the little blue Igloo cooler. She prepared the cereal first, set it on the table, and placed one of the three spoons they owned next to it. Tracey tiptoed across the cold dirt floor and hopped onto the upended log, her feet dangling. She began eating and listened to Mummy mumbling her prayers.

Tracey nibbled on the crust of her bread, wondering how she could ask the question that was on her lips. Should she ask? Was it a stupid question? She gathered her courage and asked timidly, “Mummy? How did you learn how to talk to God?” She held her breath, unsure if Mummy would be upset that she didn’t innately know how to talk to God.

Mummy looked away. The pit of Tracey’s stomach suddenly felt heavy. Her courage slipped away like a rumor. “I’m sorry, Mummy,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make you sad. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” Tears instantly formed in Tracey’s eyes, the memory of the bad spot raced through her. She hoped she wouldn’t have to go back there. She had done something bad. She had made Mummy upset.

Mummy turned toward Tracey, her mouth set firmly in a thin line. Tracey closed her eyes and readied herself for what was sure to come. Mummy grabbed her by the shoulders, not hard, but strong. Tears streamed down Tracey’s cheeks; she’d misread Mummy. She was mad, not sad. She pleaded, her words shaky, fearful, “Mummy, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Tracey’s chest rattled with each hiccupping breath. She felt herself being pulled into Mummy’s chest, her head resting on the pillow of her breasts. Mummy’s large hand caressed the top of Tracey’s hair.

“Shhh,” she whispered. “Oh, Tracey, I learned a long, long time ago how to talk to God. I learned before I even came here.” She knelt down, her eyes met Tracey’s, and she reached up and gently wiped Tracey’s tears away. “Take a deep breath, honey,” she said. “It’s okay.”

Tracey slowed her tears and drew in a jagged, hitching breath, confused. “But how did you learn?” she asked in a whisper. “How do you know what to say?” She wanted to make Mummy proud. She wanted to learn to talk to God just like her. Maybe if she prayed hard enough, Emma, Mommy, and Daddy could be saved, too.