Solitary: A Novel

by Travis Thrasher

  "Chris?" The voice sounds like someone on the radio.

  "Yeah."

  "Don't lie."

  "Yeah, okay."

  The narrow eyes study me from behind the glasses, his mouth revealing a mousy smile.

  "There's enough love for everybody," the pastor says. "You just have to know where to find it."

  I nod, not having a clue what else to say.

  There's enough crazy, too, so sell that somewhere else.

  "You have a good day, young man. Take good care of yourself."

  Why is it that every single person I talk to seems to threaten me?

  Is it just me?

  Am I the crazy one?

  I say goodbye and pedal faster down the main road.

  I can't shake the goose bumps that cover me.

  And the feeling that the guy I'm pedaling away from is worthy of them.

  Sable Road makes a straight line through the heart of Solitary, with the store buildings on one side and the train tracks on the other. As the tracks head on toward the opening in the woods, the street curves right and upward past a few more buildings (a garage housing a fire truck, a veterinarian's clinic, some offices) until it gets to a fork. I take my bike to the right, farther up the hill where the road stretches out and passes a long, one-story white building that looks new. I haven't been here before, but I know it's the library.

  Jocelyn told me to meet her inside.

  It takes me a good ten minutes to find her. If she's trying to stay hidden, she's doing a good job of it. I find her at the end of an aisle of books, pretending to read something. I greet her, but she shakes her head, then nods toward a window behind her. She starts walking, and I follow.

  Before getting to the main area of the library, Jocelyn stops me and tells me to wait a few minutes, then to meet me behind the library. I do as she orders, my bike safely locked at the front.

  A few minutes later, I crawl inside the jeep, acting like I'm some wanted man making a run for it.

  "Stay down for a little while," Jocelyn tells me as she whips the car back out onto the main street.

  I stay crouched as much as possible as the car winds around the streets. Finally she says okay, and I sit back up.

  We're driving on a rocky road I don't recognize. "Where are we heading?"

  "You'll see," she tells me. "How was the rest of your day?"

  "Boring."

  "Boring is good, right?"

  "Yeah, I guess so," I say. "It's better than something bad happening."

  "I left right as Wade was getting home. He doesn't work tomorrow, so it's going to be a long night for him."

  I want to ask her things about her step-uncle, but I can't. I feel like despite how much Jocelyn has told me, certain things are off limits. I wouldn't know what to say even if I got answers to my questions.

  Sometimes it's best to keep questions to yourself.

  "I shouldn't be showing you this, but I just have to."

  "What?"

  "You'll see."

  "Any hints?"

  "No."

  The road goes through low-hanging trees that scrape the top of the jeep. Jocelyn slows down as we turn left and go over a bridge leading farther up into the hills. After a few more minutes, the woods once again turning dark from the sunset, she pulls her car to the side of the road and shuts it off.

  "We're taking a side way to watch. Nobody will know we're here since we're parking here. Nobody uses this road. People aren't supposed to drive over that bridge."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. It's weak in spots. Doesn't stop me."

  "Does anything?"

  She smiles and climbs out of the jeep.

  I hear the sound of water. It's louder than the creek that's below my house. Jocelyn goes to the edge of the road and peers into the woods.

  "This should be good. Come on."

  It's hard to get used to driving for a few minutes and then being stuck in the middle of nowhere, in complete wilderness. The hill is steep just like the one around my house, and I watch my step as I go down the slope sideways. Jocelyn walks down the slope, stepping in a way that makes it seem like she's done this before. We walk for a few minutes, the sound of the gushing water getting louder and louder.

  Soon I see where it's coming from.

  The forest levels out for a while. Jocelyn stops, looks around, then finds what she's looking for.

  "Right over here. Come on."

  We reach a set of clustered trees and stop. She points in front of them, where the woods open up.

  Even though the light is fading, I still can see the waterfalls.

  They're mesmerizing, both in sight and sound.

  In the middle of the woods against the side of the sloping mountain, some massive rocks create a series of waterfalls. I see three places where the rocks jut outward to form this, like a set of stone tiers. The water looks light and endless, its water falling down to the stream below.

  I wonder if this stream is connected in any way to the one in front of my house.

  "Those are Marsh Falls," Jocelyn says in a voice a little above a whisper. "This turns into the Basset River that gets really big farther down the mountain."

  The water is very loud, and it's hard to hear her since she's talking in a faint voice.

  If it was another evening I might think Jocelyn had brought me here as a romantic gesture, but the way we're peering behind these trees and the way she's talking make me think that something's about to happen.

  "We have to wait for a few minutes."

  "Wait for what?" I shout out.

  "Just be patient. You're so impatient."

  I laugh and shake my head. Just as I'm about to say something along the lines of, "You've brought me into the middle of the woods by a set of falls just after showing me what you think is a cemetery of murdered people, so yeah, pardon me if I'm a little curious," Jocelyn puts a finger on her lips.

  "Just watch. But don't let them see you."

  "Let who see me?"

  My question is soon answered. Through streaks of sunlight that soften into a hazy, warm glow, I see a figure emerging from the woods to the right of the falls about halfway up. This allows me to see how big the rocks are, especially the top, which tower over the man.

  I just see the figure-a man, dark-haired, tall, older.

  Then he puts a hood over his head and steps on the edge of the second tier of rocks where the water from above is landing.

  He ducks down and disappears beneath the white, cascading water.

  "Who was that?" I ask.

  "Just watch."

  This same thing happens four times in the next few minutes. That means five men have come out of the woods in the middle of nowhere to go underneath these falls.

  "What's behind there?"

  She smiles, shakes her head, then looks back out to the falls. "Come on. Let's go back to the car."

  "Jocelyn, wait."

  "I'll tell you. It's too loud to talk here. I don't want them seeing us. I shouldn't have brought you here."

  "Then why did you?"

  "Because this place-those people-they might be able to help you.

  We climb into the solitude where the sound of the falls can barely be heard. It seems a lot darker in her car now.

  "That group meets there every Saturday night," Jocelyn tells me.

  "So what are they, some kind of cult?"

  "No."

  "Then what?"

  "It's a group of people-mostly men, a few women-who meet once a week. That's their church."

  "Behind the falls?"

  Jocelyn nods.

  "Okay."

  "Don't you get it?"

  "The longer time goes by, the more I don't get."

  "They're a normal church, nothing weird about it."

  "How do you know?"

  "I've been. A few times."

  "What?"

  "Yeah," Jocelyn says.

  "Do they know all the stuff about-"

  "No."
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  "Then why did you go?"

  "I was invited by one of them. You don't just go. You get invited. They have to be very, very careful."

  "Why?"

  "Because worshipping God isn't liked very much around here."

  "What about the big church-the one Ray Spencer goes to?"

  "You've been to that, haven't you?"

  "Yeah."

  "Notice anything different?"

  I don't want to tell her the things I thought I heard, the things I thought I felt.

  Why are you scared to tell her that? You can tell her anything.

  "Maybe a few things."

  "There's no way of knowing that it isn't a church, a regular church."

  "What is it?"

  "They don't worship God there. You won't find the name Jesus Christ anywhere in that building, trust me."

  "What?"

  "Yeah. A few months ago I didn't really know, didn't really care. But it's just-that group-the ones we just saw-they're a small group that meets in private. If they were caught, they'd be in trouble."

  "Like arrested?"

  "No. Worse."

  "Like-like what?"

  She sits in the silence, and for a moment I study the outline of her face. This is surreal, all of it. The space and the soft sounds outside and the coolness of the evening and the disappearing sun.

  "Jocelyn?"

  "I knew it would be like this."

  "Like what?"

  "I sound ridiculous, I know."

  "No, you don't"

  "Of course I do. But, Chris-this is real. This place is real, and it's been real for a long time. And I just-I don't know. I'm searching myself. I'm trying to understand the answers."

  "The answers to what?"

  "What God is trying to show me."

  Anybody else would get a complete wave of shutdown from the passenger side of the car at this moment, but it's Jocelyn. I still don't say anything.

  "You know that six months ago, I truly didn't think there was a God. But this group-these people-they say that the Spirit-the Holy Spirit is the thing that stirs one's heart. And for a while it's been stirring. Then I pray, and my answer comes true when you come along."

  "I already told you. I'm not a guardian angel."

  "Maybe. I don't know. I just know this: That group I showed you, I think they really have the answers."

  "The answers to what?"

  "To life and death and the big question that all of us have to consider. What happens when we die?"

  "I don't want to consider it."

  "Even if you don't, at some point you're going to die."

  "Really?" I ask in a mocking tone.

  "Death has hung over my head ever since I can remember. It shows up at my door time and time again. But those people-what they talk about isn't death. It's life. Eternal life."

  "People like that usually like to talk about that really hot place that people-good people even-go to if they don't believe."

  "I don't believe, Chris. Not yet."

  "Sure sounds like it to me."

  "It's not-not like what they have. What they have is different. It's like-it's real."

  I think of my mother. I think of what she thinks, what she believes. And I know it's real too.

  "Lots of people can have genuine beliefs. How do you know which one is right and which one isn't?"

  "I don't," Jocelyn tells me. "But I want to know. I need to know."

  "I know everything I need to know."

  "Maybe that's easy for you. But I'm looking for answers."

  I wish and want to help her but I don't have any answers. Especially for what she's looking for.

  "That group of people-they used to be part of the church my parents went to until it burned down. This is where they ended up."

  For a moment I think of what this means.

  Suddenly I understand a little more of where she's coming from. The same way I feel about my mother is how she's feeling. Jocelyn wants to believe what her parents believed. She's searching for answers the way they were.

  I get it now. Not fully, but a little more.

  "I understand."

  "Do you? Really?"

  "Yeah."

  "Listen to me," she says, tugging at my shirt for full and undivided attention. "This isn't the daughter trying to make sure that she believes in the same heaven her parents did in order to meet up with them later. They were a part of that group, Chris. Both of them. And they both passed away because of an accident."

  Now I really get it.

  "You think that's a coincidence? The same way that the thing with your mom and the warning about me are?"

  My heart feels like it's been tossed off a cliff. My head spins like I'm bungee jumping.

  "No."

  "I want to put the pieces together. All of them. But every day it seems like the puzzle just gets bigger. And every day some of the pieces seem to go missing."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Help me."

  "I'll do anything you want," I tell her. "Anything."

  "Okay. For now, just-just be open, okay?"

  "I will."

  "For anything."

  "I already am."

  She starts the car and turns on the lights, then drives us through the darkness back toward civilization.

  We sit on the edge of a cliff, staring out over the heads of trees capped by the light of the moon above and listening to the stream of the falls below. Jocelyn holds my hand and watches me intently.

  "What is it?" I ask.

  "You have to know when to let me go."

  I'm a little confused, since she's the one who wanted to come here. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that it's okay to let me go. To let the memory of me go."

  "The memory of you?" I ask with a laugh. "I'm trying to create memories. That's the point, right?"

  "You have a good heart, and I just want to make sure that you share it with others."

  "I want to share it with you."

  "Don't be selfish," Jocelyn tells me, kissing me on the cheek. "And don't get too stuck. Too stuck or too scared to move on."

  "Okay," I say, and that's when I wake up from the vivid dream.

  I don't see Jocelyn anymore that weekend. Nothing eventful happens except for the two calls I get from Ray inviting me to church. Talk about being a disciple. Both messages are taken by my mom. I don't return the calls, and Sunday morning comes and goes.

  By the time I arrive at school Monday morning after the fourday weekend I have an idea of how to possibly help Jocelyn out.

  I need to get some answers.

  I need to find someone who not only knows them, but will actually give them to me.

  Someone who's not only below the radar, but who's effectively off it.

  I find him standing at his locker like he always does, rearranging things. Probably to kill time.

  "Hey, Newt."

  He greets me in his usual nervous fashion.

  "You got any plans after school?"

  Newt shakes his head, then looks around to see if anyone's watching.

  I'm beginning to understand a little more why this kid is paranoid. If he knows things, and he does, then he should be paranoid.

  "Can we talk?"

  "About what?"

  "Stuff."

  "Stuff pertaining to what?"

  "Things," I say.

  I think he finally gets it by the look on my face. The scar on his cheek seems to redden as if it knows too.

  "Things," he says.

  "Yeah."

  "We can't do that around here."

  "You tell me where then."

  "My house is secure," Newt says in the tone of a secret agent.

  I want to laugh, but then again, I don't.

  Too many crazy things have happened.

  I no longer think this kid is crazy.

  Or maybe we both are.

  "Is it far from downtown?"

  "Not far enough," he says.


  "Write down your address when you can. I'll swing by after school."

  I open the letter that Jocelyn slipped to me before second period.

  Without even glancing at Jocelyn, I begin to start tearing the note into tiny pieces on my desk.

  Message received, loud and clear.

  Thankfully, there are no run-ins with Gus, nor any guilt trips from Ray. The day is run-in free.

  I move with the masses, standing in line and stepping in place. Doing what I should.

  Whoever is watching is going to get bored because there's nothing to notice.

  Meanwhile, I'm noticing.

  I'm trying to notice anything and everything.

  When I get home, I know that Mom will be at work. I grab my bike and the handwritten directions and head out.

  I ring the doorbell, and Newt cracks opens the front door to the nice-sized two-story house.

  "Go around the back," he tells me through the sliver in the doorway.

  This looks like a relatively new housing development, one with maybe twenty or so houses in it. Everything looks like it's maintained carefully. I walk over lush grass and find a deck in the back. Newt stands by an open screen door and waves me in.

  "Come on," he says as he guides me through a kitchen and toward the stairs going down. "Shut the door behind you."

  We get to the basement. It's one of those that's been finished and transformed into an entertainment room. It's complete with the big screen television, a foosball table, a pool table, even a fish tank.

  A part of me wonders with both humor and irony how many others come down to play games with the kid.

  "Mom's out shopping and Dad's at work. But just in case, I wanted to come down here."

  "You think someone's watching us?" I try not to look at the scar on the side of his cheek, though it really stands out under all the canned lights in the ceiling.

  "They're watching you," he says.

  "Who are they? And why are they watching me?"

  Newt surveys the room, appears to be thinking. He's an odd little guy. Even simply thinking appears to be a strenuous, awkward act.

  "People around here don't like outsiders."

  "My mom lived here when she was younger."

  "Doesn't matter if you have ties. You're outsiders. New kids don't last long."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I've seen them come in, and then the family moves away. It's happened every time someone new has come around here."