Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

Pastor Lett interrupted, “Sergeant Moeler, my brother was killed , murdered, because he was a suspect, because he knew things. Not because he hurt Kate Plummer! Not because he killed Kate Plummer! He was murdered because of insecure people in our little town, the town that I have served for over twenty-five damned years—the town that I have given my heart and soul to—the town that I thought I could trust with my own flesh and blood.”

Molly stood between the two of them—the chasm between them impassable. She felt torn, “I’m sorry!” She raised her eyes to Pastor Lett’s and was struck by her venomous look. “Pastor Lett, I am truly sorry. It’s just…” her voice broke off, shaking. “It’s just that if we can save Tracey, we need to. You need to.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Molly,” she said. “He needs to.” She pointed to Sergeant Moeler, who stood ready to take the heat. “He needs to find Tracey. It’s certainly not your job, or my job, or, for heaven’s sake, Rodney’s job. It’s his job. The police need to find Tracey!”

Mike walked toward her and said, “You are absolutely right, Pastor Lett. It is our job to find Tracey Porter. It was our job to find Kate Plummer, though I was not part of that investigation, but if Rodney is alive, it is imperative that we find him and speak to him. It does not mean that he would be placed under investigation for Tracey’s disappearance. We just want to talk to him.”

“Do you know what happened when my brother was questioned by the police, Sergeant Moeler? Do you have any idea what it is like to come home and find that your brother has been beaten?” her face reddened, her arms flailed wildly with her angry words. “To walk into a room and find your own family member lying on the floor, not moving, barely breathing, covered in his own blood? Do you have any idea the pain one endures experiencing such a spectacle?”

Sergeant Moeler fumed, “Yes, Pastor Lett, I do know exactly how that feels. My own wife was killed two years ago, and I was the one to find her. I know the pain that doesn’t go away, that follows you when you are awake and permeates your dreams.” He walked to within inches of Pastor Lett, unable to stop the hurt from spewing out. “I know, Pastor Lett. I know just how badly it hurts. I know the rancid taste of it that doesn’t leave your tongue, the taste of death. I know the smell of it, Pastor Lett, the smell of blood and dying flesh.”

Molly watched, horrified, as Sergeant Moeler, wrought with anger, spat his angry words.

“I know, Pastor Lett, the loneliness that you live with day after day—the what-ifs. What if I’d been home? What if I hadn’t run out for milk and eggs? What if I had come home earlier?” Tears welled in his eyes, his voice faltered. “I also know, Pastor Lett, that if someone had a chance to stop me from feeling that pain, if someone had an inkling of how to save her, I wish they would have—and believe me, if I’d found out afterward that someone could have helped her, and didn’t, I can’t tell you that I wouldn’t have harmed them for not stepping in.”

Pastor Lett’s body sagged, as if all the energy had been sucked out of her. A silent moment passed between them—a stand off. When Pastor Lett spoke, she sounded defeated. “Sergeant Moeler, I am the pastor of the church. This is my community. Do you think that I would lie about something so critically important to finding that young girl?” Pastor Lett’s voice was low and surprisingly calm, reassuring. “The Lord once said, ‘The soul who sins is the one who will die. The son will not share the guilt of the father.’”

Molly tried to decipher what Pastor Lett was saying. Sergeant Moeler turned to join the other officers as they retreated down the hill. Molly felt a pang of guilt as she watched Pastor Lett’s discomfort. “Pastor Lett? I know it seems like I don’t trust you, or that I’m accusing you, but—”

She cut her off mid sentence, “Molly, you have done nothing wrong. You have been led to believe a lie, and you are simply trying to save Tracey. I understand.” She smiled gently and held out her hands to Molly in supplication, “We’re all in this together—you, me, and the Lord.”

Molly contritely placed her hands in Pastor Lett’s, beginning to feel as though she might be telling the truth about Rodney. At once her chest grew heavy, her lungs constricted. Through Pastor Lett’s hands, she received an electrifying jolt, hitting her with such force that she almost fell backwards. Her vision wavered, and she heard her name from somewhere far away. She floated above the voice, as if carried by a cloud. An image appeared in her mind—a very large man, huddled in a shadowy room, rocking back and forth. Chanting came from his direction, “Dark tunnel, dark tunnel.” Molly grappled in vain for Pastor Lett’s wrists just as the vision disappeared and her legs failed her. Her body sagged to the ground, her cell phone ringing furiously in her pocket.

Twenty Five

Tracey awoke to find Mummy sitting on the edge of her mattress. “I made you some warm milk this morning.” Tracey smiled as the steam rose and warmed her face. “You were quite a trooper last night. Were you scared?” she asked.

Tracey shrugged. “A little,” she said.

“Before we start our day today,” she said, “we have to talk to God, Tracey, thank Him for taking care of us last night.” Mummy’s hair brushed across her shoulders as she spoke.

Tracey thought Mummy looked pretty with her hair swinging like that. She wriggled out from underneath the covers, excited to learn how to talk to God the right way so that she wouldn’t get sick. She took a sip of her milk and set it on the floor next to her mattress. Her happiness faded as she thought of the church dress she’d have to wear. “Mummy,” she put her hand on Mummy’s arm, smiling at the softness of the brown sweater she wore. “I’m cold today. Can I pray in my regular clothes?” She bit her lower lip, expecting Mummy to get upset.

Instead, Mummy placed her palm flat against Tracey’s forehead. “No fever.” She pressed her lips against her forehead, “Nope, cool as a cucumber.” She smiled. Then she put her hand under Tracey’s blanket and took hold of her small foot, yanking her hand out quickly. “You are cold! You have ice feet!” she laughed. Tracey giggled. “It’s a good thing I brought warm socks for you today!” She held up the fluffiest socks Tracey had ever seen and placed them in the center of her blanket.

Tracey scooped them up and brought them to her cheek, “I love them!”

“Since you were such a good girl yesterday, and you’re like an iceberg today, you can wear your regular clothes to pray.”

Tracey scooted under the covers and slipped her feet into the new socks. She dressed in the clothes Mummy had given her. The shirt was a little too snug, and the sweatshirt was a little too big and had a stain on it, which looked like ketchup, but Tracey didn’t care—it was red, one of her favorite colors, and she was warm. She pulled on clean panties and corduroy pants that were as brown as Mummy’s sweater. They matched, and Tracey felt a pang of happiness. She reached down and grabbed the mug from the floor, drinking the last of the tepid milk.

“Maybe we’ll go outside a little today,” Mummy said.

Tracey’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Really!” she said. “I have to run some errands today, so maybe we’ll go outside for a little while before I do that. I have to get a few things on the outside.”

“Can I come with you?” Tracey asked.

“I’m sorry, pumpkin, but I can’t take you with me today. It will be very boring and very tiresome. Besides, I don’t want you exposed to those toxins any more than you have to be. Going outside to play is a worry in and of itself, but I think it’s worth it. I don’t want to risk it for boring old errands.” Mummy moved to the table and set out Tracey’s drawings, papers, and crayons for Tracey to use while she was gone.