Chasing Amanda

“Wait. I’m sorry, Newton. I didn’t mean to…you know...to speak of it. Please, don’t say anything. Somehow if we do, it makes it more real, more difficult. What we’re doing seems so right, most of the time. Yet sometimes, it seems so very wrong.” She watched his eyes hunt for something, his mind formulating an answer, an apology maybe? Again, she stopped him.

“Newton, it’s rhetorical. Keep your peace.” Hannah turned to leave and felt his hand gently touch her arm.

“Hannah,” he said, his eyes apologizing, empathizing, agreeing with her thoughts. Newton sat nervously, opening his mouth as if to speak, then closing it again. “You are a good woman, Hannah. Charlie was a fool.” He looked up and said, “What we’ve done? It’s been necessary.”

Though she knew he was right, she wondered, as she had so many times before, how and why she could have let herself become involved in such a life of deception.

Molly ran past the old Victorians on White Ground Road. She slowed as she came to the manse, the house where Rodney Lett had been beaten. She stopped in front of the ordinary-looking red brick house. It was not much different than the others on the street, though notably the only brick Victorian. Molly knew the idea that pressed her forward was probably not a good one, but she let her legs carry her across the street and to the rear of the property. The back of the house was also quite typical, save for the windows—three stories high with ornamental, old wavy-glassed panes. Three steps led to a small screened porch. The screening, stretched and gapped, as if it had been pushed out from the inside and pulled tightly in other places. The stairs were constructed of 2x8 pieces of wood, gray with age, streaked with fine lines, yet sturdy. The door to the porch was made of plywood and screen and had a small, rusty metal handle, which Molly drew open, cringing at the sound of the door creaking. She stepped cautiously onto the porch, eyeing the newer window to her left, wondering if it was the window that the attackers had broken through. She put her hand flat against the cool glass, surprised that she wasn’t met with some sort of energy—there was no vision snaking its way from the glass to her body. She leaned forward and cupped her hands against the window, peering into the kitchen. Surely the interior of the home would have changed since the Lett murder, the floors would have been refinished, the walls repainted. Molly thought about the odd couple who lived there now. Who could move into a home that had such a ghastly event take place within its walls? She went back to the steps and looked around at the small green yard. Molly rubbed her arms against the cold air that had broken through the heat of her perspiration. She rounded the house and looked up when she reached the road. Pastor Lett stood across the street in front of the church, glaring at Molly.

Molly jogged up the hill that ran between the two cornfields next to the church, heading toward the campground. Blood pumped hard through her body, driven by adrenaline—a nice side effect from her visit to the manse. She caught her breath at the top of the hill, letting her eyes drift across the fields, down toward the main road, and over the rooftops of the encroaching neighborhoods. Through the gap of trees just beyond the neighborhoods, she realized, must be the Adventure Park. A brief second of sadness swept through her as she thought of Tracey. She glanced in the direction of the Perkinson House. The tips of the turrets were barely visible.

Molly jogged the remaining length of the path and down the slope to the inner circle of the campground. The wind slipped through the trees, making eerie, scratching sounds as branches and leaves commingled. The surrounding trees were imposing, as if they had wrapped their branches around the secluded site and were protecting it from outsiders. Molly walked to the wooden box closest to the path where she had found the candy wrapper. She waited for the taste of apple candy to return, simultaneously relieved and discouraged when it did not. She laid her palm against the rough splintering wood on the outside of the box, the ridges and grooves filled the soft creases of her hand. She waited, hoping for the Knowing to take hold. She closed her eyes and opened her mind, willing it to come forward, to bring details of Tracey’s whereabouts. The sound of the wind whispering through the trees swirled around her, the crackling of leaves scattering across the ground created an eerie accompaniment, but she experienced no other sensation. There was no tingling, no fading vision, not even so much as a single goose bump on her skin. She felt bare, hollow—disillusioned.

Molly withdrew her hand, the T scar still blending neatly into her palm. “Damn,” she said, looking up at the sky. “Come on, damn it!” she said through clenched teeth. “I know there is something here!” she pleaded. “Just show me the way, I’ll do the rest.” Her arms and legs shook from the cold. Her undergarments stuck to her skin, wet with sweat, her forehead beaded with perspiration. She jogged around the edges of the campsite, around and around she ran, warming her body and trying to piece together the puzzle of the area. She moved to each box, placing her palm flat against the side, anxiously waiting, hoping for a sign, something to give her pause. When there was no sensation, she lifted each lid, as she had before, and scrutinized the interior. The weight of the lids mirrored the heaviness of her heart. Molly’s frustration grew. She paced the campsite racking her brain with what-ifs. Not for the first time in her life, she wished she could control the Knowing, demand that it come forth, as she’d been able to in the police station.

Molly sighed heavily, defeated. Anger rose in her chest, pushing tears from her eyes. Molly hated when she cried, feeling like a weak child. She sucked in a deep breath of the cold air and sprinted up the incline and down the path toward the church. She ran right onto White Ground Road, hoping the Knowing would find her there. She pushed her ear buds into place and ran to the rhythm, fast and hard.

They had been walking so long that Tracey’s legs ached. Weaving in and out of the tunnels confused her, but the metal tracks that appeared in the tunnels farthest from where they slept were more bothersome than the pain in her legs. She had to step in the narrow path between the tracks. Every few steps Tracey would forget to watch her feet and the side of her foot would slip into the crevice along the track, causing her ankle to twist a little. She had no idea how Mummy could walk between the tracks so easily with her huge feet—she never slipped into the crack. Each time they passed an entrance, a hole cut through the dirt wall, Tracey peeked to see if it led to a room or another tunnel. They were all pitch black, until Mummy lifted the lantern and light flowed in, revealing what lay beyond. Tracey thought of each area that wasn’t a tunnel as a room, even though most were no bigger than the size of a closet. A few of them were larger—not as large as their sleeping place, but large enough to have a few rectangular carts stored side by side. The carts were old and dirty with rusty metal and dented sides resting upon a wide base of aged and scarred wood. Tracey was taken with the eight small wheels under the carts, four on either side. She had wanted to play with the carts, take one back with them to their sleeping area—she thought it might make a good doll carriage, even if it was a little heavy—but Mummy had said no. She said she had asked her mother the same thing when she’d first come to the tunnels, long before her mother had died.

Tracey lifted her doll to her chest and hugged it. She had sort of forgotten that she was carrying the doll. She had dragged it part of the way, and now the doll’s toes were brown with dirt. She twisted her body from side to side, as if nervously rocking the doll. “I’m sorry your mom died,” she said. Tracey had heard adults say they were sorry when they talked about someone who was sick, and she thought it was the perfect time to use what she had learned.

“It’s okay,” she said. “We had a lot of fun together.” She turned to Tracey and smiled.

“But she was sick.”

“She was sick. She told me that she was born sick, and that I wasn’t, so I wouldn’t have to worry about getting sick.” She stretched her long arms out to her sides, almost touching each side of the dirt room. “Healthy as can be! And you are, too, little missy.” She tapped the tip of Tracey’s nose lightly with her index finger. Tracey giggled. “Thank you,” Tracey said. “For what?” “For saving me. I’m glad I won’t get sick and die.” “Well, everyone dies, Tracey. You know that, right?” she asked.

“I know, but not until they’re really, really old, usually. Like my one grandma? She’s really old and she’s still alive.” Tracey twisted her doll’s hair. “Hey, how come the toxins didn’t kill her?” she asked.

“Because they don’t kill everyone. Sometimes people are just fine, but I had to make sure that you weren’t one of the ones that got sick,” she smiled. “Remember when we used to play at the park?”

“Yes,” Tracey remembered the two of them playing tag around the big castle.

“Well, I knew you were just the type of little girl that I should save, someone just like me.”

Tracey cocked her head and looked at Mummy, wondering in what ways they were alike. She is big, and I am little. She doesn’t have a mom anymore, and I did, do, she thought.

“You and I, we got along so well, Tracey.” Mummy rested her arm around Tracey’s shoulders. “I knew that you should be saved. I saw how much fun your mom had with Emma and how sometimes you looked really sad. I didn’t want you to be sad. I knew you deserved to be happy, to be saved.”

Tracey couldn’t speak. A giant lump expanded in her throat, tears burned the back of her eyes. She missed Emma and her mother. She missed playing with them. She missed their breakfasts together and the way she and Emma used to stick together when they were bored. She even missed when she used to fight with Emma. Tracey tried not to cry, and Mummy drew her in close.

“It’s all right, Tracey.” She stroked Tracey’s back, her hair, just like Tracey’s own mother used to. “It’s okay to be sad sometimes. I’m sad sometimes, too. My mummy is gone, too, remember?”

Tracey nodded, sniffling back the tears.

“But now I have you!” she stood up and held Tracey’s hand. “You’ll see, Tracey. You’ll see how much I can teach you about God and how to talk to Him. You’ll see how much fun we’ll have—and when you’re a little bigger, I’ll even let you play with the carts!”

Tracey smiled.

They walked for what seemed to Tracey to be forever. She asked Mummy if she thought there was gold in the tunnels, and she stared at the ground, hoping to be lucky enough to see a shiny nugget of gold. The tracks had become deeper set in the ground, almost even with the dirt. Mummy slowed her pace, eventually stopping and settling her backpack on the ground.

“Tracey,” she said, “to get to where my mummy is, we have to go down a long, dark, narrow tunnel—much narrower than what we’ve been in before. It’s a little scary, but when we get to the end, it’s beautiful, like a garden.” She knelt before Tracey and stared into her eyes. She looked like she was mad, but her voice was sweet. “I need you to stay right with me, okay? I need for you to be quiet, too, as we enter her resting place. Do you understand?”

Tracey nodded, fear and excitement swirling in her belly. She wanted to see the garden. She wanted to be outside. A worried look crossed her face. “What about the toxins?” her voice shook.

“There are no toxins where we’re going, only a great big, deep well.”

Tracey reached for her necklace, calming herself. “Okay,” she whispered.

“I mean it, Tracey. You need to stay with me. Don’t get too scared, don’t try to run away. I’ll keep you safe.” She pulled her against her chest. Her hair swept the top of Tracey’s head, her arms held her so tightly that Tracey was sure Mummy could feel her heart pounding.

She put her arms around Mummy and looked up at her. Mummy’s dark hair was like a curtain around her face. “I promise, Mummy. I’ll be good,” Tracey said, and she meant it. She wanted to make Mummy proud. She wanted to be safe.

“That’s my girl. I knew I could trust you! That’s why I gave you the necklace—to show you how much you mean to me.”

Tracey fingered the cool gold chain.

The tunnels closed in on them, becoming narrower with each step, until they were barely able to fit Mummy’s body without her turning sideways.

“Mummy, I’m scared,” Tracey clutched her doll in one hand and clung to the back of Mummy’s sweater with the other.

“I know, pumpkin. Just stay with me. We’re almost there,” she answered.

Tracey concentrated on the back of Mummy, a mantra running through her head, We’re almost there. We’re almost there. Her feet moved fast, shuffling across the ground, three steps to every one of Mummy’s.

Suddenly Mummy turned around and whispered, “Do not move.”

Tracey became rigid. She moved her head to the side, looking around Mummy, and eyed the opening at the end of the tunnel. Mummy peered in, moving just the top of her body forward. She lifted the lantern, illuminating an enormous cavern carved into the earth. The floor, covered with wood chips and rotted chunks of logs, was also, surprisingly, covered with plants and flowers—white flowers with yellow middles, blue and red flowers, big orange flowers. The garden before them seemed unreal, unimaginable in a place where there was no sunlight, no water.

Candles rested on dirt-carved shelves throughout, shrine-like. Mummy moved slowly forward. Tracey tried to follow, but she stood mesmerized, watching her captor move from candle to candle, lighting each one, and with each flame came a harder beat of Tracey’s heart. The flames from the candles threw dancing shadows on walls that were littered with white drawing papers and old newspapers, torn and nailed directly into the dirt. Tracey leaned forward, trying to discern the scribble, unable to make out the words drawn before her.

Mummy prayed as her match dimmed, “Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.” She turned slowly toward Tracey. “Now, my God, may your eyes be open and your ears attentive to the prayers offered in this place.”

The smell of must and incense filled the room. The candles flickered, as if there were a draft, though Tracey could not feel one. Tracey turned big, wondrous eyes toward Mummy, who walked toward her, silently taking her hand. “Follow me,” she whispered, “but don’t say a word, okay?” Tracey nodded fast and hard, wanting to figure out the big, magical chamber. Mummy walked her to the center of the room. “Wow,” slipped from Tracey’s lips. Mummy squeezed her hand, giving her a stern look.

She turned Tracey around. Tracey gasped, taking a big step backward, afraid she’d fall into the deep dark hole that looked to her like a big evil eye. Mummy dropped Tracey’s hand, and in that split second, Tracey wondered if she was in trouble. Mummy bent down, resting her knees on the plush green below them. Tracey followed. Mummy put her hands in a praying position, and Tracey did the same.

“The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation,” she began. “He is my stronghold, my refuge and my savior—from violent men You save me. I call to the Lord, who is worthy of praise, and I am saved from my enemies.” She reached out and took Tracey’s hand in her own. “We listened, oh Lord, we took heed in your direction; ‘Follow my decrees and be careful to obey my laws, and you will live safely in the land. Then the land will yield its fruit, and you will eat your fill and live there in safety.’”

Mummy’s hand was warm and strong. Tracey darted her eyes, looking at the flowers—the sound of their breathing, the only rhythm in the room. Mummy let go of Tracey’s hand, and Tracey quickly closed her eyes tight, unsure if she would be in trouble, unsure if she should have kept them closed. Mummy touched her arm, gently, beckoning them open again. She reached in her pocket and withdrew the quarters she had brought with them. She kissed each one of them, tossing them gently into the hole, one by one. Tracey listened for the soft Plink! as they hit the water, but it never came, almost as if they had disappeared into thin air, like magic.

“Tracey,” she whispered, “this is where my mummy is.” She lifted her chin toward the hole. “We bring the quarters as an offering to God—to repay Him for all that he does for us.” Tracey barely heard the last sentence, she was too focused on the first. “In there?” she asked. “Yes. This is our holy well. God has blessed this well with fortune and riches. You see, my mummy was…well…sort of magical.” Tracey’s eyes grew wide. “She could put spells on things and make things happen.” “Why didn’t she just make herself well then?” Tracey asked, confused.

“She couldn’t change the path of people’s lives like that. If God had decided to make a person sick, well, she couldn’t really go against his wishes and change that. She tried to make sick people well, but it wasn’t to be.”

Mummy turned around then, stood up, and motioned around the room. “Look around you. Look what she’s created: Life. She’s created life where there was none.” She moved slowly across the carpet of greenery. “She once brought me a book on plants. These are like the orchids of the genus Lecanorchis or Galeola type. I remember reading about them. Or what was the other one called?” She looked around, like she was trying to pull the answer out of the air. “Oh yeah!” she exclaimed. “Pyrolaceae of the genus Monotropastrum! They’re called saprophytes.”

“Sapro what?” Tracey asked.

“Saprophytes. They’re plants that don’t need sunlight because they rely on dead plant or animal residue to live, like from decaying wood.” She bent down and picked up a chunk of rotting wood. “See? Like these. As they rot, the plants eat them. I think that’s how they work anyway.” Tracey bent down and smelled the white flowers, “Mm, they smell like spring!” Mummy pointed to the walls, “Do you see these symbols and drawings?” Tracey nodded.

“She made these, too. They represent passages from her own Bible. See her writing, here?” she pointed to one of the papers. “She wrote her spells to keep the plants alive. See? She told me, once, that the flowers would live on forever, marking the Earth where she last stepped.” She walked around the room with her arms spread wide, a smile on her face. “She came here in the days before she died and danced. She danced all around the ground, then she blessed the seeds of these plants and told me to plant them all—every last one of them.” Tracey listened, spellbound. “So, I did as I was told, and a few days later, when Mummy died, they each came to life. Can you believe it?” she asked.

“It sounds like a fairy tale!” Tracey said, excited.

“The Lord keeps them for us, so we will always remember her, remember her spirit, remember to dance when the end is near. Remember that if God’s will is for you to be with Him, then that’s where you shall go, and you shall accept it.” She smiled, touching each plant as if they were precious gifts.

“But…you put your mom in a well? Isn’t that kind of…mean?” Tracey asked cautiously.

“It wasn’t mean at all, actually. That’s where she wanted to be. She chose this place. She told me exactly what to do with her body so the Lord would accept her, and I followed her wishes, and I hope you will do the same for me.” “Where did she go?” “She went into the water, into her burial place. She’s still in there.” A chill ran up Tracey’s spine.

“The well is so deep that even when I put my mummy in, I could barely hear her hit the water. It was as if she became a spirit before she actually landed.”

“I don’t know if I could do that,” Tracey said, stepping further away from the hole.

“It was what she wanted. It wasn’t a bad thing.” She put her hand on Tracey’s shoulder and bent down to look her in the eye. “Tracey, when someone is buried, they are put in the ground, right?”

Tracey nodded.

“Well, my mummy was put in the ground, too, only she has water which is better. She won’t have animals and bugs all over her. She’s just here, safe, with us. There’s no one to walk over her grave, no snow to make her bones cold. This is a good place, not a bad place. It’s what she wanted.”

“Oh,” Tracey said, although she still wasn’t sure she could ever put someone in a hole. “Were you with her when she....when she died?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, until the very end. I held her hand and sang to her.” She smiled, rubbed Tracey’s hand. “We prayed a lot, asking the Lord to accept her, to take care of her, and to watch over me. When she died, she was happy. She closed her eyes like she was sleeping and just didn’t wake up.” She stopped rubbing Tracey’s hand and held it in her own. “After she died, I prayed for her soul to be accepted by the Lord. I prayed that she would always be with me,” she covered her heart with her hand, “here, inside me, and I know she is. I can feel her. She’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful, too,” Tracey said, shyly.

Mummy reached out and took Tracey in her arms again, hugging her tightly against her, sharing her strength with her. The embrace felt good to Tracey, it felt right. She hugged her back.

Twenty Three

Molly ran much further than she’d anticipated, rounding out the three-mile loop down Barnesville Road, and heading toward the Country Store, giving a quick wave to the passing cars that veered to the opposite lane to give her room to run. The lack of a shoulder on the rural roads was hazardous, and Molly appreciated the kindness of the drivers. She picked up her pace as she ran down the final hill, passing in front of the Country Store, where Edie stood in the window wearing a strange look of dismay. The Boyds Boys sat out front.

“Hey, guys!” Molly yelled, waving.

Harley turned away, Mac looked down, and Joe began to lift his arm, then, with a quick nudge from Mac, he lowered it and looked down at his feet. Molly was becoming increasingly annoyed by their behavior and began to wonder if there was more to their reputations than met the eye. Her run came to a halt at the bottom of the road where fire trucks and police vehicles blocked the entrance to the Perkinson driveway and lined the road near the lake. The grassy areas were roped off. Yellow tape, announcing, Police Area Do Not Cross, hung from the thick ropes. Molly ran across the road and sidled up to one of the officers wearing not only his uniform but an orange traffic vest as well. He looked to be about Molly’s age, dark hair, graying at the temples, and a pinched face.

“Hi,” she said, waiting for him to acknowledge her.

He looked over and down, his blue eyes settling on her, annoyed. “Ma’am,” he said. His mouth quickly formed a fine line across his face. “Excuse me, but can you tell me what’s going on?” “We’ve got divers in the lake, ma’am.” A helicopter hovered overhead. “For what?” she asked. Molly instantly thought of Hannah kneeling over the ground in the woods. “Looking for a missing party, ma’am,” he said, sternly. “Does this have to do with the little girl who is missing, Tracey Porter?” “I can’t say, ma’am. We’re checking the lake.” “So you think she’s in there?” Molly crunched her face, as if protecting herself from hearing the news. “Just doing our jobs, ma’am.” “The helicopter?” she asked. “Is that part of the investigation as well?” “Yes, ma’am. It has heat-seeking devices. They can track bodies in the water.” He planted his hands on his hips, rigid.

Molly realized how annoying it must be for him to answer questions like hers over and over. “Thank you,” she said and began jogging toward her car. She turned on her heels and said, “Sir?” He reluctantly turned toward her. “How long does something like this take?” “Not sure, ma’am. Could take a full day or even two depending on what they do or don’t find.” “Thank you again,” she said and continued jogging.

Molly settled into the van and let her head fall into her hands. Tears burst forward as if they had been trapped behind a dam that had suddenly cracked. Her body shook with sobs. How could this be happening again? she wondered. She pounded on the dashboard, “She’s not dead,” she said to the rearview mirror. “I would know. I would have felt it.”

Molly sat in her car for hours, watching the divers come up empty handed, the helicopter hover and dip, spraying water like scattering bugs. A crowd of spectators had gathered at different points around the lake. Finally, at around five P.M., the divers were out of the water, the helicopter had flown off to the south, and Molly made her way back to the officer with the graying temples and the traffic vest. She tapped him on the back, noting his surprised look when his eyes settled on her once again. “Well?” she asked. “Ma’am? You’re still here?” “Yes. Did they find her?” “No, ma’am, they didn’t.” Molly’s heart skipped a beat of hope, and she was sure she saw a faint smile in the officer’s eyes. “For sure?” she asked cautiously. “For sure,” he nodded, laying his hand on her shoulder, heavy, reassuring. “She’s not here, ma’am. That much we know.” Molly turned away without a word. She didn’t realize she was crying until she climbed back into the van and looked in the mirror.

Molly arrived to a darkened home, Cole’s car in the driveway. She called to him when she opened the front door, the dogs vied for her attention. Soft music sifted through the quiet. She followed the sound to the candlelit dining room. Molly put her backpack down and headed upstairs, “Cole?”

No response.

The shower ran in the bedroom, and Molly hurried in and gathered a black sweater, jeans, and clean undergarments, then raced into Erik’s shower to rinse off. A few minutes later she was greeted at the bottom of the stairs by Cole, who held a glass of White Zinfandel in one hand, extending the other toward her.

“I thought you could use a little relaxation,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“You have no idea how much,” she took the wineglass and came down to the bottom riser, almost eye-to-eye with Cole. He stood so close that she could taste the toothpaste on his breath. “Hi,” she whispered.

He kissed her, softly, on the lips. “Hi,” he said, leaning his head to hers.

They stood that way for a long moment, forehead to forehead, toes to shins—not an uncomfortable silence, but a testing of the waters.

“Thanks for doing all this,” she said, making her way to the dining room.

“I didn’t,” he said. He disappeared into the kitchen only to return carrying sashimi, California rolls, and sushi arranged artistically on one tray, salad and miso soup on another. “Tsukiji’s did,” he smiled.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, sipping their wine and letting the stress of the day dissolve, until Molly couldn’t stand it anymore, she had to talk about what she’d seen. She asked him if he’d seen the fire trucks, which he had. They discussed how scared Tracey’s parents must have been, and Molly told him of her feeling that she would have known if Tracey were dead. Molly saw the stress return to Cole’s eyes.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, carefully. “This isn’t Philly, and she’s not Amanda. We’ve been over this,” she looked away, pained. “I couldn’t help her. But maybe I can help Tracey.”

“I don’t know how you make it through each day as wrapped up as you are in all of this,” he said, his voice rising. “I can barely make it through my own stuff, and here you are gallivanting around town trying to do the police officers’ jobs.”

“I’m not trying to do their jobs,” Molly said, playing with her chopsticks. “I just feel…compelled to help find her. I know you think it’s weird, or twisted, or whatever you think, but there’s something there, Cole,” she said defensively. “There’s something that won’t let me let go of this search. It pulls on my mind whether I’m concentrating on it or not. It’s like…it’s like it’s pleading with me to figure it out.”

“I know you feel that way,” he said, dismissively, a little sarcastically. “That’s how it starts, and soon you’ll be wandering around the house unable to find any direction to your days, and wondering where you went wrong.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” They stared at each other from opposite ends of their beliefs, neither having the ability to change the other. Molly’s need to find Tracey and Cole’s need to bring her to her senses hovered in the air as if caught in the silk from a spider’s thread, fragile, yet unyielding.

The phone rang, and Molly jumped up to answer it, relieved by the distraction. Cole turned away, annoyed. She was met with an unfamiliar foreign voice. “Who’s this?” Molly said cautiously. “Edie. From store.” “Edie?” It took a moment for Molly to reconcile the voice and name with the Boyds Country Store. Edie spoke fast, her voice carried a hint of fear. “I want to talk to you. You meet me?” “Sure, Edie. I’ll come by the store tomorrow,” Molly said, thinking it odd that Edie would call her. “No. Not store. You meet me at Blue Fox. One hour.” It was not a question. The line went dead.

The restaurant was an inconspicuous little brick rambler with brown shutters, a brown roof, and a small wooden deck out front, adorned with several small wrought-iron tables and chairs. Molly walked in, still wrestling with Cole’s last comment as she’d walked out the door, You didn’t kill Amanda, Molly, but you may be killing us. It took a minute for Molly’s eyes to adjust to the dim light. The flames of small candles in shot glasses rose from the center of each small empty table and flickered with the change in air as she closed the door. An older, thin man wearing a tattered vest that looked like it had seen better days, stood behind a small bar, just feet in front of the entrance. Molly smiled at him. He grimaced, whipped a white cloth napkin off of his shoulder, and began wiping down the bar.

Molly turned at the sound of an uneven gait. A small, hunched-over woman walked through a swinging door with black letters that read, Kit hen. She wore an apron around her thick waist, and a red and white polyester dress that was made not a day earlier than the bartender’s vest. On her tiny feet she wore black shoes and white socks. Molly felt as though she had stepped back in time into some small rural establishment of years past, before electricity, before fashion. The woman stood before Molly, a scowl on her face, her head the height of Molly’s chin. Her back was bent in such a way that she could not look up at Molly without twisting her entire body to the left, which she did. Molly smiled. The woman did not smile back. “This way,” the woman directed, gruffly. Molly wondered how the business remained open with such a gloomy environment and less-than-stellar service. “Excuse me,” Molly said, politely. The woman stopped walking, and Molly almost tripped over her. She twisted her body up towards Molly again, scowling. “I’m sorry,” Molly said gently, “but I’m meeting someone here.”

The woman made a guttural sound, turned around with difficulty, scuttled back to the table next to the door, snagged another menu, and, mumbling, trudged back toward Molly, then right past her. “Come on,” she said gruffly, motioning for Molly to follow.

Molly suddenly saw the comedy in the scene and stifled a laugh. The table she was led to was one of six. The square wooden table rocked with the weight of Molly’s elbow. Headlights flashed through the front window of the restaurant. A moment later, the front door swung open, and Edie stepped in, a black hat covering her dark hair. Sunglasses and a brown knit coat completed her disguise.

“Edie, don’t you think the sunglasses are overkill?” Molly joked. Edie approached the table.

Edie glanced suddenly and suspiciously behind her. She took off her coat and sunglasses but left her hat pulled tightly down over her head. “I didn’t want to take a chance. Didn’t want no one to recognize me,” she said. “Well, there isn’t anyone here,” Molly pointed out. “I think you’ve picked the one restaurant that throws you back in time.” Edie looked at the bartender, who continued washing the glasses, but lifted his chin in a slight greeting. The old woman returned to the table. “Drinks,” she said in a monotone.

Molly ordered water with lemon and Edie ordered tea. The woman turned around without acknowledgement and hobbled away. A moment later she hobbled back out with the drinks.

Edie ran her finger around the rim of her mug, avoiding Molly’s eyes.

“Edie, what’s going on?” Molly asked.

She didn’t answer. She looked down, and then, slowly, up at Molly. “I should not tell you,” Edie said, sipping her tea and looking away. “Should not tell me what?” Molly asked, becoming annoyed at the cat and mouse game. Edie stared blankly at the table and said with no emotion, “I wrote notes. I pay girl to call you.” Molly’s jaw dropped. “Why?” Edie continued looking down, avoiding Molly’s accusatory gaze.

“Edie, I just don’t understand.” She was becoming angry. “If you know something that might help Tracey, you have to tell me! There’s a little girl’s life on the line,” Molly pleaded.

Edie’s gaze held both fear and hope. She took Molly’s hand in her own trembling one. “You no understand, Molly,” she began. “There are many people’s lives at stake here, not just Tracey.” She bowed her head and mumbled something in Korean, then released Molly’s hand. “Edie,” Molly said, frustrated. “Why are we here? Who are we hiding from?” Edie made a low growling sound. “Jin must not know I’m here,” she said, firmly. “Ever!” “Okay, okay,” Molly held her hands up in surrender. “Many years ago,” she began, her hands clenched around her mug, “a very bad thing happened, a very, very bad thing.” “Rodney’s murder?”

She nodded. “Rodney, Kate, it was all very bad. Rodney did not kill that girl.” She paused, “He did not hurt that girl. He did not take that girl. He did not.”

“I hear you,” Molly said.

“Rodney was a good boy. No trouble to anyone. He just…different.” She gave Molly a knowing look. “You know this, Molly. You know why he different.”

“Yes,” Molly said. “He was slow.”

“No, no, no!” Edie hit the table with her fist. “Not because he slow!” Her dark eyes pierced Molly’s like daggers, a vehemence Molly had never before seen in Edie, alarming her. “He different like you,” she said with conviction.

“Wait, Edie, what do you mean?” Molly’s heart raced, her eyes darted from Edie to the bartender and back.

“Different. You know, Molly. Different,” she accused.

Molly tried to laugh it off. “We’re all different, Edie. What does that have to do with Rodney?”

“I know,” she tapped her temple with her index finger. “I know about you. You like Rodney. You know things.”

Molly stood, nervously pacing, crossing and uncrossing her arms. Her movement caused the old woman to walk toward them. Molly held her palm up, staving her off. She took a deep breath and rejoined Edie. “Okay, so you know. How?” she asked. Edie stared at Molly, silently tapping her temple. Molly felt as though her life had become a comic strip—this was some type of sick joke. “Something about you…just like Rodney,” Edie said.

“Great. He’s dead.” Molly threw her body against the back of her chair, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. “That gets us nowhere.” “Rodney knew about Kate Plummer,” she said. “He knew things about where she was.” “I know that, Edie. That’s not new.” “He only knew some details, not all of it. But the two of you,” she looked at Molly, “together, you might know about the girl.” “What does that mean, Edie? He and I can’t do anything together. He’s dead.” Edie folded her trembling hands in her lap, and spoke in a hushed voice. “Rodney is only one that can help.” “Edie,” Molly said, exasperated. Edie leaned forward, “What I tell you, you no hear from me.” “Okay,” Molly said, believing she’d found someone crazier than herself. “You no tell anyone. You no tell Jin,” she said Jin’s name with a faltering, quivering voice. “I promise, Edie,” Molly said.

Edie looked around, as if expecting someone to suddenly show up, catching her in the act of telling her secret. “Rodney didn’t take her. He just saw her, here,” she pointed to her head. “People think he took her, think he hurt her, because police take him in.” “That’s why they killed him,” Molly nodded. “Yes, beat him.” “Awful,” Molly said, sadly. “His sister take him away, back home. She take him that night. Pack him in the car and go, before he got more hurt.”

Molly perched on the edge of her seat, More hurt?

“His sister take him to Delaware, but his parents no want him. Too much trouble. They—”

“Wait!” Molly interrupted. “He was dead. What do you mean too much trouble?” “He no dead. He almost dead, still breathing.” “What?” Molly said incredulously. “He no die,” Edie said. “He lived? Rodney is alive?” Molly was in disbelief. Edie nodded. “He might be able to lead us to Kate’s body,” Molly said anxiously. “No!” she said, thumping the table again with her fist. “He no involved!”

Molly grabbed Edie’s hand. “Edie, you have to help me. If Rodney knew things, maybe you’re right, maybe together we can find Tracey and figure out what happened to Kate.” Edie suddenly looked five years older than she did when she had walked into the restaurant. “I don’t know where he is,” she said. “Damn it, Edie, come on,” Molly said loudly. “What are you worried about? You must know where he is.” Edie shook her head. “If police find him, they arrest him again. Or worse, Rodney beat again,” she hissed. “I won’t tell the police, Edie. I promise,” Molly pleaded, her mind raced through the possible outcome: finding Kate’s body.

Edie looked around the restaurant nervously. Molly urged her again, using Edie’s own thoughts, that together, Molly and Rodney could find Tracey. Finally, Edie conceded. “Very dangerous, you involved, Molly. Very dangerous.” She looked down at her tea once again, “Pastor Lett, she know where to find Rodney. I not see Rodney. I just know he alive.”

The Perkinson House, Molly thought, remembering the locks on the windows and the sensation of the strong hands upon her own at the cellar doors. Molly knew that she would not keep her promise to Edie. She had to call Sergeant Moeler.

“Why, why, why?” Pastor Lett sobbed, repeatedly hitting the back of the couch with her fisted hand. She raised her arms toward the ceiling, “Why? Why do I have to go through this again?” She paced, frustrated, saddened once again by the ghost of a brother she once had, once cherished, and still loved. She knew what she had to do. She’d seen Molly in the woods, spying on her. She gathered her store of empty boxes, pulled on her overcoat and gloves, and picked up the phone.

Hannah’s voice was soft, tired, as if she were on the edge of sleep and had been brought back to wakefulness, “Hannah, it’s Carla. I’m sorry to bother you so late.” “What’s wrong, Carla?” “We need to talk. Can we meet at your house, right away?” she asked, urgently. “Yes, yes, of course. Are you going to call, or shall I?”

“I will. Just be ready. We need to move fast.” She was thankful for Hannah’s lack of questions. She hung up the phone and dialed again. “Newton, it’s Carla. We have an issue. Trouble.” “Carla? Okay, yes. Um, where?” “Hannah’s house. I’ll meet you there.” She hung up before hearing Newton’s reply.

As Pastor Lett drove through the empty streets of Boyds, she felt as though she were being watched through the darkened windows of the homes she passed. She went by Molly’s house, and she envisioned her stewing over the whole situation. She couldn’t blame her for wanting to find Tracey. She didn’t like to have harsh feelings towards others, but she was hurt, maddened even—seeing her at her house in the middle of the night, then at the manse. The pastor side of her wondered how she would get past the ill feelings that brewed within her to find her way to forgiveness.

Newton’s car was already in Hannah’s driveway when she arrived. She rushed up the back steps. The dogs barked as she rapped three times on the door with her gloved hand. Hannah’s tense face greeted her, her dark brown hair piled in a loose bun on her head. She guided her silently to the parlor where Newton sat fidgeting with his keys, his Members Only jacket zipped right up to his chin.

“Thank you for meeting me,” Pastor Lett said quickly. “We have an issue, or at least, I think we might have an issue. I’m not certain, but just in case, I think we need to move swiftly.” They eyed one another seriously.

“What is it, Carla? What’s happened?” Hannah folded her hands in her lap.

“Molly Tanner’s been snooping around,” she paced nervously, “asking about Rodney.” She poured a cup of tea from the silver pot that Hannah had set out for them, and took a slow sip. The warmth of the liquid calmed her nerves. “Molly?” asked Hannah. “Why would Molly ask about Rodney? I just don’t understand.” She adjusted her sweatshirt, flustered. “Why, she’d have no reason not to trust you,” Newton said, quickly. “I don’t think she’s causing trouble, really, but I want to take precautions.” “Carla, what exactly are you worried about?” Hannah asked.

Pastor Lett stood and walked behind Hannah’s Victorian sofa, looking out the window, running her hand through her hair, then down her face, trying to figure out exactly what she was worried about. She returned to the sofa and sat down, bracing her hands on her knees. “I don’t know,” her words were rushed, frustrated. “I’m worried that they’ll search the Perkinson House.” She ejected a sigh of relief. She’d finally said it, after all of those years of hiding behind each other’s glances, behind the safety of their carefully-executed stories. It had been released, laid naked on the table before them.

“The Perkinson House?” Hannah asked.

“She saw me, one night, when I had rowed over there.”

“Oh, Carla,” Newton said, fidgeting with his hands. “This is bad, real bad. What are we going to do? After all these years. The Perkinsons trusted you. We have to do something.” He spoke quickly, as if the taste of the words would cause him pain.

“I know that, Newton!” Carla said sharply. “We need to go there, to make sure the cellar is secure, and, if they get a search warrant, to make sure there are no….holes for them to find.”

“Yes, yes, right. We need to go right now.” Newton stood to leave.

“What should I bring?” Hannah asked.

“No, Hannah, you stay here. It’s late and cold. I don’t want you out there in this weather. Besides, Carla and I can handle this,” Newton said, protectively.

“Nonsense, Newton. I’m coming, and that’s that. Now, what do we need?” Her hands on her hips told him that she had made up her mind.

“I’m really sorry that I got you two involved in this,” Carla said thoughtfully. “It was wrong of me.”

“Nonsense,” Hannah snapped. “We have to watch out for one another.” She and Newton exchanged a knowing glance.

Newton lowered his eyes. “Yes, yes we do. Carla, you couldn’t have done this on your own. Why, you had to rely on us.” He picked up the one large box he had been carrying and nervously changed the subject, “Well, um, let’s move on, shall we?”

Pastor Lett asked Hannah for supplies, “Extra food and water. Anything that you think the kid will need over the next week or so, just in case they watch the house, and we’re unable to get there.” Carla thought of the kid, listening to people rumbling around in the house, fearful of making a sound. “Hannah, do you have a small CD player with earphones? Something to eliminate the noise when, and if, the police come rummaging around?”

“Just a minute. I might have just the thing.” she hurried from the room.

They loaded Hannah’s car with supplies, and drove toward the Perkinson house, deciding along the way to park in the Huntington Brothers’ truck yard, which was on the same side of the road as the railroad tracks. They parked Hannah’s car behind the maintenance building and gathered their supplies. The three of them stood at the edge of the dark woods that separated the maintenance yard from the Perkinson property, nervous, but determined. Without a light to guide them, they felt their way through the woods. Hannah headed their trek, advising them, Careful of this branch. To the right, here. Newton, watch your step!

At the crest of the hill, the house loomed before them. Pastor Lett’s heart ached at the lies that lay within the walls of the magnificent structure.

Pastor Lett watched Newton with appreciation and guilt, remembering the long and painful deliberation she’d endured when she’d first brought Newton into the fold of her situation. She’d worried that Newton might not want any part of it, and she wouldn’t have blamed him, either. After a month of consideration and worry, and the date of Carla’s visit back to Delaware at her heels, she finally decided to chance it. She’d asked Newton to visit her at the church one evening and disclosed what she’d been doing, her clandestine meetings, the reasons, and finally, about the kid. Newton had acted pleased. He’d secretly worried, he’d said, about what had happened to the child.

It was Newton, with his knowledge of tinkering, electricity, and plumbing, things Carla knew nothing about, who installed the commode in the cellar. It had been a long, daunting process. Thank goodness for the dirt floor. Carla had been in awe of Newton’s knowledge, his ability to follow the Do-It-Yourself handbooks. They had worked for a full month of nights, digging trenches for the PVC piping, connecting it to the septic system, and rigging up electricity from the lines at the Huntington Brothers truck site, unbeknownst to them, though Pastor Lett wouldn’t have put it past Newton to have asked permission and made up some story that would sit well, yet cause no concern for inquiries.

It was one year later, when timing had, once again, become an issue, that they let Hannah in on their secret. They were the two most trustworthy people that Carla had ever known, and she cared for them both a great deal. As she watched them now, she felt guilty for burdening them with her responsibilities, and yet, she couldn’t imagine how she would have made it through this many years without them by her side.

They crossed the grass and stacked their supplies next to the cellar doors. A cold gust of wind against the sweat on Pastor Lett’s face made her feel alive, alert. She took the key from around her neck and unlocked the substantial metal lock from the heavy chain, and glanced up at her conspirators, who hovered above her, watching her every move. A chill rushed through her body as a fleeting image of the child in the dollhouse danced through her mind. She hefted one door upward, then the other. The chamber below was dark. She lowered herself down the crooked steps, and from behind the shelves, behind the plywood, she heard the kid.

After the long and tedious job of securing the area was taken care of, they replaced the plywood and shelves, each moving slower than when they’d first arrived, each feeling the weight of the situation, the sadness of it. Newton climbed the cellar stairs last, and before Pastor Lett could close the cellar doors, he threw old pieces of wood, sticks, and leaves onto the cellar floor and steps.

“This will make it look like the Perkinsons stored wood here.” He gathered more leaves and threw them into the cellar, asking Hannah to hand him the small box that he had left at the top of the cellar stairs. Hannah looked around, found the box, and handed it to him, feeling something scurry inside of it.

“When you called, I had an idea that we might have to do this. So I took some precautions of my own.” He opened the box, and lifted one live rat by the tail and tossed it gently onto the steps. Then he reached back into the box and withdrew two dead rats, throwing one to the floor and the other on the steps. The stench was so bad that Hannah moved away. “Goodness, Newton. Where did you get those?” she asked. Carla covered her nose. “Newton, that’s awful!” “That’s the point.” They locked the heavy metal chain in place and began their long trek back.

By the time they reached Hannah’s car, it was after two A.M.

“Carla, you don’t look very good,” Hannah said.

“I’m just exhausted. This…this whole thing. Sometimes it feels so wrong,” she said.

“We all wish we had done things differently in our lives,” Hannah said, supportively. “Some things we do because we have to, and other things, we do them because they’re the right thing to do. And sometimes, what starts out feeling right, changes as time passes and lives change,” Hannah leaned against the car, her side touching Pastor Lett’s, “but by then it’s too late. Then it is what it is and we carry on.” She smiled at Carla, and then they climbed back into the car—each lost in her own thoughts, each pretending it was just another normal night.

Twenty Four

Weekend mornings always felt like mini-vacations to Molly. No matter how great of a running morning it might appear to be, her body wanted to lie around a little longer, move a little more slowly, and welcome the morning more gracefully. The sun peeked through the curtains in a streak across Cole’s body which was stretched across the bed. She curled around him, feeling as safe and warm as any secret she’d ever held. She suddenly realized how soundly she’d slept. The turmoil of the night before crept into her mind, trying to settle there, but was met with resistance—resistance of wanting a few moments’ peace without the invasion of real life.

Cole reached around her, drawing her closer, and moving his upper body over hers, his handsome face looking down at her, his eyes smiling, hair tousled.

“Hi, stranger,” he said, brushing her wavy bangs off of her forehead.

“Morning,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and lifting herself up to kiss his cheek.

“What time did you get in last night?” he asked, running his index finger down her right shoulder, sending goose bumps down the length of her arm.

“I don’t know,” she said, trying to keep focused on their conversation and not the warm sensation growing beneath her skin. “Late.”

“Mmm.” He gently kissed her forehead, her eyes, and then her cheeks.

Molly lay with her eyes closed, thinking of the feel of Cole’s whiskers tickling her skin, when the sound of the ringing phone slashed through the moment. Cole stretched across her chest, reaching for the phone.

“Hello?” Cole said with a strained voice. He moved off of Molly, handing her the phone as if it were a dirty diaper. “For you. Mike Moeler.” Cole reached for his book.

“Hello?”

“Molly? Mike. Thanks for the call last night.”

Molly rested her head on Cole’s shoulder. Cole tensed. “You won’t say anything to Edie, will you?” The pit of her stomach hurt when she thought of her betrayal. “We’ll talk about that later. They put another officer in charge, Officer Rozutto. He wants to meet you.” “Why did they do that?” “We get moved around based on other cases that come up. Rozutto’s a fine detective. Can you meet us? Now?” Molly heard the urgency in his voice, “Of course.” She sat up and turned to Cole with a look of apology. He rolled his eyes. “Panera Bread? Half hour okay?” Mike asked. Molly agreed, and hung up the phone. Cole shifted his gaze above his book. “Well?” he asked in a disappointed tone.

Molly snuggled closer to him. “I know this really stinks,” she laid her head on his shoulder, “but I have to meet them. The detective wants to talk to me.”

“Do you want me to come with you—wherever it is that you’re going…with Mike.” Mike’s name held a quip of annoyance.

Molly turned to face him. “First of all, Mike is Sergeant Moeler, a cop, and second of all, no, I’ll be fine, but thank you.” She put her arm across his chest. “Uh-huh,” Cole said flatly. “Cole,” she said, trying to rein in her anxiety over the pending meeting and her ailing marriage, “how can I make it up to you?” “That’s a good question,” he said and looked back down at his book.

Molly shook the outstretched hand of Sal Rozutto, his olive skin and thick dark hair as stereotypically Italian as his name.

“My pleasure,” he said with a voice smooth as butter and thick with culture. His demeanor was friendly, yet keenly in charge. “I appreciate your meeting with us. It’s people like you that are in tune, shall we say, with things that help to solve these cases.” The smile remained on his lips even as he spoke.

Molly lifted her eyebrows, “Well, I don’t know how in tune I am with it, but I’m glad to help.”

“It’s my understanding,” he said a little quieter, moving closer to her, “that you are very in tune with the issues surrounding this case, that you have seen things.” The way he said it, quiet, like an inside secret between the two of them, touched Molly. She liked this man. “That is very beneficial to us, Mrs. Tanner.”

He must have noticed the surprise in Molly’s eyes, because he added quickly, “We don’t often use...seers, but, in a case like this, where time is of the essence and a life hangs in the wings,” he paused, thoughtfully, “in a case where we need every available lead to pan out before we lose a child, well, such a case may deem it appropriate, if the…seer…appears to be a safe and sane individual.” “But Officer Brown said—” “Let me worry about Officer Brown,” Sal said. “I don’t know what you’ve been told.” “I’ve been told enough to know that you know what you’re talking about.” He glanced at Mike.

Molly took a deep breath and felt a blush warm her cheeks. Validation. “Well,” Molly began, “I’m not sure what I can tell you. I mean, the things I’ve seen,” she leaned forward, spoke a little softer, and hoped the other patrons would not overhear their conversation, “they haven’t really been that clear, you know?”

“I don’t know, but I do understand that this is how these things work. Have you kept a record of any of it?”

“A record?” Molly gave a little laugh and told them about her journal, “But I can tell you what I’ve seen. I’ve got most of it right here.” She pointed to her head. Sal nodded. Molly was torn between trust and deceit, “Sal, I have no trouble talking about it, but I want to make sure of something first.” Mike looked at her questioningly.

“Officer Brown basically said I was a suspect. If that’s why you’re talking with me, I want to know up front. I don’t play games, and I won’t be party to any, either. If I’m a suspect, come out and tell me, and I’ll get a lawyer, and then we can talk,” she spoke confidently, almost defiantly.

“I didn’t realize that Officer Brown thought you were a suspect.” He looked at Mike.

Mike chimed in, “Don’t look at me. He never directly conveyed that to me.”

“Regardless,” Sal interrupted, “right now, you are not considered a suspect. You have my word on that, but obviously someone wants to convey things to you, whether it’s someone who is involved or knows who might be.”

“The notes,” Mike said.

“I’m interested in what you know that might help us find Tracey—and hopefully find her alive and quickly.”

“Okay, good.” Molly surveyed the surrounding booths, making sure that there was no one she knew within earshot. She stared out the window, trying to figure out how, or what, to tell them.

“Molly,” Sal touched her arm, “are you okay?”

She sighed, “I’m fine. It’s just that…well....sometimes, it’s not easy describing visions. There are many parts to them, some that will make no sense at all, others that, in the end, will have nothing do to with the vision itself.” She squeezed lemon into her water and added a little Sweet ’n Low, making lemonade. Mike and Sal watched with questioning eyes. “This is my caffeine,” she smiled.

Molly steeled herself for disbelief, then she began to describe the images she’d seen of a man being beaten, the three men hovering above him, the pain and the overpowering sadness that she’d felt. She stopped several times to collect her thoughts and figure out how to describe the depth of what she’d felt, the horrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach returning. Mike and Sal’s slack jaws and incredulous looks made Molly feel as if she were speaking obscenities. Her voice faded to a near whisper.

At Mike’s urging, she went on to describe the apple candy taste, which brought saliva to her mouth as she spoke. She detailed the cold, dark, cavernous holes and passageways that she’d seen, the image of Tracey and the dark-haired woman on their knees, praying in front of many candles, and the peaceful feeling that Tracey emitted, the sheer lack of fear that Molly had recently felt coming from her, the strange calm which had seemed out of place and, somehow, wrong.

Molly’s energy was draining. She felt queasy, as though she’d been telling tales that should not be revealed—as if, by voicing them, she were making them real. She knew she had to push herself to continue, replaying for them the evil that overtook her as she’d run down White Ground Road. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and continued to describe the image of the girl she’d seen in the flowered dress, the girl who walked happily into the cornfield next to the church, only to be swallowed whole and never seen again. Mike and Sal took notes but did not say a word. Molly thought they were afraid to speak, afraid she might stop divulging her secrets.

Molly’s breathing had become shallow. She had one vision left to describe. She took a deep breath, finally, and told them of the sensation of the large palms against her own at the cellar doors of the Perkinson House.

Molly leaned onto the table for support, her visions splayed out before them like a bad dream. Molly’s head felt heavy and ill fit. She lowered her face into her hands as unexpected tears streamed down her cheeks, leaving her empty, and feeling as though she’d somehow betrayed her own mind—rendering her depleted, sad. She barely registered Sal’s strong, even voice as he spoke to Mike.

“Get a warrant.”

Pastor Lett sat on the rear deck of her home, gripping her warm mug of coffee, looking upon the lake but thinking of the past. She thought of the days before Rodney’s beating, before she had taken the course of deception. She remembered fishing at the lake with Rodney, when Rodney was just a boy, the way his feet dangled over the dock, his toes wriggling in the water, and the way he had pulled them out quickly, worried that fish would bite them. No matter how many times she’d tell Rodney that he was scaring the fish away, he’d continue with his toe-wriggling game. They never caught a single fish. Yet every Saturday morning, before the mist would rise off of the lake, before the birds would leave their nests in search of food, she and Rodney would make their way to the docks, dressed in full fishing garb: tan vests with multiple pockets and lures attached, rubber boots that they’d discard as soon as they hit the docks, and tan and brown floppy fisherman hats, which Rodney called “fish heads.” The memory brought a smile to her lips.

She watched the flurry of activity across the lake—the officers’ cars arriving, police dogs on leashes. She shouldn’t have been surprised, she knew what lay ahead; nevertheless, her hand began to shake. A splash of coffee spilled onto the deck, and she watched it spread like a horrible lie. She thought of Molly and the long talks they’d had, the intimate details of Molly’s depression they’d discussed, and felt the weight of sadness in Molly’s sudden mistrust.

She stood and walked inside, looking around, for what, she wasn’t sure. Hints of who lay in wait at the Perkinson House? There were no visible hints in her home—except for the sole legal paper, hidden in the locked metal box on the top shelf in her den. The key, tucked behind her shirt, suddenly felt cold against her chest. Nerves. She moved methodically, retrieving her heavy coat from the closet and setting it on the small maple table near the front door.

As a car pulled into the driveway, she rushed upstairs, taking the photo of Rodney down from the mantel in her bedroom—the photo of Rodney sitting on the living room floor of their childhood home, playing with a wooden train and smiling at the camera. She would carry the innocence of that photo with her as things became more difficult to handle. She said a small prayer and promised to keep Rodney safe, no matter what happened to her. There was a loud knock at the door. Pastor Lett held the photo to her chest for one last second, placed it carefully back on the mantel, aligning it with the other knickknacks, and walked calmly down the stairs.

“I’m coming, just a minute,” the tranquility of her own voice startled her.

On her front stoop stood an officer of the law.

Sergeant Moeler briefly introduced himself. “Pastor Lett,” he began, “we have a search warrant for the Perkinson property.” He handed several papers to Pastor Lett, who took them with a trembling hand—suddenly too nervous and angry to read them, much less decipher them.

“We would like to gain access to the premises now, please.”

Pastor Lett drew in a long breath, thinking of Hannah and Newton. “No problem at all,” she said. She walked to the French doors, using each measured step to compose herself. She locked the doors and, on her way back toward the front door, paused to straighten a magazine. Thoughts of the kid ran painfully through her mind as she put on her coat and went out.

“What exactly will you be looking for?” she asked as they walked toward Sergeant Moeler’s car.

“Rodney Lett, ma’am,” Sergeant Moeler answered.

Molly found Pastor Lett standing on the Perkinson driveway, watching the war-like scene before them unfold.

“Good Lord,” said Pastor Lett. Heavily-armed police officers moved in and out of the woods, search dogs in tow. She watched the house that she had so carefully boarded up be ripped open and invaded by strangers and lowered her face into her hands, “What have I done?”

“Is someone in there?” Molly asked, urgently.

Pastor Lett shook her head without looking at Molly. “I take care of that house! That is my responsibility! And now…just look! It’s being taken over, people are walking all over it, shouting, mussing up the floors, disturbing the balance!” She paced, the grief in her face undeniable; wrinkles settled in around her eyes, her mouth, drawing her face downward.

Molly watched the ensuing commotion, listening to the sounds of disruption and envisioning the dogs running from room to room, scratching the floors with their nails, closets being thrown open. A few scattered voices rang through the thick, stressed air, “Clear! Here!” Her senses were overwhelmed. The unmistakable smell of Pastor Lett, Ivory soap and sweet perfume, mixed with the fresh scent of the cool outdoors.

Twenty minutes later, Sergeant Moeler came down the hill.

“Good, you got my call,” he said to Molly. He turned to Pastor Lett, “You’ve got a rodent issue in the cellar.”

Molly watched the two of them. Their efforts to avoid looking at one another were painful for her to witness. Their distrust was blatant, her guilt, distressing.

“The house was clear,” Mike said, turning to Molly with an annoyed look.

“Clear?” Molly asked. Mike nodded. She turned to Pastor Lett. “If Rodney is alive, he might be able to help find Tracey Porter,” she pleaded, knowing full well that if she’d hidden her brother for that many years, she was not going to give him up easily.

“Molly,” she said confidently. She covered her eyes with her index finger and thumb, drew in a deep breath, and said, “Rodney can’t help you.”

“Molly, the house was clear. Leave the poor woman alone,” Mike said firmly. He shook Pastor Lett’s hand and went to join the search team as they descended the hill.

Molly pursued Pastor Lett, “This girl has one chance, like Kate Plummer did.” she watched the muscles in her jaw tense. “The police made a mistake the first time. Kate may have been found if Rodney hadn’t been fingered as a suspect, and then…well…”

“They cost him his life, Molly,” she said, heatedly. “His life!” She turned away.

Molly called out to her again, “Think of the little girl. Think of Tracey.”

“Think of Rodney,” she spat back. “Think of his family.” Pastor Lett stared at Molly. The silence drew them together, linking them in an uncomfortable moment. Sergeant Moeler’s voice broke the silence. “Molly! I told you to back off. If Rodney is alive, we’ll find him.” “But—” she said.

Pastor Lett interrupted, “Sergeant Moeler, my brother was killed, murdered, because he was a suspect, because he knew things. Not because he hurt Kate Plummer! Not because he killed Kate Plummer! He was murdered because of insecure people in our little town, the town that I have served for over twenty-five damned years—the town that I have given my heart and soul to—the town that I thought I could trust with my own flesh and blood.”

Molly stood between the two of them—the chasm between them impassable. She felt torn, “I’m sorry!” She raised her eyes to Pastor Lett’s and was struck by her venomous look. “Pastor Lett, I am truly sorry. It’s just…” her voice broke off, shaking. “It’s just that if we can save Tracey, we need to. You need to.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Molly,” she said. “He needs to.” She pointed to Sergeant Moeler, who stood ready to take the heat. “He needs to find Tracey. It’s certainly not your job, or my job, or, for heaven’s sake, Rodney’s job. It’s his job. The police need to find Tracey!”

Mike walked toward her and said, “You are absolutely right, Pastor Lett. It is our job to find Tracey Porter. It was our job to find Kate Plummer, though I was not part of that investigation, but if Rodney is alive, it is imperative that we find him and speak to him. It does not mean that he would be placed under investigation for Tracey’s disappearance. We just want to talk to him.”

“Do you know what happened when my brother was questioned by the police, Sergeant Moeler? Do you have any idea what it is like to come home and find that your brother has been beaten?” her face reddened, her arms flailed wildly with her angry words. “To walk into a room and find your own family member lying on the floor, not moving, barely breathing, covered in his own blood? Do you have any idea the pain one endures experiencing such a spectacle?”

Sergeant Moeler fumed, “Yes, Pastor Lett, I do know exactly how that feels. My own wife was killed two years ago, and I was the one to find her. I know the pain that doesn’t go away, that follows you when you are awake and permeates your dreams.” He walked to within inches of Pastor Lett, unable to stop the hurt from spewing out. “I know, Pastor Lett. I know just how badly it hurts. I know the rancid taste of it that doesn’t leave your tongue, the taste of death. I know the smell of it, Pastor Lett, the smell of blood and dying flesh.”

Molly watched, horrified, as Sergeant Moeler, wrought with anger, spat his angry words.

“I know, Pastor Lett, the loneliness that you live with day after day—the what-ifs. What if I’d been home? What if I hadn’t run out for milk and eggs? What if I had come home earlier?” Tears welled in his eyes, his voice faltered. “I also know, Pastor Lett, that if someone had a chance to stop me from feeling that pain, if someone had an inkling of how to save her, I wish they would have—and believe me, if I’d found out afterward that someone could have helped her, and didn’t, I can’t tell you that I wouldn’t have harmed them for not stepping in.”

Pastor Lett’s body sagged, as if all the energy had been sucked out of her. A silent moment passed between them—a stand off. When Pastor Lett spoke, she sounded defeated. “Sergeant Moeler, I am the pastor of the church. This is my community. Do you think that I would lie about something so critically important to finding that young girl?” Pastor Lett’s voice was low and surprisingly calm, reassuring. “The Lord once said, ‘The soul who sins is the one who will die. The son will not share the guilt of the father.’”

Molly tried to decipher what Pastor Lett was saying. Sergeant Moeler turned to join the other officers as they retreated down the hill. Molly felt a pang of guilt as she watched Pastor Lett’s discomfort. “Pastor Lett? I know it seems like I don’t trust you, or that I’m accusing you, but—”

She cut her off mid sentence, “Molly, you have done nothing wrong. You have been led to believe a lie, and you are simply trying to save Tracey. I understand.” She smiled gently and held out her hands to Molly in supplication, “We’re all in this together—you, me, and the Lord.”

Molly contritely placed her hands in Pastor Lett’s, beginning to feel as though she might be telling the truth about Rodney. At once her chest grew heavy, her lungs constricted. Through Pastor Lett’s hands, she received an electrifying jolt, hitting her with such force that she almost fell backwards. Her vision wavered, and she heard her name from somewhere far away. She floated above the voice, as if carried by a cloud. An image appeared in her mind—a very large man, huddled in a shadowy room, rocking back and forth. Chanting came from his direction, “Dark tunnel, dark tunnel.” Molly grappled in vain for Pastor Lett’s wrists just as the vision disappeared and her legs failed her. Her body sagged to the ground, her cell phone ringing furiously in her pocket.

Twenty Five

Tracey awoke to find Mummy sitting on the edge of her mattress. “I made you some warm milk this morning.” Tracey smiled as the steam rose and warmed her face. “You were quite a trooper last night. Were you scared?” she asked.

Tracey shrugged. “A little,” she said.

“Before we start our day today,” she said, “we have to talk to God, Tracey, thank Him for taking care of us last night.” Mummy’s hair brushed across her shoulders as she spoke.

Tracey thought Mummy looked pretty with her hair swinging like that. She wriggled out from underneath the covers, excited to learn how to talk to God the right way so that she wouldn’t get sick. She took a sip of her milk and set it on the floor next to her mattress. Her happiness faded as she thought of the church dress she’d have to wear. “Mummy,” she put her hand on Mummy’s arm, smiling at the softness of the brown sweater she wore. “I’m cold today. Can I pray in my regular clothes?” She bit her lower lip, expecting Mummy to get upset.

Instead, Mummy placed her palm flat against Tracey’s forehead. “No fever.” She pressed her lips against her forehead, “Nope, cool as a cucumber.” She smiled. Then she put her hand under Tracey’s blanket and took hold of her small foot, yanking her hand out quickly. “You are cold! You have ice feet!” she laughed. Tracey giggled. “It’s a good thing I brought warm socks for you today!” She held up the fluffiest socks Tracey had ever seen and placed them in the center of her blanket.

Tracey scooped them up and brought them to her cheek, “I love them!”

“Since you were such a good girl yesterday, and you’re like an iceberg today, you can wear your regular clothes to pray.”

Tracey scooted under the covers and slipped her feet into the new socks. She dressed in the clothes Mummy had given her. The shirt was a little too snug, and the sweatshirt was a little too big and had a stain on it, which looked like ketchup, but Tracey didn’t care—it was red, one of her favorite colors, and she was warm. She pulled on clean panties and corduroy pants that were as brown as Mummy’s sweater. They matched, and Tracey felt a pang of happiness. She reached down and grabbed the mug from the floor, drinking the last of the tepid milk.

“Maybe we’ll go outside a little today,” Mummy said.

Tracey’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Really!” she said. “I have to run some errands today, so maybe we’ll go outside for a little while before I do that. I have to get a few things on the outside.”

“Can I come with you?” Tracey asked.

“I’m sorry, pumpkin, but I can’t take you with me today. It will be very boring and very tiresome. Besides, I don’t want you exposed to those toxins any more than you have to be. Going outside to play is a worry in and of itself, but I think it’s worth it. I don’t want to risk it for boring old errands.” Mummy moved to the table and set out Tracey’s drawings, papers, and crayons for Tracey to use while she was gone.

Running errands did sound boring to Tracey, but the idea of doing something different appealed to her. She weighed the excitement of doing something new against the chance of getting exposed to the toxins, and opted not to press the issue. “I hope you don’t get sick,” she said.

“I’m big and healthy. I think I’m pretty safe, but I don’t want to be out there all the time, that’s for sure!” She moved to the cooler, sliced an apple, and handed it to Tracey. “I have to get us some food, and I wanted to find some more warm clothes for you.”

“Where do you get our clothes?” she asked.

“Oh, different places. There are people who give clothes to those of us who…who are a little less fortunate, and I have some friends that I’ve met at the park and other places, and they give us hand-me-downs.”

“What about our food? You don’t work, and there is no daddy. How do we buy our food?” Tracey asked.

Mummy reached over and put her hand on Tracey’s leg, whispering furtively, “Don’t you worry about things, okay? Mummy has friends, and they let me do some little jobs here and there. We will always have enough food. There are places that give us food, too.”

Tracey looked at her sideways, “You don’t steal it, do you?” Her eyes grew wide with the thought.

“Of course not! My mummy taught me never to steal—and don’t you ever steal, either. That’s no way to live!”

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, and Tracey wondered if she’d make a good mom one day, if she’d be able to keep her kids safe—if she’d even be able to have kids. Didn’t you need a daddy to have kids? As Tracey’s mind wandered, she gazed at Mummy’s coat thrown carelessly on the mattress. Her happiness went away as she realized that soon Mummy would leave for her errands, and she’d be left alone once again.

Shortly after Mummy had left to run her errands, the candle had burned out, and Tracey was unable to relight the wick, becoming more frightened with each passing second. She’d frantically grabbed at the table, desperately feeling for the flashlight she hoped Mummy had left behind, and knocking her drawings onto the floor. Mummy returned from her errands to find Tracey huddled in the center of the room in a fit of panic, sobbing so hard she could not understand the words Mummy yelled. Tracey gripped the sides of her head with her hands, pulling her hair, like needles from her scalp, she rocked back and forth, shutting out the darkness that surrounded her. Then Mummy had fled, leaving Tracey alone in the dark once again.

Hannah sat across from Newton in the café, recalling the memory of the cold and dreary night twenty years earlier, as if it were yesterday. Fear still resonated throughout her body. It had been just months after Charlie had left her, and she had been petrified every minute since, terrified that he would come back, that he would find out her secret. She had kept watch as she ran errands, to make sure she wasn’t followed, and Newton, God bless him, would drive by the farm at night, a few times each night, as a matter of fact, and make sure that Charlie wasn’t parked outside. Though it was Charlie’s choice to leave, he had a hair trigger of a temper, and Hannah was never quite confident that he wouldn’t return. On that particular night, she’d just come in from feeding the horses and her body ached all over, her back, her legs, even her arms hurt. It was too early for the baby to come, so she hadn’t been worried about early labor. She’d thought that she was coming down with a bug. She’d gone inside, bundled up with a cup of tea, and decided that she’d desperately needed rest. As usual, she’d called Newton to tell him that she was in for the night, reported how she was feeling, and said that she was going to try and sleep. One could set their clock by their nightly calls, but Newton and Betty insisted. They had wanted to know she was safe, and she’d appreciated their concern.

It was near midnight when she’d placed the call. Newton and Betty were at her bedside in minutes with medical manuals, fresh towels, and ice chips. None of them was quite sure what to expect—Newton had not been in the room when Betty had given birth to their son, Sam, and Betty had been highly sedated. Newton paced the room, shaking as if his shoes were vibrating. He tried so hard to convince Hannah to go to the hospital, begged her, in fact, but she’d stood firm. She couldn’t risk Charlie tracking down this baby and taking it away from her.

The pain had lasted for hours, Hannah’s screeches mirrored by Newton clenching his face and shoulders so tight that Betty had worried about him, as much as she had about Hannah, but she also knew Newton was a strong man, and that his strength would carry him through this ordeal. Hannah writhed from the stabbing pains that seared across her lower back and engulfed her protruding belly with the force of two giant hands, squeezing, pushing with so much pressure she’d thought she would surely burst open, but the baby would not come, and Hannah was not sure she was able to continue—part of her wanted to die, right then and there, leaving behind the fear of Charlie, the pain of childbirth.

Betty constantly wiped her brow with a cool cloth, soothing her with supportive words and rubbing her shoulders. Newton, on the other hand, pleaded with her to go to the hospital, get some real help. When Hannah refused with such determination that Newton finally understood the futility of his efforts, he became her ally, breathing in tune with Hannah, right through each powerful contraction, sweating bead for bead, spinning tales and telling jokes to take Hannah’s focus off of the gut-wrenching pain that gripped her. Suddenly, the contractions had stopped. Hannah’s breathing slowed, Newton’s followed. The three of them watched Hannah’s belly, waiting for the next contraction, waiting, it seemed, for hours, though in truth it was only mere minutes. Newton placed his hand on her belly, and Hannah watched his mouth move in prayer. Then, as if someone had kicked her in the lower back, Hannah let out a wail so loud she was sure to wake the sleeping cows across the road. She arched her back and pushed as hard as she was able, and out she slipped, tiny feet first. Newton was there, with his gloved hands outstretched, and a blanket laid across them, pillows below, Just in case. He’d caught Hannah’s dear baby daughter, bundled her up, and set her gently in Hannah’s arms. It was Newton who heard her first gasp of breath, and it was Newton who saw her last—the same as her first. The first was a shallow, labored breath in, and the last, a long, breeze-like breath out. She was beautiful, with a mop of brown hair, little cherub face, and scrawny little body. Her arms and legs had hung like a rag doll’s, pink and soft. Ten little fingers and ten little toes—Hannah had counted them, each with the tiniest little nails she’d ever seen—but she had come too early. It had not been her time, Hannah had said—or maybe it had.

Hannah was brought back to the café by the warmth of Newton’s hand on her own, “Hannah?” he said.

Hannah blinked, shook the memory from her mind. “I’m sorry.” She wiped the fresh tears from her cheeks.

The short drive was familiar, comforting. Pastor Lett thought about Rodney’s life, what he’d been like when they were growing up, and how she had stood by her little brother and protected him since the day he was born. Her mother had told her that she had Rodney for her, so she would not be alone. Pastor Lett had taken that responsibility very seriously, protecting Rodney when neighborhood kids made fun of him, trying to teach Rodney how to read and write when it had been a daunting, almost impossible task. She had cared for him as if he were her son, rather than her brother. When she had moved to Boyds, she couldn’t fathom leaving Rodney with their parents, who told her often how much of a burden Rodney was to them. She had no qualms about being a sole provider for Rodney. As a young woman in her twenties, she’d felt ready to shoulder the responsibility. Rodney had never questioned Pastor Lett’s role of caregiver. He only became uncomfortable when she had other duties that took her away from him. It had taken years for Rodney to come to understand that Pastor Lett had to run the church, often leaving Rodney alone in the manse. Rodney had a fear of crowds, even the small community gatherings at the church made him fret. In time, Rodney came to prefer staying at home. Pastor Lett had often made the effort to walk Rodney through the historic road on which they lived, introducing him to the neighbors, making him feel more comfortable in his surroundings. It hadn’t come easily—many times Rodney had turned on his heels and run back to the manse, leaving Pastor Lett alone in the effort. Pastor Lett had seen the value in Rodney becoming adjusted to people, and she forged forward, eventually breaking Rodney’s fear almost completely.

Rodney’s favorite walk was the one that led to the Boyds Country Store. He had taken instantly to Jin and Edie, who had reciprocated the fondness. Pastor Lett had shown Rodney the safe way to get there, using the pedestrian underpass. She taught Rodney how to listen for oncoming trains, and never to cross the tracks. Rodney had been hesitant, at first, to believe that he would indeed come out of the underpass on the other side of the tracks. Pastor Lett had made a game of the lesson. She’d run through the tunnel, appearing across the tracks with an overly enthusiastic smile and waving her arms, then doubling back to show Rodney that he could, and would, appear right before her once again.

Pastor Lett had spoken to Jin and Edie about Rodney, asking if it was okay that he visit them daily, and assuring them that she would step in at any time. She’d made it clear to Rodney that if he became a burden, the daily visits would end. That day never came. Edie took care of Rodney, loving him like a son. She made sure he was eating well, and generally happy. Jin had looked forward to his visits as well, keeping an eye out for him at the same time every day, standing on the back stoop of the store, watching for his large head to pop out of the underpass, and calling to him when he appeared. They were a comfort to both Rodney and Pastor Lett. Their love for Rodney enabled Pastor Lett the freedom to run the church, without worrying too much about whether Rodney was okay. She knew that Jin and Edie would be there for him. It was an unspoken, appreciated, trust. On the rare days that Rodney did not visit them, Jin would call Pastor Lett and inquire about Rodney’s wellbeing.

The thought of her betrayal to Edie and Jin made her sad—and angry. It seemed that in her effort to save Rodney, she’d inadvertently hurt many people.

Throwing caution to the wind, she pulled up the long driveway without a care about being seen.

Pastor Lett entered the small dark room, already on edge from the weight of her past—twenty years were closing in on her. A disturbing sound emanated from the contorted face of her charge, who rocked furiously, forward and back, sobbing, in a frenetic state. Crayon pictures littered the floor—twenty, maybe thirty drawings, scribbled with a heavy hand and, clearly, dark thoughts.

Pastor Lett had seen this disturbing state only once before. She grabbed at the drawings, leafing through them quickly; black crayon streaks, thick and uneven.

“What is this?” panic raced through her. She tried again, hysterically raising her voice, “What is this?”

Pastor Lett raced from the room, What have I done?

Molly lay on the couch, having collapsed after her emotional morning. She grabbed her phone and exhaustedly dialed Cole’s number. “Hi, honey, what time do you think you’ll be home?” she asked when she heard his voice on the line. “I’ll leave now, since I know you’re home,” he said cheerfully. Molly smiled, relieved. “What do you want to do? Go to a movie?” “Whatever you want. I would just love some down time with you,” she said, pleased by his effort at reconciliation.

His reply was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. The dogs raced through the foyer, barking excitedly. “Honey, hold on a sec,” she said to Cole. Another knock, urgently sounded. “Who’s there?” she called to the visitor. The answer stopped her in her tracks. “Pastor Lett?” Molly reached out to answer the door, the phone still up to her ear. “Don’t answer it, Molly. After what Edie said, I don’t trust her,” Cole said sternly.

“I can’t just not answer it, Cole. Relax,” she said into the receiver, surprised at his sudden mistrust, his possible support. She settled the dogs and opened the door.

Pastor Lett stood on the porch, the afternoon sun failing to warm the cool day, a blue knit scarf hung around her neck, a dark hat atop her head. Her overcoat was buttoned from top to bottom, and her hands fidgeted nervously at her sides. “Molly, may I come in?” she said urgently.

“Don’t do it, Molly!” Cole said.

Molly stepped aside, letting Pastor Lett into the foyer. Stealth and Trigger sniffed at her legs. From her cell phone she heard, “Molly? What does she want?”

Cole was calling her name as she lowered the phone, “Pastor Lett?”

“I know...about what happened at the search today. I’ve seen that look a thousand times—with Rodney.” She slipped a few sunflower seeds into her mouth.

Molly bristled. Of course you have, she thought. Her palms grew sweaty. She gripped the cell phone tighter, beginning to panic.

Pastor Lett looked at her hand, then turned her head upward, toward the ceiling, and whispered, “Give me strength to do this, to do the right thing. Please, Lord,” She dropped her gaze to Molly, and she opened her mouth, revealing pieces of her habitual seeds, but no words came out. Instead, she reached into her pocket.

Molly’s heartbeat sped up. She took a step backwards. Stealth growled, Trigger followed, alert by her side.

Pastor Lett withdrew several child-like drawings from her pocket, flattened them against her leg, and handed them to Molly.

Pastor Lett was clearly disturbed as she raced through the streets of Boyds. Molly sat warily beside her, Cole’s angry words ringing in her head, “Molly, don’t be stupid! Do not go with her!” and silently cursing herself for her terse reply before hanging up on him, “Stupid? Consider me gone!” She flipped nervously through the dark drawings, her heart in her throat. “I knew she was alive,” she said under her breath, recognizing images of Tracey; drawings of a little girl surrounded by a cornfield, kneeling in front of candles, and walking through dark tunnels—drawn as narrow alleys colored black except around the girl, creating a halo of white around her. Molly’s breathing quickened—flashes of her visions mirrored the drawings before her.

They pulled into the familiar driveway, and Molly turned warily toward Pastor Lett, guarded, mistrusting once again.

They drove up the steep hill and parked in front of the old Victorian home.

Molly looked down again at the drawings that covered her lap. Her hand shook as she lifted one drawing and exposed another. “Look at th—” Molly’s voice dropped off. “Oh my God—look at this.” She held the disturbing picture up for Pastor Lett to see. The anguish in her eyes was undeniable. Molly’s mistrust was beginning to fade.

“It looks like she’s in a hole,” Molly’s voice cracked. “Where is she?” she demanded. She pressed the drawing to her chest. Her chest grew tight, and the smell of cold dirt and urine swirled around her. Tracey’s fear melded with her as if it were her own. Her heart beat so fast she thought her chest might explode, and just as suddenly, she felt a release, as if Tracey had given up hope and accepted her situation, succumbing to her captor.

Shortly after Mummy had left to run her errands, the candle had burned out, and Tracey had been unable to relight the wick. Mummy had returned from her errands to find Tracey huddled in the center of the room, scared and crying. Mummy had yelled something, but Tracey was too frantic to recognize the words. Then Mummy had fled, leaving Tracey alone in the dark once again. She’d been gone only moments before reappearing with fresh matches.

Mummy lit one candle, mumbling a prayer as she brought the flame to the wick, then went to Tracey’s side, comforting her, making sure she knew she was safe.

Tracey eyed the candle that lit so easily for Mummy. She knew she had to be able to learn to light the candles—she never wanted to be in that awful position again. “Mummy, can I light the candles today?” Tracey asked timidly. She’d watched Mummy for several days and was sure she could learn to light the candles.

“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.”

The moan continued. He scooped the items into his cupped hands and lifted them to his face. He breathed in deeply through his nose, his eyes firmly shut. Molly’s thoughts were scattered, consumed by both excitement and fear, she knew all too well the gripping, gut-wrenching feeling that he was sure to be experiencing.

His hands began to shake, and the moaning grew louder. Pastor Lett rushed to his side, but Molly put up her hand and shook her head. His moan turned to sobs, wracking his body, his large chest heaved up and down as his hands remained cupped below his nose. He sobbed so hard that Molly wanted to beg him to stop. Just when she felt she could no longer fight the urge to comfort him, he turned to her and opened his eyes. He lowered his hands. Constant tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Rodney?” Molly whispered.

He shook his head. Tears welled in Molly’s eyes, fearing the worst. Rodney moved his hands under hers, her hands rested on the thick base of his thumbs. Molly closed her eyes and was met with an insistent force, one that she could not escape, a force that was more powerful than anything she had ever experienced. The taste of candy apple filled her mouth, saliva pooled below her tongue and seeped around her teeth. Images came at her at an alarming rate, almost too fast to recognize: the image of a young girl passing through a familiar wooden opening. Pitch dark tunnels, and a deep, hollow hole—a lantern illuminated a tall woman with dark hair and a small girl. A rush of ease and acceptance passed through Molly, which she knew came from Tracey—a contentedness, which scared Molly even more than if she’d been terrified. Molly’s breath caught and somehow she realized that the moaning she was hearing was now coming from her own throat.

Rodney pulled his hands away, and Molly opened her eyes, instantly finding his and holding his stare. The Knowing passed between them like a secret. Rodney turned Molly’s hands over, placing the necklace and candy wrapper in her palms. He withdrew his hands and nodded. Molly stood on shaky legs, clinging to Pastor Lett as if she were about to slip underwater. “I know where she is,” she whispered.

Twenty Six

The afternoon seemed to Tracey to go on forever, and she was anxious to get out of their small room and play. She was proud to have remembered the words to their prayer this morning. Seeing the joy in Mummy’s face, feeling her happy embrace at her success had given Tracey confidence. She watched Mummy write in her journal, mumbling under her breath. “Mummy, can we go outside?” Tracey asked. Mummy turned to her, a faraway look in her eyes, opened her mouth to speak, then turned silently back to her journal. “Mummy?” Tracey asked again.

Mummy’s pencil stopped moving. She kept her eyes trained on the full page. “They didn’t want me,” Mummy said quietly, then scribbled furiously in the journal.

Tracey bit her lower lip, confused. “What Mummy?”

Mummy did not answer. Tracey knew better than to push. She sat quietly on the mattress watching Mummy, and wondering why Mummy was acting so weird. She stretched out on the mattress, her head resting on her forearms.

Mummy stood up and paced. Tracey rolled over and watched her. As if she’d just realized Tracey was in the room, Mummy abruptly stopped pacing and glared at her. Tracey sat up and pulled her knees into her chest, new fear forming. Mummy shook her head. “That won’t do,” she said. Tracey panicked, “I’m sorry!” she said breathlessly. A funny smile crept across Mummy’s face. “Yes, let’s play.”

“I haven’t told anyone where he is. Not even our parents knew.” Pastor Lett’s eyes remained on the road before her. “They believed he was dead and buried.” There was a coldness to her voice, the shock of where they were headed still fresh.

Molly didn’t know what to do other than comfort her. “You’ve held onto this burden for so long.”

“It’s no burden,” she said. “Rodney is not a burden.”

“No, not Rodney, I’m talking about the secret. I mean, you must feel the weight of it, like a tether holding you down. You must have wanted to cut it free hundreds of times.”

She nodded.

“Your parents—why?” she asked.

“Because if anyone came looking for Rodney, as you did,” she looked up at her accusingly, “they would have found him if I didn’t have him buried—and he might have met the same fate once again.”

Molly asked her how she had been able to fake the burial, and her explanation seemed convenient.

“I told the coroner that I wanted to bring his body in and be with it until it was in the coffin and sealed for his final interment. I was long-time friends with the embalmer. He owed me one. I knew I could trust him.” She ran her hand over her face again, as if wiping away the thought of it. “That night we took him to his house, and together we nursed him back to health. He pretended to do the embalming, and we packed the casket with sand bags—a lot of sand bags, Rodney’s a big guy. My parents, they didn’t want to care for Rodney, not when he started having visions. It was too much for them. In the years he was with me here, they never even visited him, so I didn’t figure it was any worse for them if they thought he had passed on.”

“Jesus,” Molly said, instinctively covering her mouth with her hand, and whispering from behind her fingers, “sorry!”

“It’s okay,” she said.

Molly watched her reach into her pocket for her sunflower seeds and slip a few into her mouth. Her jaw quickly went to work on the tiny shells.

“Do you see him often?” Molly asked.

She nodded. “I see him often. You see, that’s the wonderful thing about being a pastor. No one holds your schedule. There is no time clock. I have freedom to simply tell my secretary that I’ll be gone a few hours, and she doesn’t question me, ever.” She sighed, a long, relieved, sigh.

Silent minutes passed like hours.

Molly’s nerves were on fire. Pastor Lett parked the car and Molly asked, carefully, “Does he remember…the beating?”

Pastor Lett shook her head. “He remembers living with me here, in Boyds, and he seems haunted by the little girl who was in a dark place with her mommy. Sometimes it gets really bad, and he goes into his own little world, rocking and saying things over and over, like he used to, but,” she smiled, “he’s alive, Molly, and for me, that’s been all that matters.” She stared at the road before them. “But the drawings,” she paused, then looked at Molly, “and the state he’s in today…”

As they pulled into the parking lot, Molly turned to Pastor Lett, “We have to make a decision. Do we go on our own or call the police?” Molly spoke before Pastor Lett could voice her concern. “I won’t mention Rodney. This can be all me—my vision, as far as they know.”

Pastor Lett’s body visibly relaxed. She pulled Molly’s cell phone from her bag and handed it to her. The light of the afternoon had gone, replaced with a cool, gray evening. Molly dialed Sergeant Moeler’s number, his voice instantly calmed her. “Mike,” she said, relieved.

“Molly,” he said flatly.

Molly paused at the tone of his voice, “I need to talk to you and Sal. I know where she is.” She listened to Mike sigh on the other end of the phone. “Mike?” she said tentatively.

“Molly, we’re not—”

“Mike! This is important. I know where to find Tracey!” she said emphatically, annoyed at his hesitation. Something was very wrong.

“Molly, we aren’t going to follow your leads right now,” he said in a professional, cold tone. “Officer Brown felt that today was a big waste of station time and money.”

Molly’s jaw dropped. “But—”

“Molly,” Mike said dismissively, then spoke in a kinder tone, “Sal and I appreciate all that you’re doing. We even think it’s possible that you might have these…visions…or whatever they are, but we can’t waste resources on hunches.” She was pissed, “Hunches? That’s what you think these are? I can’t even believe this! I know where she is! Please! “I’m sorry, Molly.” Pastor Lett gave her a sympathetic look as she cursed at the dead phone line.

“Sorry,” Molly said as she dialed Cole’s number. She told him what had transpired. “Cole, can you come with me? Please? I need you.” Nerves made her chest ache.

“Tunnels, Molly? You really want to go traipsing through some freaking tunnels in the dark? No way. Now you’re going too far. This is a job for the police, not you.” Cole’s voice sounded firm, angry.

“I told you, they won’t come!” she said defensively.

“Doesn’t that tell you something, Molly?”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what the police say, Cole. I know where Tracey is! I saw it all! Will you come or not, because I’m going!” her hands shook. She ignored the incredulous look on Pastor Lett’s face. She was consumed with anger, which only fueled her determination to go into the tunnels and find Tracey.

“If you go, Molly, that’s it. I’m done.”

“What?” she could not believe the threat.

“You heard me. This time, Molly, you’re going too far. You’re putting yourself in what could be severe danger—and if the police don’t believe you, then back off. You have no business in those tunnels, and I’m not going to be waiting around when you come out empty-handed.”

Molly had never heard Cole that angry, not once in all the years she had known him. She contemplated his words but could not turn her back on Tracey as she had on Amanda. Molly was haunted by images of five-year-old Amanda’s terrified eyes, her screams, as she was shoved into the black minivan almost ten years earlier. The look of the man’s eyes as she turned to Molly in the parking lot and said, “She didn’t get the dolly she wanted.” If only she’d gotten involved. If only she’d followed her gut. If only she hadn’t turned her back on the dreams she’d had over the ensuing three days. Maybe then Amanda would still be here, alive, her abductor in jail. She’d be damned if she’d have the blood of another child on her hands.

With no small amount of fear—fear at what looked like the end of her marriage—she said, “You do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I have to do.” With trembling fingers, she disconnected the call.

The church parking lot was empty, illuminated by two lights perched at either end of the lot. As she drove over the curb and up the grassy hill toward the campsite, Pastor Lett tried to convince Molly not to go forward with her plans, citing the dangers, the unknown, but Molly was adamant. She asked Pastor Lett to wait outside the tunnels, just in case she did not return. On the outside, Molly was confident, determined. On the inside, she was petrified. The thought of losing Cole devastated her, but the thought of Tracey being in those tunnels for one minute more than she had to be, the thought of not finding Tracey alive, drove her to override her own dilemma and push forward. Pastor Lett stepped out of her car and opened the trunk, returning with two industrial-sized flash lights.

Molly nodded, afraid her voice would fail her.

They crested the hill to the end of the tree line that led to the clearing. Molly took long deep breaths to calm herself. She turned to Pastor Lett and said, “I’m sorry, for everything.”

She nodded solemnly. They got out of the car and walked down the path toward the campsite, her energy renewed with each step, hope forming in the illuminated path before her. Pastor Lett put a hand on Molly’s shoulder. “Are you sure you want to do this? You could be endangering yourself and maybe even Tracey,” she tried again to dissuade her. “We could go to the station and convince them, come back later.”

Molly took a deep breath. “I’m fine. I’m doing this.”

Molly changed her cell phone setting to vibrate, trying desperately not to let the thought of no cellular service in the tunnels scare her out of continuing. She ignored her trembling hands, shoving them deep into her pockets as they walked. Against her will, her mind drifted to Erik, and she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, knowing she could not turn back.

“What’s the plan?” Pastor Lett asked.

Molly approached the first wooden box where she’d found the candy wrapper. The taste of apple candy once again tickled her senses. “If Rodney and I are right, then I think the entrance is in here.”

Pastor Lett looked at her as if she were crazy.

“Come on. Help me open it, will you?” she asked, irritated by her look.

They propped the box lid open and peered inside. Molly’s heart sank. There was a wooden floor in the box. There was no passageway.

“This is where I found the candy wrapper. This is where she had to go in,” she said, frantically looking around.

Pastor Lett cocked her head, “Candy wrapper?”

Molly rolled her eyes, too frustrated to explain, “Nothing,” she said. She kicked the corner of the box with her foot, making the lid slam shut. “Shit,” she said, and they lifted it up again.

“What in the world?” Pastor Lett peered into the box.

Molly pushed past her to see.

The slamming of the lid had jarred the bottom loose. The left front corner of the bottom plywood had dropped, revealing a gaping dark hole. Molly and Pastor Lett looked at each other, a nervous smile forming across Molly’s face, a frown across Pastor Lett’s. They lowered the lid, slowly, silently.

“Molly, are you sure you want to go in there?” she asked.

“Hell yes, I’m going in there.” She took a step away from the box, thinking not of her fear or her crumbling marriage but of her plan. “Give me your sunflower seeds,” she thrust her hand toward her. Pastor Lett reached into her coat pocket and withdrew a bag of seeds. “More,” she said, pushing her hand toward her other pocket. She sighed and withdrew another bag from the other pocket. “Why?”

“Bread trail,” she walked back toward the box. “I don’t know how far I have to walk to get to them, if they’re even in there, but if I’m not back out in a few hours, call the police—please.”

“Molly—”

She put her hand up, silencing her. “I’m going. I don’t know if my phone will work or not, but if it does, I’ll text you if something happens.” She took one last deep breath and hoisted herself onto the edge of the box, seeing the ominous hole below her as her ally—the only thing keeping her from Tracey now would be her own fear, and she was not going to let that happen. She hopped off her precarious perch and into the hole, landing with a loud thud. Pastor Lett quickly dropped a flashlight down to her.

“Two hours. If you’re not back, I’m getting the police,” Pastor Lett said.

“Not worried,” she lied. She directed the beam of the flashlight in front of her, then back up the eight-foot hole to see Pastor Lett’s worried face staring down at her. She shrugged, “Here goes Alice.”

Molly’s heart thumped in her chest. The entrance behind her quickly disappeared. The tunnel smelled of wet earth. The dirt walls were not much wider than her body, the ceiling a few feet above Molly’s head. The flashlight illuminated ten feet in front of her, beyond that it was pitch black. She prayed the batteries would not fail. She dropped her hand to her pocket, feeling the safety of her cell phone. The urge to try it was overwhelming, but she was afraid of making any unnecessary noise, already worried about Tracey’s abductor seeing the flashlight. She tried to keep her fear at bay, but could not deny the urge to turn back and run. Move it! she told herself. You’re fine. This time it will not be your fault. She looked into the abyss of the tunnel, and silently prayed, as she knew Pastor Lett was doing above her, that she’d find Tracey and bring her home safely. Quickly, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a handful of sunflower seeds, dropping a few every couple feet.

Molly thought about Tracey and the fear she must have felt that first fateful evening, walking in the dark tunnel, wondering if she’d ever come out alive. She wondered what went through Amanda’s mind during the first hysterical moments of her abduction. It’s not your fault. She wriggled her ankle as she moved forward, determined not to be the weak link in Tracey’s rescue. Rescue. Molly knew all too well that her search could end up at a dead end, and if so, she’d let her marriage go for nothing.

Damn him! Cole should support my visions! She knew how crazy that thought was, but she also knew that the one time she’d let her guard down, to the police, to Cole, she’d been essentially laughed at, and it infuriated her. Her pace was quick, her senses acute. The only noise was that of her fast footsteps on the dirt and her heart thumping in her chest.

She recalled her vision of Tracey being lowered into the box and felt certain she was in the right place. She worried about the Knowing—what if she passed out and the abductor…or killer…found her? Molly pulled her thoughts away from the negative what ifs and back to the task at hand. She dropped more seeds and noticed something on the ground a few feet ahead of her. She bent down and picked up a tiny white piece of a candy wrapper. Her eyes grew wide, hopeful. She withdrew the other torn wrapper from her pocket, and saw that they fit perfectly together. Molly moved forward with renewed vigor.

Molly slowed as she came to a cross section where tunnels ran in each direction, one to the left and one to the right. She contemplated the path, listened, but heard nothing in either direction. She bent down, inspecting the dirt at the entrance to each of the tunnels. She followed the one to the right, which, by the scuffs in the dirt, seemed to have been traveled more recently. She dropped a number of seeds in the entrance and continued dropping them as she walked. A darkened opening appeared in the wall to her left. She stopped, her fear rising. She listened to the silence, then peered cautiously into the room, ready to run, or fight.

The room was empty, except for a few scattered pieces of wood. She let out a relieved sigh, and pushed on. She followed the same heart-pounding process for each opening, her pace slowed considerably as she cautiously inspected each one, floor to ceiling, looking for any sign of Tracey, of life in the underground maze.

When she was met by another bisecting tunnel, Molly once again sent her light down each tunnel and inspected the dirt. She hoped she was choosing the right paths and knew that if she didn’t leave the trail, she would never find her way out of the convolutions. She determined that the tunnel to the left had been recently used and moved in that direction. In her mind, Molly saw a quick flash of Tracey walking away from her, in her belly she felt the pull of the girl. She stopped, flashed her light behind her, ahead of her, then back behind. She turned back toward the tunnel that had been on her right. She gathered the dropped seeds and moved them onto her new path. “Okay,” she whispered to herself, “I’m coming, Tracey. I’m coming.”

Molly’s pace had slowed significantly from when she’d first set out. Her ankle pained her, and her adrenaline had subsided, replaced with a growing fatigue. The air was difficult to breathe, although she’d already become used to the rancid smell. At the next intersection of tunnels, Molly sighed, tired of the decisions, and for the first time, questioned what she was doing. Who did she think she was? Maybe Cole was right. As she headed down the tunnel to the right, which was wider and low-ceilinged, she contemplated turning around, finding Cole, and trying to repair her marriage, admitting she was wrong. A muffled noise—a voice perhaps—broke her thoughts. She stopped, turned off her flashlight, and listened—Cole quickly forgotten.

Molly’s heart pumped in her ears like a drum. It took every ounce of her concentration to hear past the rush of blood. Her fear magnified when she heard a noise come from the darkness behind her.

“It’s for you!” Tracey said, excitedly. She was proud of the picture she’d drawn of a beautiful garden.

Mummy smiled from across the room where she was putting cans of vegetables onto the shelf. “I never knew you were such an artist.”

“I’m a good drawer,” Tracey gleamed, putting her crayons into the cardboard box that sat in the center of the table. “Mrs. Tate picked my picture out of the whole class’s to put up on our classroom door.” Tracey yawned.

“Are you tired, honey?” Mummy asked sweetly.

“A little,” Tracey said. She stood up from the log she’d been sitting on and turned toward her mattress when an unfamiliar woman entered their chamber. Tracey’s eyes grew wide, “Hi!” she said enthusiastically. “Are you a friend of Mummy’s?”

Molly could barely breathe. Fear drove her forward, into the chamber, and quickly toward Tracey, taking in the two dirty mattresses, upended logs, and the Bible on the makeshift table. She put her arm protectively around Tracey, her eyes glued to the woman who stood by silently watching, as if in shock. “Are you Tracey?” Molly asked in a rush of breath.

Tracey nodded.

The woman’s eyes darted erratically between Tracey and Molly. She began to shake, backing up against the wall. Suddenly she lurched forward. In one swift action Molly pulled Tracey tightly against her chest, threw herself back-first against the wall, avoiding the woman’s grasp. Tracey screamed, tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Mummy!”

“Give her back!” The woman clawed at Molly’s back. “I saved her! Give her to me!” She pulled fistfuls of Molly’s hair. Molly bent over, shielding Tracey, unwilling to loosen her grasp, her scalp searing with pain.

“No!” Molly growled, using her elbows to fight off the large, powerful woman.

The woman grabbed Molly by the back of her shoulders, throwing her down to the ground, and ripping Tracey free from her hands. Molly jumped quickly to her feet and upon the woman, punching her arms, grabbing them. The woman held tight to a screaming, petrified Tracey.

“Go, Tracey!” Molly screamed. “Run! Get away from her!”

The woman back-fisted Molly in the face. Molly tumbled to the floor, scrambling to get to her feet and retrieve Tracey, who was being dragged toward the entrance of the tunnel. Blood poured down Molly’s face. She grabbed Tracey’s arm. “Let her go!” she commanded.

The woman ignored Molly. “Tracey, run!” the woman said. Tracey ripped herself from Molly’s arm and clung to the woman’s legs.

“Mummy! Mummy!”

Momentarily dumbfounded, Molly took in the scene—had she made a mistake? With her next breath she lost the doubt and jumped at the woman, who took a step backward with Tracey in her grasp, leaving Molly reeling before her, flailing her hands toward the girl.

“Give her to me!” Molly screamed. She was no match for the large woman. She lunged at her legs. The woman kicked her away—Molly reeled from the blow to her gut.

“Get away from us! Go away!” the woman yelled. She picked up a rock and threw it at Molly. Molly ducked, the rock caught the side of her face. The woman kicked Molly’s arms, her chin, and Molly fell to the ground. Tracey’s screams pierced the air. Molly looked up just in time to see the woman lift a large log over her head.

“Get away from her!” the woman screamed. Suddenly, the woman was thrust forward and fell to the ground, writhing in pain, the log landed with a thud beside her. Cole was instantly on the woman’s back, pinning her to the earth. “Get that girl out of here!” Cole commanded Molly. “Cole?” she looked at him, stunned. “Get outta here! Now!” he yelled.

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—”

“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. “You did it,” Sal’s words were kind, appreciative. Cole put his hand on Molly’s shoulder. “She sure did,” he said in a tough, protective tone. Sal reached a hand out in greeting. Cole lifted his chin, without accepting his hand.

“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?” “And what if she hadn’t been there, Molly?” Mike retorted. “Then I’d have wasted your time, right?” Molly spat. “Yes! Exactly!” Mike said sternly.

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 sat silently, unresponsive. The younger man read her the Miranda Rights and asked if she understood them. “Yes,” she whispered “Do you understand why you are being arrested?” he asked.

She raised her eyes to meet his. He had kind eyes, but she still did not understand what was happening. “Yes?” she asked tentatively. “Ma’am, do you understand that you may have a lawyer present if you wish?” he asked. She nodded, knitting her fingers together nervously. “Would you like a lawyer present, ma’am?” She shook her head and whispered, “No, thank you.” “Okay.” The other man placed a tape recorder on the table, turned it on. “Ma’am, I’m Sergeant Moeler,” the younger gentleman nodded and smiled. “I’m going to tape our conversation. Is that okay?” “Yes,” she said.

The older gentleman said, “My name is Officer Rozutto, and I’m in charge of this investigation. State your name, please,” he asked. She looked down shyly. The men rolled their eyes. “Ma’am, your name, please?” “I...I don’t really know.” An unexpected tear rolled down her cheek.

“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. “I…I know my first name, but I was never really told my last name,” she admitted. Sal glanced at Mike, who had settled himself into the chair just to her right. “Okay,” he said, “that’s a start. What is your first name?”

“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. “What’s on today’s agenda?” he asked. “Let’s see…nothing…nothing…and more nothing,” she laughed. “Uh-huh, right,” Cole rolled his eyes. “Now, what’s really on the agenda?”

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?”

She froze when a gentle hand touched her shoulder. She shielded her face, hiding her tears, and turned around cautiously. She was met with the solemn faces of Newton and Hannah. She stood and reached out to them. A sign.

Kate was thoroughly exhausted, physically, mentally, but most of all, emotionally. She felt as if her heart—and her soul—were being violently ripped apart. She thought back to that morning’s revelation.

She had been sitting in the remote room with the large mirror, facing the friendly police officer.

“Ma’am, do you think your last name might be Plummer?” he had asked.

The name had sent a chill down Kate’s spine, as memories of an older woman and man leapt into her mind from some deeply-hidden recess where they had been stored long ago. She let her face fall into her hands and tried desperately to will away the tears that welled in her eyes. She’d fought the memories for so many years! She did not want to live through them again.

“Kate?” Officer Rozutto had attempted to soothe her. He had reached over and touched her arm. “Kate, do you think your last name might be Plummer?”

The sound of the name again had sent a shudder down her spine. She could feel the blood pulsing through her veins, her heart beating in her neck. From behind her hands and through her sobs, she said, “I don’t know. I don’t know.” The sobs choked her. She took several deep breaths, still hiding her face in her hands, unable to face the officers, the two men who had taken Tracey from her, the two men who had exposed the memories that she’d pushed away for so long in an effort to survive, memories that she’d locked away and refused to revisit, the pain was too great, the longing too harsh. She feared what they’d do about her crying. She knew she should not be weak. She’d been taught not to be weak. She took a deep breath, and slowly lowered her hands until her fingertips rested just below her eyes, her mouth barely visible. She tried to stop the flow of tears, but no matter how much she tried to stop them, they streamed relentlessly, just like the memories. No matter how much she fought them now, pushed them away, she also wanted to spit them out. They were eating away at her, like the toxins.

Kate stared at him for a long time, until it became uncomfortable, and he looked down. Her voice, barely a whisper, said, “It…might be.” “Kate?” Sergeant Moeler said softly, bringing her back from her thoughts. She could feel his eyes on her, but she was drowning in sorrow, in memories that she’d buried long ago. Officer Rozutto asked again how she had come to live in the tunnels and where the person who brought her there was.

“My mum…my mother, she died of the toxins. I don’t want to die from them.” She began to move her hands in an agitated fashion, remembering the promise she had made to her mother, and knowing that now she could no longer keep it. “You have to save Tracey,” she pleaded with them. “My mother told me to save her, and I did, but now she might die anyway!” Her voice escalated, fear of the toxins loomed in her mind. She grabbed Officer Rozutto’s arm urgently, “Please, you have to find Tracey. We need to save her.” She breathed heavily, looking around the room—but for what? Tracey? An exit? She didn’t know.

“Kate, it’s okay. I think you’ve learned some things that maybe aren’t so true. Tracey is going to be fine. She is not going to get sick, I promise you that.”

Kate was confused, worried about Tracey. She closed her eyes and silently prayed, asking God to watch over Tracey.

“Kate, if you are Kate Plummer, you have a mother and father who will be thrilled to see you,” Sergeant Moeler looked at Kate as though he doubted her word.

Kate folded her hands in and out of her lap nervously.

“We need to verify that you are Kate Plummer. We can do that with a DNA sample.”

“Oh, I see,” she replied even though didn’t really see. Kate was confused. She looked from one officer to the other, then down at the table, hesitated, then asked, “What if I’m not… Kate Plummer?”

“Well, then we’ll try and find out who you really are,” Sergeant Moeler said confidently.

Officer Rozutto sat in the chair across from the woman, his hands steepled just under his nose, thinking. Eventually he broke the silence that had become uncomfortable for Kate, and said, “Kate, this is going to be very hard for you, and I’m sorry for that, but do you remember how you came to live underground? Can you remember who took you there?”

Kate closed her eyes, flashes of memories played in her mind like a poorly-cut movie. Tears pushed on her closed eyelids. She felt as though she were betraying her mother by talking to them, but something in her mind told her that she had to tell. It was the right thing to do. She’d been taught not to lie, and even though her gut told her not to tell them the truth, she worried what God would think of her if she didn’t. She opened her eyes, took a deep breath, ignoring her own tears, and began telling them about how beautiful and kind her mother was, and of her childhood in the tunnels—playing hide-and-seek and listening to their echoes. Her memories of waking up scared at night, as a small girl, and how her mother would wrap her arms and legs around her from behind, and let her fall asleep like that, safely tucked within her confines, their hearts beating in rhythm.

Officer Rozutto asked her again what her mother’s name was, and she answered honestly, “I never knew her real name. She never told me, and I don’t think I ever asked. She was the little girl in the photograph that you took from our home. I called her mummy, like Tracey calls me.” The sound of Tracey’s name coming from her own lips sent a pain through her chest. She’d failed her mother. She’d failed Tracey.

Officer Rozutto gently persisted, “Do you remember how you came to live with her?”

Again she closed her eyes, shaking her head. “I know I was wearing the dress that Tracey wears to pray. I remember that flowered dress.” Kate’s face contorted, as if a painful memory were weaving its way through her mind. Sergeant Moeler and Officer Rozutto looked at each other.

“It’s okay, Kate. We can take a break if you need to,” Officer Rozutto said.

She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her cheeks flushed red. She stood. Sergeant Moeler and Officer Rozutto came quickly to their feet. She paced nervously. “I—” she said, then went silent. Officer Rozutto motioned for Sergeant Moeler to stay back, let her pace.

“I remember,” her words came out like broken glass, each one hard to piece together. She grabbed the sides of her head. Officer Rozutto came up behind her and guided her gently to the chair. She sat down, clasped her hands together in her lap and began rocking nervously. She didn’t look at Sergeant Moeler or Officer Rozutto. “I remember…I remember playing in the playground by the church. I was there with friends, and I remember trying so hard not to get my dress dirty,” she looked up with sad, red eyes. “I had gotten that dress specifically for that party,” a crooked, pained smile passed across her lips, then disappeared. She reached up and covered her face. “She came to the edge of the cornfield. She was hidden, and I could only see her face. I was so happy. She had played with me before, and I remember being so happy to see her that day.” Tears ran down her cheeks, but she didn’t feel saddened by the memory, just confused. “I walked over to her, in the cornfield, and she took me to the campsite. I remember her telling me that her mummy had died, and she really needed a friend, so I went with her.” She lowered her hands and raised her voice, “I went with her. I went.”

“And she took you underground that day?” Officer Rozutto asked.

Kate nodded, remembering. “She turned it into a game. She said it was her secret hideout, and that no one could find us there, that we could play forever, and I wouldn’t have to go to school or do anything I didn’t want to do. I remember it being…fun. Until I wanted to go home, then—” she turned away. She wiped her tears and looked down at her hands, ashamed that she had been a bother to Mummy, that she had cried and had to be put in the bad spot. She wondered what Sergeant Moeler and Officer Rozutto must think of her—that she had been a bad little girl, or selfish, or something even worse.

“Did you try to get away? Do you remember?” Sergeant Moeler asked forcefully.

She nodded, giving him an odd look, “I…I don’t remember wanting to get away from her,” she said protectively. “I just remember asking if I could go home.” She looked down again, her voice became faint, “But there was no going home. Mummy explained to me about the toxins, and how they get into your body when you live on the outside, how sometimes you don’t even know you’re sick until it is too late. She told me that was how her mummy died. She lived for about thirty years on the outside, and she was sick when they went underground, and became even sicker as time went on, but she did it to save Mummy…my mother. She didn’t want her to die, and she knew that she was sick a lot, and I guess it was from the toxins, because when Mummy died, she died just like her mother did, in the same way.” She was uncomfortable with their eyes trained on her, hanging onto her every word, disbelieving her, she could tell. “And she told me that I had to save a little girl, that it was my job, that God would be waiting for me to save someone, and if I didn’t, that He might do something awful to me.” She became angry again, “And now I’ve failed her.”

“Kate, I’m sorry you went through all that you did,” Officer Rozutto leaned across the table, “but do you understand that taking Tracey away from her parents was just as wrong as your mummy taking you away from your parents?”

Tears burned her eyes again, and she clenched them shut, speaking through clenched teeth, “But she saved me. What she did wasn’t wrong—and I saved Tracey. Maybe her parents don’t even know about the toxins, I don’t know.” She pulled back from the table, swiping at the hair that had fallen across her face. “I saved her!” she said fiercely.

Molly hung up the phone and flopped on the couch next to Cole. “It was Mike. He called to apologize, again, and then put Sal on. They think Tracey’s abductor is Kate Plummer.”

“Unbelievable,” Cole said, astonished.

“Sal said Tracey’s family is pressing charges,” Molly added, “but they’ll decide what they’re seeking for her—help or jail—after her identity is confirmed—or not.” Molly turned away, but Cole pulled her close.

“I know you’re thinking about Amanda and her family.”

Molly blinked away her tears. “She never had a chance, Cole. I wish I had done something, tried to stop that man. I wish I had screamed, called 9-1-1. Something! Anything!” she wiped her eyes. “But I didn’t, and I know I can’t change that. Amanda’s gone.”

Cole looked into her eyes, “But Tracey isn’t.”

Cole had been at the grocery store for over an hour and Molly had lain on the couch, resting, in his absence. She heard the front door open and lifted her body to an upright position, gathering her energy in order to appear a little less exhausted for Cole when he walked into the room. To her surprise, she saw Erik’s face instead. She jumped up, energized, and ran to him, throwing her arms around his body, “Erik!” “Ma! I can’t breathe!” he said, laughing. “How did you get here?” She was overcome with joy. She turned her smile to Cole who popped a grape into his mouth and shrugged. “I know you, Mol. You needed to see him, to touch him.” Cole winked. Erik grinned, digging into the grapes. “You guys are so great!” she exclaimed. “How did you get here so fast?”

“I called last night and made flight arrangements. I was sure you figured it out the other night, when you came back from looking for the dogs? When you walked in and I was on the cell phone speaking cryptically?” Molly gave him a puzzled look. “I had an airport taxi pick him up this morning and drive him to the Carters’. He’s been there for hours.” “But I just spoke to him a few hours ago.”

Erik held up his cell phone. “That’s the great thing,” his dark eyes sparkled. “With a cell phone, you never really know where I am.” He put his arm around his mother and kissed the top of her head, very parentally.

Molly reached her arm around his back, which felt broader than it had when he’d left for school just weeks earlier. She had needed to see him, to touch him. She had missed his presence.

“Are you hungry? What do you want me to make you?” Molly slipped into mommy mode again so easily, like riding a bike.

“Naw, Dad and I ate a little while ago,” his voice was deep and thoughtful.

“Oh, gosh!” Molly said. “I almost forgot. I have to return a call to Pastor Lett. I’m so sorry! Give me just a quick minute, okay?” She saw a look of disbelief pass from father to son.

“Come on, buddy, let’s watch a movie. She’ll be at least that long,” Cole said.

Home is different now, Tracey wrote in her new journal. Everything felt different to her. The warm bubble bath had felt good; the clean clothes, her soft sheets, and her favorite toys comforted her, but she still felt funny. Her mother and father treated her too carefully, as if she could break. Tracey missed Mummy. She wanted to know where she was, if she was okay, and if she was worried about the toxins. She knew she wasn’t supposed to worry about Mummy—her parents told her that she was a bad person and that taking her had been wrong, but Tracey didn’t think she was all bad. After all, she really hadn’t hurt her—and the toxins! Tracey was so confused. She tried to explain to her mother and father about the toxins—how they killed Mummy’s mother and her grandmother—but they didn’t believe her. Tracey felt sure that they just didn’t know about the toxins. Her mother told her that what Mummy had said about the toxins was just a story that she’d made up to keep Tracey with her, but Tracey didn’t believe her mother. She really wanted to see Mummy, and she needed to learn the right way to talk to God, just in case.

Tracey’s mother told her that they’d have to see the police officers again sometime soon to answer their questions about where she had been kept and how she had gotten there. She said that they’d had loads of people looking for her and everything! Tracey wondered why all those people couldn’t find them; they always did in the police shows. She told her mother that Mummy had never hurt her, but she didn’t tell her about the bad spot. She didn’t want Mummy to get in trouble. When her parents asked her why she went with Mummy into the tunnels, Tracey couldn’t tell them. All she could remember was that she’d wanted her necklace. Her mother cried, then, and told Tracey that she needed to understand why she went and that she was sorry that she wasn’t a good mother. Tracey felt horrible! She told her mother that she was a good mother, and that even if she didn’t know about the toxins, that wasn’t really her fault, but her mother just threw her hands up in the air and walked over to Tracey’s father and cried. Tracey was trying so hard to be good that she couldn’t understand why her mother was so sad. Maybe she was worried about the toxins.

Emma had crawled into Tracey’s bed the night before. She came right in when she thought Tracey was asleep and curled up in front of her. Tracey didn’t mind. She had missed Emma a lot and grew sad when she’d heard her sniffling, like she was crying. Tracey had reached her arms around Emma and had held her like she was a giant doll. Then Tracey had cried, too.

She and Emma were playing now, but whenever Emma took one of Tracey’s toys, their mother yelled at Emma. Tracey didn’t need her mother to yell at her. She didn’t mind that Emma took her toys except for the dolly that Mummy had given her. That one was not for sharing. It was special.

Tracey wanted to see Molly again, too. Her mother told her that she could, as soon as the people with the big cameras left their front yard. Tracey peeked out of the curtains when her mother wasn’t looking—she didn’t understand why their house was suddenly so special, but she liked knowing it was on television, even if she wasn’t allowed to watch it. She wanted to go outside and let them take her picture, but her mother wouldn’t allow it. She called them sharks, but they didn’t look like sharks to Tracey.

Who knew this house could feel so warm? Pastor Lett thought to herself as she scrubbed the shelves in the library of the Perkinson House. It was just after four o’clock in the afternoon, and she, Hannah, and Newton had been cleaning the home for most of the day. They cleaned and dusted each room, polishing the floors and scrubbing away years of idle dirt. She was pleased to be making the home livable once again. Pastor Lett refrained from going into the upstairs bedroom, the images of Mrs. Perkinson and her daughter, coupled with her current anxiety, were just too much for her to fathom. Thank goodness for Hannah, who was more than happy to take over the cleaning of the bedrooms, and she had yet to mention seeing anything out of the ordinary. Newton had been busy repairing the outside of the house, rebuilding the steps, replacing rotten wood, and unsheathing the windows. Hannah had brought a few old throw rugs, and Newton and Betty had purchased several pieces of used furniture.

Pastor Lett was once again thankful for the loyalty of her friends. She knew she would not have been able to go through this coming out on her own. She stepped outside and the brisk afternoon air refreshed her. The gloom she had felt for so many years around the house began to lift, and it seemed that even the air itself had become lighter and less burdened. She walked off the wide porch and into the yard, astonished at how welcoming the house looked without the windows boarded up—or perhaps it was the relief of knowing the ominous lies that had been tied to the house were soon to be lifted.

Twenty Eight

Molly held Cole’s hand as he drove past the Boyds Presbyterian Church, following Pastor Lett’s car, on the way to visit Rodney. Molly looked beyond the church to the spider’s web of yellow police tape. A chill ran through her. Molly was thankful to Pastor Lett for allowing her to meet Rodney, at the same time, she felt apprehensive about visiting him. She was glad Cole was going with her. She glanced behind her at Erik who was busy texting in the back seat. After so many days of bedlam and confusion, she almost felt a sense of calm.

They drove up to the familiar Victorian home. The front porch had three colorful rocking chairs and a sign that read: Everyone Is A Friend, And All Friends Are Welcome. There were green pastures with outcroppings of rocks peppering the ground. An enormous willow reached its long slim branches over a running creek just to the right of the house, with an iron bench under the umbrella of its limbs. Molly was astonished that Newton and Betty had been able to successfully hide Rodney for all those years.

Rodney shuffled out of the front door and into the outstretched arms of Pastor Lett, her eyes aglow with love and delight, her quick pace one that Molly could not have envisioned had she not seen it with her own eyes. She was dwarfed by Rodney, who effortlessly wrapped his arms around his older sister’s body and spun in a circle, gleefully yelling, “Carla, come back! Carla, come back!”

Eventually, Rodney released her, and Pastor Lett landed with a thud. Rodney moved like an excited child, his hands wriggling at his sides, his feet marching quickly up and down. The jeans he wore were baggy at the knees and bunched around his ankles, as if he were wearing someone else’s clothes, though his shirt was tightly stretched across his enormous chest and fleshy stomach.

Pastor Lett put her arm around Rodney’s waist. Rodney’s eyes grew wide, spying Molly, and he pushed out of his sister’s grip and approached Molly with an enormous grin. In the flash of a second, he swooped her into his arms and lifted her off the ground, laughing, “Molly find girl!” His jubilant voice boomed, ricocheting off of the clouds. Pastor Lett came to her rescue, pulling on Rodney’s arm, urging her release. “Ma?” Erik yelled. Cole looked at Pastor Lett expectantly. Rodney continued to spin, and Molly thought she might be sick. “Rodney! Put Molly down!” Pastor Lett demanded. Betty hurried to Molly’s aid, “Rodney Lett, you put that girl down right now,” her voice left no room for negotiation.

Rodney stopped, mid-spin, and lowered Molly toward the ground. She stumbled, dizzy, and lowered herself to the safety of the still ground beneath her. Rodney stooped next to her, his brown eyes open wide, concerned. Betty and Pastor Lett had their hands on Molly in seconds, insuring that she remain on the ground. “Molly hurt?” Rodney asked nervously. “I’m okay,” Molly said in a whisper. She eased herself up to her feet. Rodney rose to his feet and locked eyes with Molly’s. “Rodney hurt you?” he asked sheepishly.

Molly reached out to Rodney and put her hand on his massive arm. “It’s okay, Rodney,” she said, forcing a smile. “It was fun. I’m okay.” She watched the smile spread across his face. “Molly like it?” Rodney asked in his husky voice. “Yes, Molly like it,” she nodded. She gave Pastor Lett and Betty a look that said she was alright. “Erik?” Rodney asked simply. Molly nodded toward her son. “Erik,” she confirmed, “and my husband, Cole.”

Betty was flawlessly efficient, serving turkey sandwiches and fruit and ensuring that everyone had a substantial amount of food, drinks, and properly-set silverware. She and Molly had a comfortable conversation about how long she’d been caring for Rodney, which, it turned out, she’d been secretly doing since two months after he’d been beaten. Their secluded property had provided the perfect cover. She was cheerful yet proper, sitting with knees bent and her legs crossed at the ankles and jumping up when Pastor Lett could not reach the salt, passing it to her promptly. It was evident that she was a natural caregiver and seemed to enjoy every aspect of it. Betty excused herself to get something from the kitchen, and Molly watched her hustle into the house.

Rodney ate voraciously, as if he hadn’t eaten all day. Pastor Lett chided him, “Slow down, honey. Your food isn’t going anywhere.”

Rodney immediately slowed his chewing to a waltz as opposed to a samba, watching Molly out of the corner of his eye. Molly whispered, “I eat fast, too,” which made him laugh out loud.

After lunch, Rodney insisted on showing Molly his bedroom which had windows on two sides and dark-colored sheers parted to let the sun shine through. Molly hardly recognized the room from the last visit when it had been shrouded in darkness. She walked in, expecting the Knowing to find her. She felt nothing unusual. “What a beautiful room, Rodney,” she said. Pride filled his eyes.

Suddenly, Rodney darted out of the room as quickly as his large body would allow. He thumped up a flight of stairs, hunching over to avoid hitting his head. Molly, Cole, and Pastor Lett followed him into the quaint, finished attic. There were toys scattered about, and one corner had drawings tacked up on the wall. Molly turned questioning eyes to Pastor Lett. “This is Rodney’s playroom,” she whispered. Molly lifted her chin toward the drawings. Cole came to her side, “Please, Molly, tell me they mean nothing.” She laughed and snuggled into his side, “Don’t worry. I don’t feel a thing.” Rodney rushed to the stairs, startling Molly. “Rodney go. Find Erik.” They found Erik and Rodney in the backyard. Rodney stood with his back to the house, his eyes locked in a gaze with Erik’s. “Rodney?” Molly asked. “Are you okay?” Rodney did not answer. She moved to Erik’s side. “Erik? What’s wrong?” Pastor Lett moved protectively to Rodney’s side. “Mom,” Erik’s voice was strained, “I kind of still feel the guy.” She turned and looked at Rodney. “Rodney?” “No, another guy,” he shifted his gaze to Pastor Lett. “What’s going on?” Molly asked in Pastor Lett’s direction. Pastor Lett looked down. Erik did not. “It’s her, Mom,” he said. “Pastor Lett,” Molly said, in confusion, “what the hell is going on?” Pastor Lett stepped forward, holding Molly’s gaze. “I need to show you something.”

Pastor Lett walked with Betty, speaking in whispers, just ahead of Molly, Cole, and Erik. Newton and Hannah were already inside the Perkinson House, and she was thankful for their presence.

“You’ve done a lot to this house in a day, Pastor Lett,” Molly said with feigned interest. Erik hurried around her, toward the rear of the house. Pastor Lett nervously followed him, ignoring Molly’s comment.

“Molly,” Pastor Lett said nervously as she neared the rear of the house, “how long has Erik had visions?”

“Why do you—” she turned to follow his gaze and saw Erik kneeling at the cellar doors, his palms flat against the cold metal. “Oh my God!” She ran to his side, leaving Cole a few steps behind. Pastor Lett registered Newton’s fleeting footsteps rushing toward them. Erik’s hands appeared frozen to the cellar doors. He looked over his shoulder at his mother, his eyes pleading with her. Molly kneeled next to him, her hand on his back. “It’s him,” Erik said, his eyes falling back down to the cellar doors, the lock.

“Who?” Molly laid her hands on top of his. “My God,” she said under her breath. She looked over her shoulder at Pastor Lett, anger in her eyes. “How could you?”

“Molly, it’s not what you think!” Pastor Lett said quickly. She had hoped that she would have been able to explain before Molly found out on her own.

Newton moved swiftly between Molly and Pastor Lett. “Molly,” he said, “Pastor Lett’s done nothing wrong. Please, let her explain.”

“Let her explain why there’s a man locked in a cellar? Newton, what are you thinking?” she said angrily. Her eyes fell back to her son, who appeared to be unable to move from his kneeling position.

“What the hell is going on?” Cole demanded, seeing the fear in Erik’s eyes, the anger in Molly’s. No one moved or answered. “Erik?” Cole rushed to his side, then looked directly into Molly’s eyes. “Molly?”

“There’s a man in there, locked in.”

Cole’s eyes met Pastor Lett’s, cold and angry, filled with rancor. He lifted Molly to her feet, then took Erik by the shoulders, and with all of his strength, and all of his tenderness, he lifted him back, away from the cellar door. Molly rushed to Erik and wrapped her arms around him. Erik stared straight ahead, as if his mind had somehow been damaged by the scene. Cole confronted Pastor Lett angrily. “Open it!” he demanded. Pastor Lett could not speak, she was in a state of panic. “Open the goddamn door, Pastor!” Cole yelled. Newton came forward, trying to calm the situation, “Cole, please, before this gets worse, please let us explain.”

Hannah, hearing the noise, came running onto the back porch. “What is going on out here?” She took in the scene: Erik, shivering and enveloped in his mother’s arms, Cole, angrily confronting Pastor Lett, and Newton, soft and small, standing between them, trying to make peace.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Cole,” Hannah said as she descended the steps. She reached out and placed her hand gently on his arm. He shrugged her off. “Cole!” She said in a motherly tone. “You listen to me, Cole Tanner. Carla did nothing wrong. She merely carried out the family’s wishes. Now calm your britches and come over here and talk to me, would you?” She spun on her heel and walked toward the gazebo.

Cole pointed angrily toward Pastor Lett, then followed Hannah, venom in his eyes. “You’ve got my full attention,” Cole said to her, hands on hips, body tense with fury.

Hannah wiped her hands on her jeans, her voice calm, direct, “Cole, Carla was asked years ago to care for one of the Perkinsons’ kids. You see, he was born retarded, and the family was scared. It all happened right after Rodney was,” she turned thoughtful eyes toward Pastor Lett, “beaten. They felt they had to hide William from the community. They were terrified for his life!” She looked from Cole to Pastor Lett, a look of sorrow in her eyes. “They had no family in the area, and they were a reclusive family to begin with. They didn’t trust anyone. They kept the child hidden in the house for years and years, until it was all he knew—and after what happened to Rodney, well, it seemed only right to continue to keep him hidden.” She looked down at the ground, then back at Cole. “It doesn’t seem right now, now that the world has changed, and everyone is accepted for who they are, but back then, in the time when he was born, well…it was what it was. They locked kids up that were different, put them in institutions, and the family didn’t want that.”

Pastor Lett had moved closer to the gazebo, her shoulders dropped, her head hung low. She interrupted Hannah, hoping not to agitate Cole any further, but needing to speak her mind. “He had run of the house until just recently. I didn’t like keeping him there. I came to visit him every day, sometimes many times each day. He is family to me. As I said, while I cared for him, he lived in the house, not the cellar, and then those damned teenagers became curious about the haunted house on the hill.” She paused, looking up at the house, wearily. “We had to keep the kid,” she said endearingly, “William, secluded to the cellar where he had grown up.” Pastor Lett looked down and shook her head. She knew she would have to face the community and that this was just the beginning. Cole’s anger wasn’t near what she’d expected, but the ache in her gut still surprised her, the sadness for what she’d done engulfed her mind and her body. “It’s awful, Cole, and I know that,” she spoke from her heart, true words laced with disgrace. “I have wrestled with this for years. You have no idea how painful it is,” her voice escalated, “but I am a pastor, and I gave the family my word!”

She looked at Molly, hoping for understanding, forgiveness. Erik sat beside her, worn out, motionless. “It was Molly who made me change my mind. When I saw her with Rodney, I realized then that the kid, that William, needed to have more of a life, no matter what the Perkinson family wanted.” The anguish in Pastor Lett’s words was clear. “I have wanted to release him from that place for years, but Chet Perkinson was adamant about him remaining there, hidden from the community. I felt locked in a prison—knowing it was wrong to keep him hidden, and yet, I had given my word.” She turned away, ashamed.

Cole looked at her, then at Hannah, and Newton. “How could you do this for so long? There’s a man in there! For Christ’s sake, Pastor Lett, you of all people.”

“I know,” Pastor Lett said, solemnly. “I cannot reconcile it myself, so I don’t expect you to. We’re trying to right the wrong we’ve done, make his life better, provide a real life, no matter how closely we’re scrutinized.”

“Newton, Hannah? You, too?” Cole turned pained eyes toward them.

Hannah nodded, “Yes, Cole, we all helped take care of William. He’s a lovely man, just lovely.” She shrugged. “When a family asks something of you, how do you know when it is right to go against their wishes? How do you know when to back out of it?”

“I thought for sure this would have ended years ago,” Pastor Lett added. “Another location found, a home with a family possibly, anything, but the years just kept passing by, and then it was such a habit, such a normal typical thing, taking care of him, well....” she let her words trail off with the setting sun and looked away. “I don’t expect to be forgiven. He’s a man now, physically, but he’s still a five-year-old mentally. I cannot tell you how many nights I wanted to bring him home with me, but I was worried that even that would get me into trouble. Once Rodney was beaten, I was unsure of anything in this town. Hannah,” she looked at her brown hair waving in the slight breeze, her hands covered with dirt and dust, the understanding that was evident on her face, and the compassion in her eyes, “and Newton,” Newton gazed nervously at the ground, hands in his khaki pants pockets, the toe of his sneaker kicked at the ground, “well, they are the only people I felt that I could truly trust with someone else’s life.” She looked toward Molly, “until the other night, when Molly opened my eyes and made me remember that there are good people in the world, that sometimes giving of yourself, making yourself vulnerable, is the right thing to do at any cost.” Her eyes pleaded with Molly, who allowed the end of her mouth to turn up.

Cole paced, running his hand through his dark hair. “What the hell? Molly?” he looked at her, as if she held all of the answers.

“Cole,” Molly said, “she didn’t have to invite us here.” Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “She didn’t have to expose William at all. It sounds like—and not that I condone her behavior—but it sounds like she was overwhelmed, accepted a responsibility that she came to realize wasn’t the right thing to do, and now she is trying to right her wrong.” She reached up, tenderly brushing his hair off of his forehead. He leaned down and rested his cheek against hers, as if he would know what was right by touching her, as if the answer would seep through her skin to his own mind.

He turned toward Pastor Lett then, and spoke softly, his hand in Molly’s, “Well, what the hell are we waiting for?” he looked around. “Let’s get William out of there and get this place in shape for him. The quicker the better.” He looked toward the gazebo where Erik sat, the color returned to his face. “Erik, I need you: Stat!” Erik walked swiftly to his side, “Dad?” Cole put his hands on his shoulder. “Are you all right, son?” Erik nodded. “Good. Can we use your strength to help make this place livable?” Erik looked to his mother for guidance. She nodded, encouraging him. “Hell yes!” he said.

Hannah sidled up to Molly and tapped her on the shoulder. Molly turned and understood from the pained look in Hannah’s eyes that there was more. Hannah took Molly’s hand and led her away from the group, to the edge of the woods.

“As long as we’re all confessing,” Hannah whispered, “I have something to tell you.” Tears formed in her eyes and she turned to face the lake. “Walk with me?” They walked over the crest of the hill, descending toward the lake. “Remember when I took you into the woods?”

Molly feared what she’d hear next. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Hannah,” she said.

Hannah stopped walking and faced Molly. “I want to. I’ve been carrying this around for too long.” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. A bird landed on the water and Hannah watched the ripples snaking their way to the shore. “That place, where I knelt?” Molly nodded. “I…I had a daughter. She only lived for moments, and Charlie was so crazy,” her words spewed swiftly, nervously from her lips. “Hannah, no.”

Hannah nodded. “I was terrified. If Charlie had found out he would have done god knows what. I know it was wrong, not to bury her properly, but I did the best I could.”

I did the best I could. Molly felt the truth in her words. “I’m sorry,” was all she could say.

Epilogue

“Hurry up, you guys, we’ll be late for the party!” Molly hustled downstairs. The interwoven sparkles in her clingy black dress gleamed from the lights on the Christmas tree with her every move. She walked up behind Erik and hugged him, remembering the days when he had gone through a stage where he had pretended that Molly wasn’t his mother—embarrassed by any public displays of attention. She couldn’t believe that the young man who stood beside her, his arm around her shoulders, was the same person—she’d thought the stage would never end. Her heart swelled with pride. “Thanks for coming home for the holidays,” she said.

“Ma, where else would I go?”

“Jenna’s?” she said, cautiously.

“Yeah, right, like she’d be more fun than you and Dad? I don’t think so.” He popped an almond in his mouth. “Besides,” he grinned from ear to ear, “she had to be with her family today anyway.”

Molly gave him a look that asked for more details, and she wasn’t surprised when he responded, “Don’t even ask.” She followed him into the family room where Cole sat in his underwear and dress shirt watching television. “Cole!” Molly chided him. “What are you doing? We’re supposed to be there in ten minutes!” Exasperated, she threw her hands up in the air and waited for him to move upstairs. Instead, he turned his head to face her. The light caught his dark, sensual eyes, making it hard for Molly to stay upset with him. The look on his face was sweet, reminding her of all the reasons she’d fallen in love with him in the first place—and fallen in love with him again over the past few weeks as their harrowing ordeal had wound down.

“Why don’t you just sit down here next to me a minute?” he said, patting the couch next to him. “You look so beautiful.” He reached for her hand.

“Flattery, my friend, will get you nowhere. Come on,” she urged him, “the clock is ticking, and I promised. Eight o’clock, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” He patted the cushion again.

“Urgh,” Molly relented, walking around the couch. He ran his hand seductively along the back of her legs as she stepped past him. She settled into the couch, a little agitated, and forced a smile.

He wrapped his arm around her back, placing his other hand on her knee. He gazed into her eyes, reeling her in. “We’ve been so crazed lately. I just want a minute with you.” As he spoke, Erik walked into the room. “I wanted a quiet moment to give you your gift.”

She gingerly took a flat box from his hand and excitedly tore it open. Inside was a leather-bound journal with the inscription, ‘My love, No more doubting. I believe in you. Go get ’em, Baby! I love you now and always, Cole.’

“Oh, Cole,” she climbed into his lap and kissed his lips.

“Oh, come on! Get a room! I don’t want to see this,” Erik laughed as he left the room.

Pastor Lett stood in the living room of the Perkinson House in anticipation of the holiday party. She watched Hannah, Betty, Rodney, and William sitting by the Christmas tree, drinking eggnog and eating Christmas treats. She had no doubt that they had done the right thing and wished that they had felt they could have done it years earlier. Part of her worried about forgiveness, but she knew that might be too much to ask. She’d have to wait and see what the Lord had in store for her. There had been a bit of an uproar from the community, and she had undergone an investigation of abuse, but she came out with a slap on the hand and a few harsh words about how she should have known better, done something sooner, made other arrangements, which she knew she deserved, but after a few short weeks, the grumbling stopped. The investigative committee had been surprised, though not nearly as surprised as Pastor Lett had been, to learn that William was the illegitimate son of Chet Perkinson’s mentally retarded sister, who had died during childbirth. That had made no difference to Pastor Lett, in fact, she believed it endeared him even more to her. In the end, it was the support of the community and the backing of the Boyds Presbyterian Church congregation that had enabled her to turn the Perkinson House into the Perkinson House for the Handicapped. Lauren, the caregiver she hired, was wonderful. She’d taken to William as if he were her own brother, showering him with attention, patiently listening to his repetitive stories and jokes, and generally making him feel loved and needed.

The police made amends for their mistake, and Pastor Lett, being the good woman that she was, accepted their apologies and forgave them, thankful that Rodney had not perished. The community rallied around her when she’d made the announcement at the church that Rodney had lived. Edie and Jin were beside themselves with joy. Edie told Pastor Lett that she had known he was alive, and that Pastor Lett had told her about him many years earlier, although she didn’t remember ever doing so. It brought great pleasure to Pastor Lett to have both Rodney and William welcomed into the community, though she was taken aback by her own feelings, feelings of anger toward the community that had once accused her brother of such a heinous crime and toward Harley Mott, Mac Peterson, and Joe Dillon, the men who had beaten him, but God took care of those feelings, reminding her of forgiveness, of what she had asked for with regard to William. He certainly worked in mysterious ways.

It had been a hard decision for Pastor Lett not to bring Rodney home to live with her, but Betty had felt very strongly that moving him from her home, where he’d lived for the past twenty years, would cause great conflict within him. In the end, she’d given in, leaving Rodney to reside with Newton and Betty, where she was certain that Rodney was not only cared for but was happy. Molly and Rodney had established an even stronger connection in the past few weeks. She visited Rodney with Pastor Lett every Tuesday, and he continued to lift her up off of the ground and spin her as if it were the first time he had ever seen her.

Hannah’s confession about her baby, Clara Ann—her birth, and her death—had come as a surprise to Pastor Lett, and sadness weighed heavily in her heart as she watched her friend across the room. She still couldn’t imagine the guilt that must have eaten at Hannah every day, living with her child being buried in the woods—like an animal. Newton had, once again, done something remarkable. The headstone he’d had made to mark Clara Ann’s passing had gone unnoticed for all those years, waiting for her little body to join it. Pastor Lett hoped that all those years of guilt and hiding had been put to rest with the moving of Clara Ann’s body to the church cemetery. She thought of the memorial service that had taken place just days earlier, and she thought she saw a softening of Hannah’s face, around her eyes, as she looked in her direction.

Pastor Lett turned toward the sound of laughter. Newton and Betty were busy stringing popcorn, which they had been threading for the last week. They giggled like schoolchildren, laughing at a secret that only the two of them knew. Betty reached down and kissed his cheek, her hand as pale as a dove against his dark skin. He blushed and touched her hand. Pastor Lett didn’t think she could have made it through each of the difficult years, all of the trying times, without Newton by her side. He’d made things bearable for her, often reminding her why it was that she was taking care of William, and just how much the family relied on her, and how one day, it would all work out for the best. He had been right. God bless him. Pastor Lett leaned against the wall and watched Newton with Betty, his Member’s Only jacket still zipped up tight to his chin, even though he was inside the house. Thinking of the old joke, He’s got to be the last member! brought a smile to her lips. She felt a little like a voyeur and turned away to allow them privacy. A soft knock at the door pulled her in that direction. Molly, Cole, and Erik stood before her carrying Poinsettias and brownies.

Molly handed her a large wrapped box which had been hidden behind her back, and which she would later discover held four large bags of sunflower seeds. She embraced her. “So good to see you,” she said.

Rodney heard her voice and lumbered across the floor, his speed in great contrast to his size. He pulled Molly away from his sister and picked her up, swinging her around, laughing, “Molly come! Molly see Rodney!”

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Rodney blushed.

At that moment, Pastor Lett felt as though she were complete: the secrets were out, and she could live each day in happiness, with no more midnight canoe rides, no more locks and chains. At that thought, she glanced toward the front door, next to which hung her old neck chain and keys. She kept them as a reminder of her own weaknesses as a human, but was glad to be relieved of their weight.

When Sal and Mike arrived at the party, Molly was dancing with Cole, her cheek pressed against his chest, their bodies moving in perfect sync. Molly felt a hand on her shoulder before she heard his voice. “May I cut in?” Mike’s voice swept into her ears, and she envisioned his boyish smile. Cole handed her over to him. “So,” Mike said, as they eased into their dance, “how have you been?” “Great, and you?” “Okay. This is a hard time for me,” he admitted.

Molly looked into his sad eyes, eyes that she was sure his wife must have longed to stay with as she took her last and final breath. “I know. I’m glad you’re here,” Molly said. They had become close, and Molly felt that he needed a family to spend the holidays with.

“Did Sal tell you the news?”

Molly shook her head.

“We got the DNA results back. Kate is in fact Kate Plummer, and the two bodies, they were definitely Walter Meeks’s wife and daughter, Maribelle and Leah. We just got the call this morning. And the Boyds Boys, as you so kindly call them, have been taken into custody.”

Molly was saddened by the news of the Boyds Boys. She had held out hope that they weren’t the ones who had beaten Rodney.

Molly watched Cole from across the room. His mouth barely moved as he spoke to Erik. He rested his arm around Erik’s shoulder, and once again Molly knew that she and Cole were meant to be together. The song ended, and she and Mike walked toward them. Both Cole and Erik reached out to Molly. Instantly, she understood why she had fought so hard to find Tracey, why she felt so deeply for Kate, and why she hurt so badly for Amanda and for Walter. A glimmer of true love was an astonishing thing, and if an ounce of it was stolen, the emptiness it left behind, that time of loneliness, that time of despair, could never be relived, never be refilled. It remained forever empty, a hole in the soul. Molly knew that she was safe, she was loved. With Cole’s support she’d never lose her way again. “So what happens now?” Cole asked. A coy smile crept across Mike’s face, and he looked at Molly. “Well, you know I’ve been reassigned to the Cold Case Unit.” Molly’s eyes perked up. Cole groaned.

Tracey loved Christmas! Her mom made ham and scalloped potatoes, Tracey’s favorite meal. Tracey’s favorite part of Christmas, though, was that she and Emma were allowed to stay up late and watch Christmas movies on television. Tonight, though, they made her sad. She thought of Mummy. She missed her. Tracey had asked her mother if she could give Mummy a present, which her mother had quickly corrected, Kate, Tracey. Her name is Kate. She had been allowed to choose the present herself. Tracey had picked out a doll for Kate, so she would never feel alone again, and so she wouldn’t have to steal some other mother’s little girl. Before wrapping it, she slipped her own necklace, the one with the heart-shaped charm, around the doll’s neck.

Tracey’s mother had said that Kate would not be sent to jail. They’d made a deal with the police, and she would go somewhere to get help. Tracey didn’t understand why Kate needed help, but her mother said that she had been taken from her parents, too, a long, long time ago, and that the woman who raised her underground made her believe in those toxins. Kate needed help to learn the toxins weren’t real. Tracey knew her mother didn’t think the toxins really existed, but she wasn’t so sure. She tried to believe her, but sometimes, like when she’d gotten sick with a bad cold, she worried that she was going to die. Her mother had rushed her to the doctor, who also told Tracey that there were no toxins. She secretly wondered if they just hadn’t known the truth.

When Tracey had first come home, she’d tried to see Kate. She had worried about her every day and didn’t like the idea of her being alone, or with strangers, but every time she asked her mother if she could see her, her mother would cry. Tracey stopped asking her mother, and asked her father, who told her that her mother would like her to just forget the whole thing, forget her time underground, but Tracey couldn’t forget Kate. Finally, Tracey’s father spoke to the counselor that Tracey had to see every week since coming home, and she said it was okay for Tracey to visit Kate, and that it might even help Tracey gain closure and also assist in Kate’s recovery. Tracey didn’t like the therapist very much because she asked too many questions, but she was happy that she would be allowed to see Kate. She and her mother usually picked up Molly, and together they would drive to see Kate. Kate stayed in a place that felt, to Tracey, like a hospital; every wall was white, and it smelled funny, too, like the stuff her mother used to clean out her cuts. Tracey thought Kate looked prettier now than she used to. She was definitely cleaner, and her eyes lit up whenever Tracey went to visit, like she’d been waiting to see her for a very long time. Tracey liked visiting Kate, and every time they visited, Kate would again apologize for taking Tracey away from her mother and father. Kate’s therapy was helping her to understand why taking Tracey had been a bad thing to do. Tracey was happy that Kate was okay, but she secretly wanted to ask Kate about the toxins. She knew, though, that if she did, it might upset her mother, so she refrained. Tracey didn’t refrain though, one cold December afternoon, from whispering to Kate that she didn’t like the bad spot. Kate had apologized, and cried, so Tracey secretly vowed to never mention that again either.