Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

Molly came to in a fog, the pungent odor of death, the smell that had accompanied her dreams of Amanda, smothered her senses. Her palm bled through the bandage, caked with mud and broken leaves. She sat up and looked around frantically, putting together the pieces of what she’d seen and trying to breathe without tasting the sickening stench. The silence around her was unnatural. Molly’s heart continued to race as she sat on the chilly ground, gathering her thoughts. She scrambled forward, grabbed the flashlight, turned it on, and scanned the area, nervously pulling herself to her feet and grimacing as her ankle complained about the hundred ten pounds of her weight. She spotted her bag a few feet away and reached for it, pulling her hand back quickly, the ground beneath the bag was hot. With the exception of the leaves and dirt being unusually dry, she noticed nothing remarkable. She quickly removed her notebook from her backpack and sketched the area, scribbling details about every tree, branch, and bush. She pushed leaves over the spot where her bag had lain and suddenly felt as if she were not alone. She spun around, facing the dark night. Amanda’s killer’s face flashed before her and disappeared just as quickly. “Shit!” She shoved the notebook into her pack, hitched it over her shoulder, and with the flashlight to guide her, sprinted back out of the forest, oblivious to the pain in her ankle.

Molly was mauled by Stealth and Trigger as soon as she entered the house—all paws and tongues—reminding her of what her supposed mission had been when she’d left the house earlier in the evening. In a voice loud enough for Cole to hear, she said, “Where were you guys? I looked all over those woods for you.” Molly hurried into the mudroom and stashed her bag behind the freezer. She eased her feet out of her muddy shoes and wriggled her ankle to see if it was any better without them. It was not. She washed her hands and face, patted dry her bandage, and went to face Cole.

The television blared in the small family room. It was not uncommon for Molly to wake up to hear the television as far upstairs as the bedroom and to find Cole fast asleep in front of it. Tonight, he was awake, sitting in his t-shirt and jeans and talking on his cell phone. “She has no clue,” Cole said with a smirk. Molly walked quietly into the room. “Gotta go,” Cole ended the call and stared intently at the movie playing before him.

“Hi, honey,” Molly said. “When did the dogs come back?” Her efforts at sounding casual were strained. She sat next to Cole and stretched her arm casually across the back of the sofa.

He leaned forward, his eyes remained trained on the television. “Maybe an hour ago.”

Molly cringed. She glanced at the wall clock and went for a fast recovery, “I looked all over the woods behind our house. I’m surprised you didn’t hear me yelling.”

Cole turned to look at her with the “uh-huh” face she’d come to know all too well.

“I went across White Ground and searched the Hoyles Mill Conservation Trail for a bit, thinking that they crossed into those woods.” Molly remembered that the Hoyles Mill Trail, part of the county’s Legacy Open Space project, ran through the woods adjacent to White Ground Road and continued south, abutting the Adventure Park. She made a mental note to check out that area and rationalized that it wasn’t a complete lie if she planned on doing it.

Cole gently took Molly’s wrist in his warm hand. He ran his finger along the dirty bandage. “You know, Mol, I would have gone with you,” he said. “I don’t like you in those woods alone.”

Molly was unsure if he was talking about those woods looking for dogs, or if he knew where she had really gone but was not yet ready to call her on it directly. She looked away. “I know,” she said tentatively. “I was going stir crazy with the stress of the day, and I was worried about the dogs.”

“Uh-huh,” he laid her hand on her thigh and turned back to the television.

Molly desperately wanted to tell him the truth. She hated to lie to him, but she didn’t want to face his disregard for her senses. She could just imagine what he would say: What you think of as the Knowing is really just your repressed anxiety about Amanda and your desire to do something about it, or something just as scientifically explainable.

Cole turned to her with a mixture of concern and anger on his face. “Baby, you can’t keep putting yourself at risk.” He said seriously, “You shouldn’t be in the woods at all. You should be here, with me.” He reached his arm around her and pulled her close. “You’re going to hurt yourself so badly that you won’t be able to run, and then you’ll be miserable.” His words were spoken with sheer love and concern, and just a sprinkling of frustration. Thankfully, what Molly had picked up on as anger had dissipated.

She snuggled into him, “I know,” she said. “I had to go.” It was the truth, plain and simple.

Six

Pastor Lett looked down at the scratches on her arms and was glad it was fall and that long sleeves were in order. She was exhausted from the prior evening’s scene and the chase that had ensued. It had taken her hours to catch and settle down the kid, and when she had, her old body wouldn’t move as fast as she’d needed it to. She needed to find a way to ensure that the kid could not escape again.

Figuring out a way to seal off the entrance to the house from the cellar wouldn’t be difficult, she knew, she simply rued the energy it would take to do the job. In all of the years she’d been caring for the Perkinson House and utilizing the cellar, no one had ever found the entrance behind the sofa. She wondered how her observations could have been so sloppy. She’d been doing this for so many years that it had become a routine that she no longer enjoyed, a duty she loathed.

The idea that the kid could have wandered out of the house and down the driveway scared the dickens out of her. Her heart beat faster just thinking of the scene that could have transpired. She’d board up the windows and doors, just in case—lock the doors from the outside, too. Her heartbeat settled as she formed her plan. I’ve put enough fear in that kid that it won’t happen again , she thought, and if the kid did get into the house again, there would be no escape. Pleased with her plan, she headed to the shower, whistling.

Molly tossed and turned all night, the events of the day had taken their toll on her body and on her mind. She awoke in an anxious state, thinking about Tracey, and vowing not to let her become the next Amanda. She sat up on the edge of the bed, her favorite of Cole’s t-shirts tangled around her waist, her sleeping shorts uncomfortably bunched around the tops of her thighs. She began to stand, and a searing pain shot through her ankle. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, the bandage scratched her eyelid. She sighed and turned to wake Cole just as the radio sang out in alarm.

Cole rolled over and reached his arms around Molly’s waist from behind. She pried his hands away, feeling guilty. Cole would never approve of her plan to help find Tracey. She knew that Tracey wasn’t Amanda, but she believed that if she could find Tracey, it would help her make amends for what she had, or hadn’t done, for Amanda. Maybe I am losing my mind, Molly thought. “Come on, Cole. You’ll be late,” she said, and limped into the bathroom.

“Ankle still bad?” Cole asked.

“Not really,” Molly lied. She knew he would tell her not to run, a feat she wasn’t even sure she could pull off, but she didn’t want to be told what to do. She continued through her morning routine with high hopes of making it to her run.

She caught a look from Cole as they passed each other entering and exiting the bathroom. “It gets a little better with each step,” she said, feigning cheerfulness.