The Brandywine Prophet

12.3 The Silence and the Storm: A Parable

The euphoria was wearing thin and the feeling of “all-is-well-with-the-world” was draining from Baylee’s lower eyelids and melding with the rain. The storm began as a symphony of drums—cymbals, a rolling timpani—and the rain was warm and smelled like summer camp. But now the lightning snapped and the drops stung and nobody seemed to care.

She opened the bottle of oxy; enough left to get her through July. She popped one dry.

Would one do the trick?

She popped another, then sealed the bottle. When she found Hyde, she would throw the rest away. And the weed. She didn’t want it anymore. Hyde would be enough.

She weaved between the tents. They were full. Some had a single open flap and she could see the people hiding from the storm without losing sight of The Stage. She imagined a bolt of lightning stemming crooked from the tallest post... and the huddled spectators charred below.

Hyde was supposed to visit her mom. Baylee needed her mother to know she wasn’t a screw-up; that she could do things right. Hyde was a good man. He was loving and gentle and kind. Mom would be proud.

Official news of his disappearance was as relieving as it was terrifying. He still loved her! Wherever he was, he was thinking about her! Until Jank called to tell her The Theater was on Channel Six, she thought Hyde had abandoned her; that he was ignoring her calls, laughing and showing her texts to his loving wife.

Before the news displayed the hotline number, there was nobody for Baylee to call. Hyde didn’t have any close family. And no one knew about their relationship! How many times she packed her car and sat outside her apartment with the key in the ignition but just couldn’t do it. If Hyde didn’t want her, she wasn’t going to change his mind by stalking him. If something was actually wrong, she wouldn’t be able to help!

And what if she showed up at his house and “she” answered the door? (And what if she was kind?)

The pills weren’t working; her brain was still telling her that this was a stupid place to search for Hyde. When the “all-is-well-with-the-world” returned, she would search the tents with confidence; she would know that everything would be okay.

If tonight’s search was fruitless, Baylee had a Plan B. If Hyde didn’t turn up, she’d find a highway rest stop. She’d get fucked up. There was a dime bag of weed and a bottle of hydrocodon syrup in the glove compartment. Shirts over the windows, curled in the back seat, save the pain for another day.

“Hey there sweet girl.”

Baylee’s heart jumped at the sentiment. But it was only William standing behind her in the pouring rain. His hair was stringy and the color of stone. He was handsome; she didn’t realize it as he stood in his truck, but now the lights accentuated his features and...

The oxy was finally kicking in.

“Baylee?” he said, loud enough to pierce the weather.

“Hey there!”

“How’s the search?”

She took a step closer and he did the same. His broad shoulders became a shield and now they could talk without shouting.

“I’m not going to find him, am I?” She sounded pathetic.

“No. You’re not. Did you know that I was the last person to talk to Hyde before he disappeared?” William was calm. He sounded like the guy who does voiceovers for truck commercials.

“Really?” she asked. Her face was three inches from his chest.

“Do you know the last thing he told me before he drove away?”