True Stories of a Fictional Life

The Disappearance of Deacon Blythe Part II

Silas took the long, winding road down towards Canyon Lake, which stood at the bottom of the mountain. The drive was quiet and he left his windows rolled down, feeling the warm breeze of the summer night on his skin as the wilderness on either side of him bustled with fireflies.

Every so often, he'd see a deer ambling along on the side of the road. They'd stare now and then as his rickety truck went by, and some of the braver ones would make noises as if to scare someone off the road. The new bucks, Silas knew, would have the stumps growing, marking the younger deer from the older ones, which were nowhere in sight.

Time had taught the older deer that humanity was particularly cruel to those who had survived long enough to see the horrors it was capable of.

As he rode along the dusty stretch of road, moving from the hills and plains to the more wooded area of the lake, Silas took in the smell of tobacco, hay, and rotting wood. These, along with the smell of oil and fresh linen, were the smells of his hometown. It was comforting, in a way, as the day turned to night, the fireflies still guiding his way.

Silas turned his thoughts towards Deacon Blythe. It occurred to him that he'd never actually seen the boy with his father as he grew older, except for once at a county fair. Deacon had been stopped by Silas, who'd recognized him and asked him how he was doing when Charles Blythe showed up out of nowhere and finished the conversation.

That had been last year, right before Oktoberfest. Silas remembered thinking at the time that it was strange but had since forgotten the incident. Now it weighed on his mind.

And another thing. If Deacon had only disappeared, Silas thought, why would his own mother use words that made it sound like he passed on? From all accounts, Lisa Blythe was a devoted mother. Why she was even the one who had urged Charles to come to him, wasn't she?

Then Silas remembered not having seen Lisa with Deacon or Jessa in the last few months, not even at Christmas Mass. In fact, Silas didn't remember seeing either Blythe child at church that day, which was very odd. It was the one of the few times of year that the whole town got together.

Silas found himself at the intersection to the lake. It was a nice road that hugged the lake, showing drivers the beauty of the large body of water between the large trees and the short stretches of the rocky shore. People could even park on the side of the road, as they often did, to take pictures of the lake against the backdrop of Canyon Mountain.

He turned left on the road, smiling as he passed the large rock that stuck out in the lake. He'd proposed to Maggie there, nearly 40 years ago. She'd been a giggling mess, he remembered, and nearly fell into the lake after he finally got the words out.

And now here he was, his smiling sliding from his face as he caught sight of the marina, searching for a missing boy. How times have changed.

— — — —

Silas caught sight of Jessa instantly. Her flame-colored hair was visible from the hiding space she'd picked on her parents' boat, between the cooler and the box full of fishing equipment that was settled against the left side of the cockpit area. He could hear her too, mumbling a lullaby under her breath.

As he got closer, he realized she wasn't singing. She was crying.

"Jessa?" Silas said out loud, standing aw from the boat. He knew now she'd been the one that sent the message. Not because she was on the boat, but because of the bags he could clearly see stashed in the small cockpit. They were white and obvious against the dark wood of the paneling. "Jessa."

Jessa stopped crying.

"Jessa, it's Owen Silas," he said, still standing in the same spot. He didn't know what to do, so he continued to stand there. "You're not in trouble, darlin'. I'm not here to hurt you or cause no scandal."