Chasing Amanda (17 page)

Pastor Lett had grasped for an explanation, her heart beat hard against Rodney’s cheek. “Look, Katan. You know Rodney. He didn’t do this. He…” she hesitated, her chest tight with fear, “he knows things sometimes.” She had tried to explain, knowing full well that Officer Katan might think she was crazy or perhaps arrest them both, but counting on Officer Katan’s compassion and his history of knowing Rodney. “He knows things that happen,” she said sheepishly, “sometimes before and sometimes after the event—but…it’s real.”

“What the hell?” Katan had said, throwing his arms up and pacing around the room. “Carla, this is not good. What the hell do you want me to do here, Carla? We have protocols. You know, I could arrest him here and now—probably for murder.”

“Murder?” Pastor Lett was in Katan’s face again. “You know Rodney would never hurt anyone, much less a child.”

As the ruckus in the room grew, Rodney had moved to the corner, huddling on his heels like a cowering chipmunk being preyed upon by a vicious hawk. He rocked, mumbling, “Girl in dark place. Girl in dark place.”

Pastor Lett turned to him. She knelt down, rested her hands on his knees. “Rodney, honey, you have to stop this. They think you hurt Kate. Please, stop saying that. Tell them you don’t know her.”

Rodney gazed up with wide innocent eyes. He continued to rock, fidgeting with his fingers. He shook his head no.

“Rodney, honey,” Pastor Lett put her fingers to the bridge of her nose, breathing deeply and closing her eyes. “Sweetie,” she said, “you have to tell them. This is not good. This is bad. They think you hurt Kate.”

Rodney shook his head. “Rodney no hurt. Girl in no pain. Girl with mommy. Girl in dark place,” he said.

Officer Katan stared down at them, shaking his head in disbelief. “Carla,” he started, “I’m going to let you take him home. Do not,” he said as he looked around the empty, cold room, “I repeat, do not let him out of your sight. I may have to bring him back in tonight or tomorrow morning.” He turned his back to them. “This is…unusual. I know Rodney, but…” He shook his head, began to raise his arms, then let them fall in defeat.

On the ride home from the station, Rodney had been a mess—rocking and shaking uncontrollably. Pastor Lett had begged Rodney to tell her what he knew about Kate, to show her where Kate was, but Rodney repeated the same things he had told Officer Katan. He seemed as sure of those things as Pastor Lett was about there being a God—but Pastor Lett also knew that, to others, Rodney’s words were the ramblings of a crazy person—one who just might be crazy enough to kill a child.

Pastor Lett remained in her car, staring out the window at the passing traffic, and ruing the memories of that awful night. She covered her eyes with her hand, leaned back against the cold leather seat, and gave in to the crushing memories of Rodney’s last excruciating moments.

The living room, which had once offered comfort and warmth, suddenly felt as if it were a holding room. Pastor Lett had drawn the curtains and sat next to Rodney on the floor where Rodney had pulled into his own world. He was unresponsive to his sister’s touch, his eyes trained on a speck on the cold wooden floor, traumatized. Pastor Lett had told him how brave he had been to speak to the police. She told him he had been a good boy and that he had done nothing wrong. Pastor Lett’s heart was heavy with inadequacy as she watched her brother pull further into his own silent world. Had she led Rodney astray? Had she not been there enough for him? Guilt clouded her judgment, obscuring her eyes with tears, and rendering her unable to see the path ahead, the right thing to do. She had lifted her head toward the ceiling and prayed, Rodney rocking at her side. She could still recall the feel of Rodney’s warm hand as it had unexpectedly grasped her arm. She could still hear Rodney’s child-like voice when he had asked, “God? God there?” pointing to the ceiling—and she remembered her own reply, “Yes, God is there. God hears Carla.”

Pastor Lett pursed her lips and pounded her fist on the steering wheel, wishing she could have changed what had happened next. Wishing she hadn’t taken the phone call.

She had trembled as she had lifted the receiver, fearing it had been Katan telling her to bring Rodney back and not certain that she would be able to will herself to do so—but it hadn’t been Katan on the phone that dreadful night. It had been a man with a deep, scratchy voice who had said that he needed to speak to Pastor Lett immediately and confidentially. He had said it had to do with Kate Plummer. A rush of hope had swept through Pastor Lett as she agreed to meet the man at the church across the street from her home. She had fretted about leaving Rodney, but, in his current state, taking him along had not been an option. His rounded, thick shoulders hunched over as he held onto his favorite toy, a matted and stained stuffed brown rabbit. It had been the one possession that he had saved after they had left their parents’ home in Delaware to come to Boyds.

Pastor Lett had spoken slowly and deliberately to Rodney before she had left. She made sure that Rodney understood three things: that he must stay inside, he must not answer the phone, and that he was, no matter what the police thought, a good person. Rodney had looked up at her with his trusting eyes, pulling himself out of his altered state, if only for a moment, and repeated back to Pastor Lett, “Rodney understand. Rodney good boy. No outside.”

A feeling of relief swept through Pastor Lett as she had approached the darkened church. Though she could not shake the burden of her own guilt—guilt of lying to the police about staying with Rodney—she had hoped that the man she was meeting might be the abductor wanting to confess, or perhaps someone who had a lead and had found out that Rodney had been wrongly accused. She had waited at the church for over an hour, pacing, sweating despite the cool evening, and watching the perimeter of her own home through the small glass window in the front of the church. Eventually, she had decided that whoever had called had gotten cold feet and was not going to show up. She stepped back into that awful gray, stale night, and went in the front door, in case Rodney had fallen asleep in the parlor at the rear of the home where she had left him.

“Rodney?” she had said, listening intently to the suffocating silence. There was no rush of excitement, no gleeful giggle, no “Carla home!” She had rushed into the parlor, nearly collapsing at the sight of her motionless brother, lying on the blood-splattered floor. Her legs had failed her as she’d gasped for breath and fallen to her knees. The sight of her brother’s blood-soaked flannel shirt and couch and the smell of sweat sent her mind spinning. “No!” she had screamed, crawling to her brother’s side and cradling his lifeless head. “No! Rodney, no!” Tears had fallen onto Rodney’s unseeing eyes. His bunny’s ear, torn off and speckled with blood, lay within his hand. Pastor Lett pulled her brother’s heavy body into her chest, emptying her soul via the salty water of her tears. Her next actions were robotic—without thought—her body pumped with adrenaline, her mind a blank slate, in shock. She had quickly called upon Newton, and with his fast and efficient help, they’d laid Rodney in the back seat, covered him with a blanket, and rushed back inside. She took the stairs two at a time, threw open her drawers, and stuffed a few pieces of clothing into a suitcase. She flew back down the stairs and scooped up Rodney’s torn bunny. She hurried to the kitchen, saw the broken window, the muddy prints layering the floor like stale accusations, and her panic grew. Without picking up the phone, she had fled, escaping through the back door and leaving it wide open. What she had of value had been beaten to a pulp and was going with her to Delaware. They were going home, where their lives had started, and where her brother’s life would end.

Pastor Lett threw the car door open and placed her feet on the shoulder of the road. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, pushed her hair out of her face, clasped her hands together, and pushed them into her forehead, clenching her eyes closed. She tried to erase the image of Rodney’s ravaged body from her mind, to chase the horrid thoughts that came roaring into her head like a bullet train—hatred, pure and evil. She knew she must parlay those thoughts into forgiveness. She wanted to forgive, but the terrifying visceral thoughts would not leave her. She wanted to hate, to take revenge.
Didn’t they know he had a family, someone who loved him and would miss him?
she futilely thought for the millionth time.
Forgive me, Father
, rolled through her mind immediately after the wretched thoughts. She took a deep breath and tried to quiet the voice she did not like.
I have to be there for Celia and Mark, s
he thought.
The pain I felt must not be felt by others.
She yanked the handkerchief from her purse and wiped her eyes, bringing her long legs back into the car and pulling the door shut. She blew her nose. A guttural laugh slipped from her throat. “I’ll show them,” she said. “No one will take
this
kid away from me.”

Molly hurried back to the site of the confrontation with Officer Brown, cursing her own stupidity for leaving her bag behind, and spotted her pack tangled in a bush where she had tossed it earlier. She fumbled with the thorny, tentacle-like branches, breaking loose a few that dropped to the center of the spiny mess, and freed her bag. A sparkle in the tangles of the broken limbs caught her eye as she hoisted the pack over her shoulder. Molly reached for the shiny gold chain that glimmered before her. She gently untangled the treasure, ignoring the burning sensation in her palm. As she released the necklace from the last twig, the pain became unbearable. She grabbed her wrist with her other hand and cursed, dropping the necklace to the ground. The T on her palm burned, red and angry, bulging from her skin. The pain brought her to her knees. She shrugged her pack from her shoulder and thrust her left hand into the bag, feeling frantically for the bottle of water she carried. She moaned in pain as she wildly withdrew the bottle and brought it to her mouth—twisting off the top with her teeth—and poured the water directly on the burning T. The water warmed in her palm. “Shit!” she screamed and shook the water to the ground. She grabbed her pack and backed away, anxiously eyeing the necklace, not wanting to leave it behind. The further away she got from the necklace, the less severe her pain, until it subsided completely.

Molly sank to the ground, breathing heavily. She was determined to get the necklace, sure that there was a connection to Tracey. She steeled herself for a battle with an unknown entity.
You can do this,
she told herself. She walked back toward the necklace, her neck muscles tight, her body alert to every feeling, every sound around her. The burning did not return. She neared the necklace and reached for a fallen branch with twigs at the end, like frail little fingers. Extending the branch, she hooked the golden thread for one hopeful second, then the necklace dropped to the ground—even further away. Molly blew the breath she had been holding and tried again—to no avail. Frustrated, she crouched down on her heels, “Come on, you bastard, come on!” she said through clenched teeth. Maneuvering the branch with her left hand was far more difficult than she had expected. The branch hovered above the necklace. She lowered it slowly, easing the longest twig under the chain, and pushed it forward, then quickly edged it up. The necklace hung precariously off the tip of the wavering twig. Molly raised the branch toward the sky, resting the edge on her belly for balance. The gold glistened in the sun, the darkness of the trees creating a perfectly serene backdrop for the tiny heart charm that hung from the end of the necklace, stuck, unable to drop past the hook of the chain. Molly smiled. Warmth spread through her body. As sure as the burning had scarred her palm, she
knew
the necklace belonged to Tracey. Excitement rushed through her. She turned slowly to her left and took baby steps on her toes to a clearing about fifteen feet away. She lowered the end of the twig and let the necklace slip into the cushion of the leaves. She was unable to slow the smile that sneaked across her cheeks. She scanned the woods again, unable to believe her luck—or was it something else? She scooped the necklace up in her hand. Instantly, the T on her palm went cold. She closed her hand around the necklace, wallowing in the cool, healing feeling. She closed her eyes and whispered, “I know, Tracey.” Molly slid the necklace into the front pocket of her jeans.

Seventeen

Tracey stood in the dimly-lit room, shivering and sick to her stomach from the smell of urine on her clothes. She was relieved when Mummy came back through the rough-and-ready doorway with a bucket of soapy water and two fresh towels. Tracey wondered where clean towels could have been hidden in the small, filthy room but was thankful and quick to please. She reminded herself that a bucket of soapy water was not so bad. It was much better than the bad spot. Just the thought of the bad spot brought tears to Tracey’s eyes. She turned her back to Mummy and promised herself that she was
not
going to cry—this was just a different kind of home. She felt Mummy’s fingers on her shoulder and reflexively froze.

Mummy turned her around and pointed to a pile on the floor, “I brought you more clothes today. Did you see them?”

Tears of relief formed in Tracey’s eyes. She loved new clothes! She walked over to them, careful to keep her legs apart. Her panties were soaked, so cold that they stung when they touched her thighs.

“Go ahead, honey. You can pick them up,” she said kindly. “They’re yours. Look at them. I think you’ll like them.”

Tracey bent over at the waist, trying to keep the wet cloth away from her skin. She picked up the dark green, long-sleeved, cotton turtleneck shirt. It smelled clean, flowery, and fresh. Tracey placed it gingerly next to the pile of clothes and picked up a bright yellow sweater with pink heart-shaped buttons. “Oh, Mummy!” she smiled. “I love this!”