Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

“Maybe we can do it together,” Mummy said.

Tracey perched on her knees next to her while Mummy struck a match. She was mesmerized by the sudden spark, the instant bright red and orange flame, and her favorite part, the low hiss that lasted only a millisecond. The smell of sulfur rose to her nose. Tracey put her hand on Mummy’s, and, together, they lit the candles. She knew what to say this time. She was proud of herself and began to speak at the same time Mummy did, their words blending seamlessly together.

They spoke quietly at first, “Heavenly Father,” Mummy’s eyes widened, surprised to hear Tracey saying the prayer, “we thank You that these things are written in Psalms 91 ,that we can dwell in the secret place of the most High, and we thank You that we can.”

Tracey forgot the next words and looked nervously down at her peaked hands. Mummy continued praying, her lips parted in a wide grin.

“Abide under the shadow of our Almighty God. We thank You that we can say You are our Lord, our refuge, our fortress, and our God, whom we can trust. We thank You for delivering us from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence. We thank You for covering each of us with your feathers. We thank You that we can walk under your wings and take refuge. We thank You that your faithfulness and truth is our shield and armor. We thank You that we are not afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. We thank You that a thousand shall fall at our side, and ten thousand at our right hand; and none will come near us.”

Tracey remembered what came next. It was her favorite part. Her voice grew louder as her confidence grew. The words flowed as easily as a nursery rhyme. “We thank You for giving your angels charge over us to keep us in all ways and that your angels’ hands will lift us up so we do not dash our foot against a stone. We thank You that we can tread upon the lion and serpent and trample the young lion and the dragon under our feet. We thank You that when we call upon You, You will answer us, be with us in trouble, deliver us, honor us, satisfy us with a long life, and show us your salvation.”

Mummy took her hand, and together they said, “Amen!” She pulled Tracey in her arms and hugged her tight. Tracey was proud of herself and gleamed with excitement.

They climbed the stairs, Molly following Pastor Lett down the dimly-lit hallway. Tormented sounds came from the room at the end of the hall. From her visions, Molly recognized the burly mass of a man who sat huddled on the floor of the dark room, rocking furiously, forward and back, forward and back, his head bent over his lap, his hands clasped firmly together. The weight of his upper body propelled him, picking up momentum with each forward motion. “Rodney,” she whispered. Pastor Lett looked at her with almost imperceptible relief, “Yes, this is my brother, Rodney.” “How long has he been like this?” she asked. “I don’t know. I found him this way,” she spoke with concern. “Does he always do this? Rock?” “Only when he has visions—but never this hard, and he never…he never cries,” Pastor Lett’s voice rose with her elevating panic.

Molly looked down and noticed wet stains on Rodney’s thighs and tears that streaked his face. Pastor Lett moved closer to Rodney, reaching her arm around her younger brother’s back. Rodney was completely unaware of the familiar touch. “Honey,” Pastor Lett said, “what is it? What’s wrong?” Rodney didn’t acknowledge her presence. “Rodney, let me help you,” she urged. There was still no response.

Rodney made no move to look at his sister or at Molly. He rocked harder, faster. Molly moved to his side, compelled by the connection of the drawings to her visions. She placed her hand on top of his. Rodney opened his eyes and lifted his gaze. His body shifted slightly, out from the safety of Pastor Lett’s embrace. He spoke in a quiet monotone, “M…Molly.” Molly gasped, alarmed, and stepped backward. Rodney dropped his gaze again, his rocking pace quickened.

Suddenly he stopped rocking. “Rodney know Molly!” he said in a hushed, serious tone. “Molly see bluebirds,” he cocked his head, as if waiting for an answer. Molly stood stock still. “Rodney see bluebirds,” he said, slowly rising to his feet, and towering over Molly. She stepped backwards once again, aligning herself with Pastor Lett. Rodney reached his enormous hands out and grabbed Molly’s hands. Molly stiffened. He lifted his hands and placed his palms flat against hers. A look of wonder crept across his face. “Rodney know Molly!” he crooned.

“It was you,” she whispered, feeling the perfect fit of his giant paws against her own small, shaking hands.

“Molly find girl.” He stared at Molly expectantly, lowering his hands to his sides.

Images raced through Molly’s mind. Her brain somehow confused Amanda with Tracey, and suddenly she couldn’t separate the two. I’m okay. It’s not my fault , she told herself, grappling to remain in the present and not slip into the past . She lifted the drawings of a woman with a child—eating, playing, walking one in front of the other, on their knees praying—the harshly-drawn pictures of trees and bushes, the forest floor, and in an uneasy voice, Molly asked, “Who is this, Rodney? Who is this little girl?” Rodney stared. “Do I know this girl?” she persisted. His chin dropped—half a nod. “Amanda? Is this her, Rodney?” she said, accusingly.

Rodney touched her arm, and in that second she understood. It was not Amanda. It was Tracey. Her eyes darted quickly to Pastor Lett. “Is this the girl that’s missing?”

Pastor Lett simply lifted her eyebrows.

“Not missing,” Rodney answered flatly. “Girl not missing. Girl in dark place,” he said. “You see them, too.”

Molly saw Pastor Lett lean forward, listening intently. She bit her lower lip and took a deep breath. “See who?” she asked, fearing that even she’d forgotten her path.

“The girl. Mommy.”

“Who is the girl, Rodney?” Pastor Lett asked.

“Molly know who girl is!” Rodney looked at Pastor Lett sternly and said in an angry, guarded tone, “Carla not know. Molly know!” Rodney turned away from them.

Molly’s eyes darted between the giant man before her and Pastor Lett, who paced, clenching and unclenching her eyes, fisting her hands. A moment later there was a loud thud . Rodney had dropped to his knees. Molly ran to his side. Rodney rocked, emitting a short, low moan. Instantly, the movie Son Rise flashed in Molly’s mind. She dropped to her knees next to Rodney, and began to rock at the same fast pace. “Is it Tracey?” Molly asked.

At the sound of her voice, Rodney stopped rocking. He made no move to look at her, but sat still, tears dripping from his chin. He began rocking again, slowly. Pastor Lett stood by, anxiously frustrated. Molly was on the verge of tears, her nerve endings afire. She reached for her bag and withdrew the necklace and candy wrapper, silently placing them on the floor in front of Rodney. He closed his eyes, and he stopped rocking again. Pastor Lett stopped pacing, her eyes trained on her younger brother, concern written all over her face. Rodney reached his bulky hand out and covered the necklace and wrapper slowly, not touching them, but cupping his hand over them, as if he’d caught a mouse. He began to moan, a long, low, sorrowful sound, which broke only as he took a shallow, almost invisible breath. He rocked slowly again, leaving his hand protectively over the treasures.

Molly knew she was crossing dangerous territory. She had no idea how Rodney would react, only that he would. She spoke in a calm, measured voice, “Rodney, tell me.”