Chasing Amanda (19 page)

Molly had intended to go home, but, on a whim, she found herself driving toward Hannah’s. Passing the vast soybean fields brought a sense of calm to her otherwise anxious day. She rolled down the windows and let the breeze wash over her, the stress of the morning fading away. She passed Harley’s farm, the hayfields pristine, the grass perfectly mowed, and waved to Harley who stood by his truck in the driveway. Her levity fell away as Harley’s unnerving stare, his face awash of any emotion, followed her down the road.

Molly parked at Hannah’s and stepped from the van, forcibly pushing aside the uncomfortable feeling of Harley’s glare. “Hannah?” she called out, and was answered by two dogs that came bounding toward her: a large, long-haired black dog that Molly thought resembled a cross between a Saint Bernard and a Great Dane, and an older hound dog. “Hey, guys,” she said as she scratched their heads. “Where’s your mama?” The horses came to attention as she entered the barn, undoubtedly looking for carrots and treats. Molly caressed their cheeks.

“Hannah?” she called out again. The dogs’ ears perked up at the sound of their owner’s name. Molly looked in the well-organized tack room, calling out in a sing-song voice, “Han-nah?” She walked to the garage, dogs in tow, where she found Hannah’s car. Molly scanned the fields, but Hannah was nowhere in sight. The other horses, however, had gathered along the far end of the pasture where the fence edged the woods.

“Molly!”

Molly turned around, relieved to see Pete standing in his dirty jeans and flannel shirt. Pete had boarded his horses at Hannah’s farm for fifteen years. Molly had known him for ten of those years but had never gotten used to his diminutive stature. His smile brightened his dark, weathered face.

“Hi, Pete,” Molly said. “Do you know where I can find Hannah?”

He ambled over slowly, wiping his hands on a towel that hung from his belt. His skin was slick with sweat. He nodded toward the woods, just past the gathered horses. “She went for a walk.”

The walk through the pasture was much further than Molly had anticipated. She leaned against the fence to rest near the four horses. Somewhere from the recesses of her mind, she pulled a memory that horses, like people, have favorite spots where they like to spend their time. As she leaned against the fence, her arms against the prickly wood, she looked down and noticed that the fencing had clear boot markings, as if it had been climbed over in that exact spot for many years. That was not out of place, Molly figured, because Hannah was an avid hiker as well as rider. She had likely climbed over the fence many times. Molly turned to the woods and, sure enough, there was a well-worn path leading into the forest. Molly rubbed the horses and took to the path which was lined with fall flowers, marigolds and blue-stem goldenrod
.

The path faded gently, becoming overgrown yet still discernable. The tree branches hovered over the natural trellises. Molly reached up and ran her fingertips through them. She glanced behind her but was unable to see Hannah’s farm or hear the gentle noises of the horses and dogs. All was quiet.
No wonder Hannah frequents this path
.

She had been lost in thought when a noise disturbed her reverie, and she suddenly realized that the path she thought she had been following had not been a path at all. In fact, the forest around her looked as if it were a maze of overgrown paths. She pushed aside her rush to find Hannah and decided to enjoy her walk instead. She reassuringly touched the bulge in her pocket where the necklace was safely tucked away. She quickened her pace and crossed the rutted pavement of White Ground Road coming to the entrance to the Hoyles Mill Trail. Molly considered returning to Hannah’s, then she briefly wondered where Hannah had gone and why they hadn’t yet crossed paths. She was enjoying the exercise and was not yet ready to relinquish her peaceful escape. She checked the time and decided she’d have enough time to walk to the church and take the main road back to Hannah’s farm.

Molly skipped over rocks, bending down to miss a vine here, a branch there, and when she came to an area that she didn’t recognize, she ventured to the right, hearing Cole’s practical voice echo in her head,
It’s a right-handed society
. It didn’t worry Molly that she wasn’t quite sure where the path would end up, as Boyds was such a small area that she knew eventually she’d come out either by the church, by the farm just beyond it, or onto one of the country roads that encircled the small town.

The sunlight was beginning to fade as Molly came across a clear fork in the woods. Again, she veered right, and what she saw just beyond the bushes startled her: a man-made clearing surrounded by mature oaks and pines. Two picnic tables, the wood gray with age, splintered and rough, names and dates sloppily carved into the benches, were set about ten feet apart in the center of the clearing. A bird sat atop one of the tables, pecking at sunflower seeds. It flew away when Molly took a step in its direction.

Along the edge of the clearing were four large plywood boxes, with angled, green plywood roofs and bowed, unpainted sides. The roughly-built boxes were layered with cobwebs and ivy. Molly tried to lift the lid of the box nearest her which stood beside a small creek. Its weight surprised her. She peered inside, and a field mouse scurried across the bottom. Molly dropped the heavy lid and jumped back, letting out a meek yelp, the slam echoed in the darkened woods. She sheepishly looked around to see if anyone could have heard her little squeak.

“Jesus Christ,” Molly said, shaking her hands as if flinging off water. She wiped them on her jeans and approached the box again. “I can do this,” she said, and lifted the lid slowly, peeking inside. Cobwebs hung from the corners. A two-by-four shelf ran the length of the box, mouse nests tucked into the corners. In one of the nests, the tiny mouse huddled. Roughly-cut logs were tucked under the shelf. Molly dropped the lid, simultaneously stepping backward and cringing from the loud thud. She took in her surroundings—picnic tables, grates in the ground covering shallow holes—the scene reminded her of childhood camping trips. She smiled at the memory. Molly instantly liked the secluded area.

Darkness began to close in around her, and she started to worry that she may not be able to find her way back to the road after all. She reached for her cell phone, realizing only too late that she had left her backpack in the van—at Hannah’s.
Hannah, where in the world are you?
Molly worried about Cole, whom she knew would be upset with her if he knew she was lost in the woods.
Am I lost
? she wondered. She looked around for a path leading out of the clearing. Between two large trees, there was a clear path with…tire marks? She walked toward the clearing and caught sight of a flicker of white and green on the bottom of one of the boxes—out of place in the otherwise clean area. As she neared the box, her senses were assaulted by the sweet taste of candy apples. She rolled her tongue across the roof of her mouth—every drop of saliva carried sweet apple candy.

Molly crouched down near the wooden box, curiously peering at what she recognized as an Airhead candy wrapper. She reached for the shiny piece of trash with her left hand, and instantly her right hand burned.

“Damn it!” she yelped, knowing exactly what she was in for. She backed away from the wrapper, holding her burning palm in her healthy one. “Damn it! I got it, okay? I understand!” she yelled toward the sky. She backed away from the box, shaking her burning palm up and down, trying desperately to cool it off as she retreated up the path and further away from the camp. Her injured palm began to cool. Molly sat down at the crest of a small hill, just outside the cleared area, the ache lingered in her palm. She was not surprised to see the scar reddened and angry. Her hands shook, and guttural, frustrated sounds poured from her mouth. “Tell me already!” she yelled angrily. “Tell me where the hell she is!”

Molly sat for a few minutes, cursing the
Knowing
and trying to figure out how the signs, the notes, the candy wrappers, and the visions were tied together. She stared down at the clearing, compelled to return to it. It only took one thought to push her past her fear and toward the clearing:
Amanda
. Her senses heightened as she neared the area, she waited for her palm to burn, but was met with nothing—no heat, no pain, no oppressive feeling around the clearing. She breathed a little easier, dropping to her knees an arm’s length away from the wooden box and the candy wrapper. She reached her left hand out tentatively, snagged the wrapper, and pulled her arm back quickly, holding the playing-card-sized piece of wrapper between her fingers. She shoved it in her pocket with the necklace and patted the lump on her thigh. “I got you guys,” she said. “We’ll find her.” She froze at the sound of a man’s voice.

Over the crest of the hill, where she had just been sitting, came a figure, shrouded in a long dark overcoat, a hat pulled over his eyes.

Molly sighed, relieved. “Newton,” she said, rising to her feet. “I was walking in the woods and kinda got lost.” She motioned with her arms to the clearing.

“I thought I heard someone yelling,” he said, coming down the hill towards her. “Here, I’ve got a flashlight.” He offered his arm to her on her way up the hill, handing her the light. Molly accepted the kind gesture.

“It was me,” she laughed. “What is this place, Newton?”

“You, my dear, are, um, in the campsites for the Girl and Boy Scouts. Sometimes the church groups use it or other local nonprofit groups, but it’s mainly for the scouts. It, uh, belongs to the church.”

They made their way down a tire-worn path that cut through the overgrown field. The field to their right was vast, edged by a cornfield. Beyond the field was an old farmhouse and barn. A silo stood tall in the distance. As if her eyes had a mind of their own, they drifted beyond the silo, above the trees, to where the turret of the Perkinson House peered above the treetops like a voyeur. “Where are we, Newton?” Molly asked, curiously.

“At the church, of course.” Newton shone the flashlight beam down the hill, illuminating the grass between the field and the park—the park from which Kate Plummer had disappeared.

They headed down the hill toward Newton’s car, the sole car in the church parking lot. Molly asked when the campsite had last been used.

“I don’t know. Let’s see,” he looked to the sky, his hand fidgeted around his lips, “probably August or so. I think the Girl Scouts have a jamboree around that time.” He turned to her, “Where’s your car, Molly?” he asked.

Molly’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my gosh! I left it at Hannah’s house,” she said, having completely forgotten. “Would you mind giving me a ride?”

“Of course not—come on.”

Molly slid into the front seat of the old car. There was not a single scratch on the interior. The back seat, however, was littered with writing papers, binders, and loose articles, the floor stacked high with binders.

“Adding to your historical binders?” Molly motioned to the back seat.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, embarrassed. “I like to keep up on things around Boyds.” Newton took a loose article that was on the console between them and looked at it, longingly, “What a shame this whole thing is—what a shame.” He set the article on one of the binders, and Molly quickly glimpsed a photo of Tracey Porter and part of the headline, “Missing Boyds Girl.”
Newton started the car, his eyes trained on the road ahead of them, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. The bumps on White Ground Road were difficult for any driver to maneuver around, but Newton appeared to be having a particularly stressful time.

Molly closed her eyes as she felt the oppressive pressure of the Knowing engulfing her, as it had the night before. She gripped the door handle with her right hand, the edge of the seat with her left. Her body began to tremble. “Please,” she said, breathlessly, “can you drive faster?” Molly’s eyes rolled back in her head as the visions hit like pictures projected in an old-fashioned slide show:
Tracey, alone in a dirt chamber, staring into the darkness; a wooden plank; a thicket in the woods.
Fear shivered across Molly’s skin, and the memories came crashing in. It was Tracey she saw in the vision, her face, her body, her hair, but those cold, dead eyes were Amanda’s, staring accusingly, directly, at Molly.

She could hear Newton calling her name from a distance, but she couldn’t respond. She felt the car accelerate, her body slumped against the door, jerking her mind back into the present. Her body swayed with the turns in the road, first left, then right.

“Molly?” Newton continued to call out to her.

“I feel a little…sick,” she managed. As they neared the intersection at Hannah’s road, Molly’s breathing returned to normal, her sight became clear, and she was able to right her body in the seat.

Newton took the right turn slowly, “Molly, are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, trying to minimize the episode. “I’m fine now, thanks. That part of the road gets to me sometimes,” she waved her hand, dismissively, “a little carsickness, you know?”

Newton let out a sigh of relief, “Me, too. It scares me sometimes. It’s so narrow, and it’s in such poor shape. You’d think the county would do something about it.” He shook his head.