Chasing Amanda (28 page)

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.

“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.

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.”