Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

Molly picked up Tracey, who flailed and kicked to be released, and ran toward the opening, grabbing her discarded flashlight, and fleeing along the path of scattered seeds.

Tracey’s shrieks trailed behind her, “Mummy! No! Mummy, the toxins! Mummy, help me!”

Tracey had lost her will to fight by the time they neared the end of the tunnel. She trembled, clinging tighter to the strange woman’s arms with each step as they approached the entrance. The stranger had told Tracey that her name was Molly, and that she was a friend, that she wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her, and that she was taking her back to her mommy and daddy. Tracey had not been relieved. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, like she was on a roller coaster and had just gone down an enormous hill— the toxins . At first Tracey had sobbed at the news of being brought to her parents, I am home! I don’t want to leave! I want to be with Mummy! But eventually she had calmed, her tears subsided into short, fast hiccups, and later, even, tired breaths. She’d told Molly that she was scared of the toxins, and asked Molly to bring her parents into the tunnels, instead. When Molly asked about the toxins, Tracey became silent, as if their meaning were a secret. After much prodding, Tracey eventually relented, and told Molly that she didn’t want to die. She’d said that she didn’t really know what they were, but that they lived outside and they could kill you if they got in your body. Molly had simply pulled her closer, shielding the back of her head like an infant’s, and told her that nothing was going to kill her. She was safe.

Molly held tightly to Tracey’s body with one arm, withdrawing something from her pocket with her other. She held her hand open for Tracey to see. Tracey stared at the heart-shaped charm. She touched her delicate finger to the chain.

“My necklace,” she breathed, wonderingly. Her other hand was drawn to the necklace that hung around her dirty, swan-like neck. “I have a new one,” she said politely, her little body trembling like a newborn bird’s.

“I see that—but you should have this one, too,” Molly said, and placed it in Tracey’s palm.

A large, curly-haired man lowered himself into the hole just as Molly reached the entrance to the tunnel. She recognized the blue police sweatshirt. “Molly?” he said. Molly nodded. Tracey clung to her, “Who’s that?”

“He’s a police officer. He’s here to help us.” Molly set Tracey on the ground in front of her and Tracey spun around, clasping her arms around Molly’s legs. “Tracey,” Molly said, crouching down so she was face to face with the scared little girl, “It’s okay. This nice police officer is going to help you out of this tunnel.”

“Are you coming?” she asked in a quivering, unsure voice.

“You bet I am. Right after you, okay?” Molly reassured her.

Tracey nodded and took hold of the officer’s warm hand, gripping it as if it were a lifeline. He lifted her up with ease, and they heard welcoming cheers. As the officer lifted Molly, Mike reached down into the hole to help her. “Good job, Molly,” he said. As soon as she was pulled from the hole, seven armed men went down into the tunnels.

Molly was not feeling very gracious, stewing over her earlier treatment, and frantic with worry about Cole. He grasped at words to apologize, but she didn’t give him a chance. She quickly told him what had transpired. She looked frantically around the campsite, which flurried with activity.

“Where’s Tracey?” she asked urgently.

Mike pointed to the nearby ambulance where Tracey sat huddled in a blanket, safe, waiting for her parents to arrive. Molly was instantly moving in Tracey’s direction. One paramedic was taking Tracey’s blood pressure, the other speaking into a walkie-talkie. Tracey looked up, saw Molly, and tried to get out of the ambulance, but the officers gently held her back. For an instant, Molly saw Amanda’s face in the first grade photograph, as it had appeared in the newspaper the day they’d found her; her smiling face, her dancing eyes, and the headlines above, Body of Amanda Curtis Found . Molly closed her eyes against the memory, feeling both the guilt and the relief of the moment, and went to Tracey.

“You’re going home, little one,” she whispered in Tracey’s ear.

Between the heightened fear in Tracey’s eyes and her tight grasp on Molly’s arms, Molly found herself wanting to cry. She hated that Tracey was going to be forever damaged by the past week. She fought back tears, trying to remain strong for Tracey’s sake. Molly pulled Tracey into her lap and rested her head on Tracey’s dirty, matted hair.

A police vehicle drove along the path toward the scene, slowing to a crawl, and finally stopping a few feet from the ambulance. The back door flew open, and Celia Porter quickly climbed out. She was thinner than Molly remembered, her face had aged ten years since she’d told the story of Tracey’s disappearance.

Celia looked in their direction and screamed, “Tracey!” running toward them. Tracey wriggled free of Molly’s protection, fresh tears poured down her cheeks. Tracey’s father was two steps behind Celia, but he sprinted forward and hoisted Tracey up to his chest. Tracey’s spindly legs wrapped around his thick body. Celia threw her body against the back of Tracey, sobbing, gripping her so tightly that Tracey tried to wriggle free, just a little, to take a breath. Mark Porter wrapped his long arms around Tracey and his wife, securely, protectively. Tears sprang from his eyes unabashedly.

Sal had been in the police vehicle with them and stepped out to guide them away from the site of the tunnel. He glanced at Molly sorrowfully, or perhaps he was embarrassed. At that moment, Molly didn’t care what he felt. She looked away, her thoughts turning back to Cole.

A strong hand grasped Molly’s shoulder, pulling her out of her worried stupor. She spun around. Pastor Lett stood before her. Molly walked into her open arms. “Molly,” her voice carried relief, “are you okay?” “Yes, I mean, no. I don’t know,” she admitted. “You’re a brave woman, Molly,” she said.

Molly heard her whisper a prayer, and Molly pulled gently back from her, recognizing, for the first time since Tracey’s ordeal began, the remarkable person behind Pastor Lett’s eyes: a woman of strength and dedication, a woman who cared more for others than for herself. She saw her as she must have been for so many years before the tragedy that had befallen her and Rodney. She saw her as Rodney’s older sister.

Molly took Pastor Lett’s large hand in hers, “Thank you so much, for…everything. Tracey wouldn’t be with her parents if it weren’t for you, and I know you risked a lot by helping.” Molly reached into her pockets and withdrew the empty bags of seeds. She looked up at Pastor Lett sheepishly, “I’ll buy you more.”

“No need,” she smiled, warmly.

“Cole? How’d he know?” she asked Pastor Lett.

“He came on his own,” Pastor Lett said. “He came flying down here in your car,” she nodded in the direction of her car, “and said he had to get to you. He was down the tunnel before I could say anything.”

Commotion at the tunnel entrance commanded Molly’s attention. Two officers lifted Tracey’s abductor out with their hands under her armpits. The abductor grimaced, and made a sound in her throat, as if she were in pain. Molly stared into her eyes, and it was there that she saw not pain, not fear, but the hollow feeling of loneliness and despair. Instinctively, Molly took a step backward. Officers immediately converged on the abductor, leading her toward a waiting police car. Tracey was nowhere in sight, and for that, Molly was thankful. As soon as the abductor was safely in the car, Molly rushed to the tunnel entrance. “Cole?” she yelled as she ran. Mike, crouched by the tunnel entrance, turned toward her. Molly pushed past him and demanded, “Where is he? What happened?” Mike stood, “He’s coming, Molly. He’s okay.” “No thanks to you,” she said angrily. She bit her lower lip and paced. “Molly—”