Hannah’s dreams had been crushed when Charlie had realized it was all too much for him to handle. He’d become resentful and quick tempered, and he had finally taken off, leaving Hannah to fend for herself. Her stomach panged at the memory of the days just before he had left, the fear of what he would do had he found out her secret, his wrath of anger, which had come on fast and furious, as it had so often toward the end. Out of sadness or old memories, she wasn’t sure which, her hand fell to her barren abdomen.
Molly stared groggily at the ringing telephone. She glanced at the nightstand and had a hard time registering that it was eleven thirty-seven A.M.—not P.M. She had climbed into her warm bed for a quick nap—two hours earlier. She answered the phone groggily, “Hello?” “Ma? Who is he?” “Erik? Who is who?” she said, smiling as she was brought awake by the sound of her son’s energetic, voice. “Who is the other son—the one you’re probably calling instead of me?” he laughed.
“Oh, that one!” she said, loving the game they had played since he had left for college. “Well, he actually lives nearby. He’s about your age, and he calls me sometimes.” “Yeah, right,” Erik said. “Whatever—listen, Mom,” Erik’s voice turned serious, “it’s happening again.” “What is?” Concerned, Molly righted herself. “The dreams—you know,” he hesitated.
Molly could hear the anxiety in Erik’s tone. She leaned against the headboard of the bed, closed her eyes, and remembered her spontaneous visit to a psychic when Erik had been just five. Her friends had been going—for the fun of it—and she had tagged along. The psychic had told Molly that Erik bore the same ability to “see things” as she, but that his young mind was too cluttered to see them clearly. The worry of that being true had plagued Molly for years. She had secretly analyzed Erik’s dreams as he had shared them—but other than a few recurring dreams when he went through puberty, they were always typical boyhood dreams. Now she silently pleaded to God not to burden Erik with the Knowing.
“Tell me, Erik,” she said.
“There’s this guy, Mom,” his voice was quiet, yet rushed. “He’s in the dark, well, mostly in the dark. He rocks—forward and back, like that autistic kid did in that show you made me watch? Son Rise? He says stuff, too, but I don’t really know what,” Erik paused, “but I think it’s something important.”
Molly gripped the phone so tightly that her knuckles were white. “What else?”
“I’m afraid, Mom. I’m afraid of the other things I saw,” he was almost whispering.
“Erik,” Molly swallowed, then urged, “there’s something big going on here at home.” She didn’t want to upset him, but every sense in her body told her that she needed to hear what he saw. “Please, Erik. Please tell me. It might help.”
He took a deep breath. Molly envisioned his worried face, the way the right side of his mouth would quiver with each word and his brown eyes would open wide as he concentrated. Molly saw the troubled face of the boy he was, not the young man he had become. “I saw a girl. It totally freaked me out.” The words tumbled uneasily from his mouth. “Oh, Erik,” Molly said. “I’m so sorry, honey.” “What, Mom?” his voice became louder as his frustration grew. “What the hell is it? Who is she?” “I think she’s the little girl who’s missing, but I don’t know that.” “Oh, great!” Erik said, sarcastically. “This is freakin’ great, Mom.” Molly could hear his panic rise.
“Well, guess what—there’s more. The little girl was in some kind of a...I don’t even know what,” he yelled, “a freaking hole! She was in a freaking hole in the goddamn ground, Mom!” his voice cracked.
“Erik, listen to me,” she paused, listened to his breathing. “Erik, you probably—”
“Don’t even say it, Mom,” he warned. “I’m not like you, Mom. I know you’re going to say it’s a vision or something, but it’s not.”
“Erik, listen. Please, don’t hang up!” she pleaded. “It’s horrible. This little girl’s been missing for a few days, and Erik,” she closed her eyes tight, hoping he would not hang up, “I had the same dream.” Her revelation was met with silence. “Erik?” she said tentatively. As the phone remained silent, Molly grew anxious. “Erik!” she demanded.
“What!” he said harshly. “Jesus Christ, Mom. What do you want me to say?” he yelled. “I just freaking saw a missing girl in a hole, and you want me to talk about it?”
“Erik, you can help her. I know you don’t really believe in this stuff, but you can help her. You have to help her. Please!” Molly’s heart felt as though it were going to burst through her chest.
“That’s just it, Mom,” Erik answered, “I do believe in this stuff,” he said sheepishly.
Molly let out a sigh of relief.
“But I don’t want to,” Erik said. “Don’t you think I’ve seen what you go through—what you’ve gone through all these years? There’s always something that you just know. Goddamn it, Mom!” he said angrily. “I don’t want to be like you!”
Molly bristled. His words stung. “I’m sorry.” She wiped her tears, wishing she could erase his memory of the images. “Honey, I know this is hard, but do you know where she was?” she asked.
“Uh-huh, sort of,” he said. Molly could hear the tension in his words, his desire not to reveal what he saw.
“Erik, please,” she pleaded.
“Fine, whatever! I saw woods and could hear kids in the background, okay? And, no, I don’t know where exactly, but it sounded like she was near a park, or a school, or some shit like that.” He took a deep breath.
Molly waited.
“There’s more. I’m pretty sure I saw Hannah Slate kneeling over her.” He spoke through clenched teeth, “What the hell, Mom?”
Molly eyes grew wide. “I’m not sure, Erik.” She tried to waylay his fears—and her own, “I’m sure it’s nothing. Hannah helped search for her. That’s probably what you saw.”
“The guy, Mom—you have to find him. I think he’s trapped somewhere. I think he needs to get out. I think he was trying to say something important.”
“Okay, honey. I’ll do everything I can to find him—and to find Aman—Tracey.” She decided to go one step further, “Erik, did you feel anything when you saw her?”
Erik didn’t hesitate. “I didn’t feel anything other than being totally freaked out when I woke up—but Mom, find that guy, please. I don’t know why, but it’s really important that you find him—soon.”
“I will. I promise to hunt him down!” She laughed, heard Erik utter, “Jesus Christ!” and added, “Really, honey. I’ll try—and if I can figure this all out, I’ll call you right away.”
He let out a deep sigh. “Good.” His voice softened, like the boy he used to be, “Mom, what if she’s…you know…like Amanda?”
Molly braced herself against the back of the bed. “She’s not, Erik,” she closed her eyes and said, “I’m sorry that you have to go through this. I hoped that you wouldn’t have these…abilities.” Molly’s sadness hung in the air.
“Yeah, whatever. You’re probably happy that you have a kid who’s just like you.”
His sarcasm was not lost on Molly, who smiled at his ability to remain positive about something that just might change his entire life.
Molly unwrapped the bandage from her hand and touched the T which had become a simple scar. She wondered how it could have healed so quickly, but like so many other aspects of her life, accepted it without too much deliberation. She poked at it, curled her fingers into a fist, and stretched them as far as she could—the scar did not tear. It had become as sturdy as the rest of her palm. The T had become a part of her—a constant reminder of the little girl who was yet to be found.