Chasing Amanda (37 page)

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.

“Don’t talk to me now!” Molly’s biting tone cut off his words. “Just…just…” She waved him away and turned her back to him. At that moment, Cole’s soundly-set jaw and the worried, welcoming eyes appeared before his strong, filthy body. Relief swept through her. She started to run to him, hesitated, her hands clasping together in fresh panic, remembering his angry words,
I’m done
.

“Baby,” he whispered, as his feet hit the ground.

Molly ran to him, almost knocking him back into the hole.

Cole held her as if he’d never let her go, and Molly sobbed, clinging to him as Tracey had clung to her. “I’m sorry,” she said, over and over.

“Shhh,” Cole replied. “I’m sorry. I should have believed you. I’m so sorry.” He reached up and stroked Molly’s hair, kissed the top of her head.

“How did you—”

“Erik,” Cole replied. “He called after you did. He said you were in trouble. He told me where to find you. He told me, Molly. He knew.”

Molly exhaled for what seemed to her like the first time in hours.

Molly’s tears drenched his soft gray shirt. She looked up at him, but could not find the words to express her feelings. The happiness in her heart physically hurt. She held onto him for support, drawing out his strength and using it as her own. A tiny hand on the back of Molly’s shirt called her attention, and she turned around, her eyes dropping to see Tracey, dirty remnants of tears streaked her cheeks. Her parents stood behind her, each with a hand on one of her shoulders. Molly crouched down and hugged Tracey.

Tracey whispered in her ear, “Thank you.”

Her parents cried openly, unashamed, and Molly moved to Celia, taking her in her arms. They embraced with a warmth and need that could only come from a mother’s love, only understood by another mother. Celia looked into Molly’s eyes, unable to find her voice, and mouthed, “God bless you.”

The lump in Molly’s throat had stolen her voice. They embraced again, and when they parted, Mark Porter said, “How can we ever repay you?”

Molly shook her head. She hugged Mark and leaned down to Tracey again, whispering in her ear, “You’re safe now, Tracey.” Molly kissed her forehead, gave her another hug, and watched them walk toward the waiting police car.

“Thank God she’s home,” Mike’s voice broke the solemn scene.

Molly was too exhausted to say what she’d felt when she’d first set out that evening, angry, frustrated, and disappointed. She stared at him, then dropped her eyes as Sal joined them.

“We have limited resources,” Sal said in explanation. “Mike and I tried to convince Officer Brown, but we couldn’t chase a…” he paused, searching for the right words.

“Whim?” Molly asked, annoyed. “Well, my
whim
saved her.”

Mike grabbed her arm as she turned away. Cole moved closer, stood taller. Mike dropped her arm, explained, “Molly, we wanted to believe you. We did, honestly, but come on, you have to admit—“

“I know, okay?” she interrupted. “I get why you didn’t come running,” she looked up at Cole and stepped back from the three of them. “But what the hell? I mean, I had to do this alone?”

“Molly,” Cole said.

“No, Cole. I’m thankful that you were there. I
could
have been killed. You were right, all along you were right. I put myself in danger, but I didn’t care. Don’t you get that?” Her anger returned. She spoke fervently to Mike and Sal, “You’re police! If you don’t take a chance to save someone, what good are you?”

Molly paced, “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know what you should have done, but I’m goddamn thankful that I went, and even more thankful that Cole showed up!” She moved to Cole, realizing, at that second, that it had taken Erik’s visions, his plea, to get Cole’s acceptance. Why should it have taken any less to get theirs? Her shoulders slumped, the ability to fight left her, and she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened like a storm on the horizon.

Cole went to her, understanding her body language and held her.

Cole stared at Mike and Sal, indicating his displeasure. They nodded and walked away. Cole silently moved Molly’s wayward curls from her eyes, pulling the tresses off of her shoulder and laying them, carefully, behind her back. He tipped her chin up with his index finger, gazing into her red and swollen eyes, and said, each word conveying his love, “Molly, you scared the hell out of me. When Erik called, I had thoughts of all sorts of awful things happening to you.” Molly opened her mouth to respond, and he placed his index finger gently across it, shushing her. “I can’t lose you, Molly. I adore you. You scared me, but I’m so proud of you. I wouldn’t want you to be any different.” He took her in his arms again and held her.

Finally, in that moment, the dam burst. She cried. She cried for Tracey. She cried for Amanda. She cried out of thankfulness that Cole had rescued her. She cried the tears that she’d held in for so many nights that week. It was finally over.

Twenty Seven

Tracey’s abductor’s nerves were afire. Her body trembled. She could not stop thinking about Tracey.
Where was she? Was she okay? Safe?
She worried about her being sad, becoming sick from the toxins. She missed her.

She sat on the cold metal chair in the gray room, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso. She felt small and more alone than she ever had in the tunnels. Gazing at the long mirror that adorned one of the walls, she didn’t recognize the woman she saw in the reflection. She’d seen her own image so rarely that the image of a little girl, not a grown woman, materialized in her head. She looked away. The officer had told her to wait, but for what, she wasn’t sure. She prayed silently, hoping God would hear her, “
Lord, you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations—”

The door swung open, and two men moved noisily into the room. She recognized them from the day they had taken Tracey, the day her home was invaded by that woman.

The older man, the dark-haired one, spoke first, “Ma’am, do you understand why you’re here?”

She nodded.

“You are under arrest.” He paused, looked to the other, younger man who stood just inside the closed door, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. After a moment he said, “You are under arrest for the abduction of Tracey Porter.”

She raised her eyes to meet his. He had kind eyes, but she still did not understand what was happening. “Yes?” she asked tentatively.

The older gentleman said, “My name is Officer Rozutto, and I’m in charge of this investigation. State your name, please,” he asked.

“Ma’am, you have no idea what your name is?” he asked, trying to determine if she was being a smartass or truly did not know her identity. Sal leaned toward her from across the table where he had positioned himself.

“It’s…” Her hands shook, her heart slammed against her chest, and tears tumbled down her cheeks. She tried to speak, but could not remember the last time she’d cried so hard—when her mummy had died? Was that it? She had been taught not to cry. The lump in her throat felt foreign to her. “My first name is…” she took a deep breath, which was interrupted by first one sob, then another. She tried again, “My first name is...Kate. My mummy called me Kate.”

The two men sat back in their chairs. Sal wiped his hand down his face.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” Sergeant Moeler said.

The sweet smell of hazelnut and cream wafted into Molly’s room, gently rousing her from a sound slumber. The evening before had taken a toll on her body which ached in places she didn’t know were possible, bruises and cuts served as painful reminders of her struggle. Although she awoke with an overwhelming sense of relief, it was not a peaceful feeling. Something uncomfortable lingered, as if she’d forgotten something on a shopping list. She wrote it off to stress, and, listening to the faint sounds of ESPN from Cole’s atrociously-loud television, Molly swung her legs off of the bed and opened the curtains. The morning sun was high in the sky.

Molly joined Cole at the kitchen table, where he immediately commended her on assisting with the search, and asked if she wanted to talk about it. Molly looked at him crosswise. Talking about it was the last thing she wanted to do. The thought of the search taking over any more of their time together worried her. She knew she had lingering duties and wanted to avoid the conflict they might cause.

Molly braced herself and decided to get the admission over with. “Okay, so I know I have to deal with it all today, go to the station, stop by and see Edie, visit Rodney—my God, Rodney,” she sighed loudly, frazzled, “and I need to call Erik, but I don’t want to talk about it. I need a break.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “We need a break.”

“We don’t have to talk about it. I just thought you might have wanted to. I’ve already spoken to Erik, so that’s one less thing on your list.” He leaned closer to her and placed his hands on her cheeks. He gazed into her eyes, and in a warm, protective voice, said, “You’ll never have to face anything alone again. I’m going with you.”

Pastor Lett knelt before the altar, feeling like a hypocrite. She preached to the community about faithfulness, sins, and righteousness—and yet, she kept such dark secrets, secrets of necessity, but secrets just the same. She closed her eyes and prayed, “Lord, please hear me out. I probably don’t deserve any favors, certainly not from You, anyway, but I need one here. You sent me a sign, a sign that I was doing the right thing by carrying on the wishes of those who trust me, but I cannot reconcile it in my mind any longer. I can no longer see the correctness of it, the use for it. Times have changed, people have changed. I need another sign. I can’t believe I am being so greedy,” she shook her head, as if disgusted with herself. “I can no longer live with myself. I just don’t know how to go on, knowing how the kid is living, up there on the knoll, alone. What on this good Earth could be so awful to have to keep him hidden away like that any longer?”