Summon_Peace

[RESTRICTED] A son raised in a sex cult searches for his lost mother. 

...

In the bare echo of his mother's departure, Ethen at last tasted the unfamiliar savor of solitude, a sweet, tangy liberation he hadn't dared imagine within the confining walls of the life he'd been born into.

But the new-found freedom is also frightening, and Ethen is able to discover things about himself he did not know. When his mother does not come back from a mission trip as scheduled, he sets out to find her, and begins a journey to find himself in the process.

The Book of Jocasta

You may not remember me, but I had the privilege of knowing your son. His influence has shaped my life, and particularly how I've been living since his tragic passing.


Clay's loss was the cruel outcome of an unflinching pursuit of truth. I have taken that same attitude and am seeking my own now. This is the legacy of his intellectual courage, his insatiable curiosity, and his unyielding belief in the power of understanding.


I pen this letter from Sideria, preparing to embark on a journey that may claim my life, but that is also guided by the attributes that Clay exemplified; a yearning to confront the uncomfortable, the unsettling, the shrouded truths hidden beneath life's mundane facade, and all for the sake of itself; for no other reason than a handful of possible truths exist to be observed.


I can't help but reflect on Clay's pursuit of knowledge, how it paralleled certain tales of old — stories of tragic heroes who delved too deep into life's mysteries, sometimes fatally. It's a path that has left me both awed and fearful, but it's one I feel I must tread too.


I am also writing to let you know more about the circumstances of his death. I apologize I wasn't able to tell you this in person. He had a beautiful funeral service, and I was too weak to approach you then.


I invited Clay to a childhood "church" of mine, something that I am not proud of, and something that I have had issues with since I was just a boy. Something in me told me to go back, but I didn't want to go alone. Clay phoned me because it was about that time for us to meet up, so I offered something different, to see this old, backwards church of mine.


I know you have heard something, rumors at least, about the nature of this church and its beliefs. I want to assure you that Clay did not subscribe to these beliefs. I dragged him there. In typical Clay fashion, his curiosity was piqued and he couldn't stop asking questions. There was no stopping him. He came back with me to a banquet. That's when the bombing happened.


I don't want Clay's memory to be tarnished by what I pulled him into. He wasn't into anything outrageous or despicable. I am partially at fault for being a bad influence on him. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I hope whoever is responsible for his death is found and dealt with. Clay lost his life because he was a good guy who was too interested in possibilities to let them slide past unexamined.


I wish to leave you with this thought: the most profound truths are often hidden behind our mental blind spots, masked by fear, and disguised in the guise of the ordinary. Yet, in seeking them, we honor the spirit of seekers like Clay, who dared to question, dared to confront, and dared to pursue the path less trodden; undeterred by what others would think of him.


I plan to eventually visit you and share this and more, in case this letter never finds its way out of Sideria. I hope to meet you soon, bearing answers and echoing the spirit of a son who sought the truth, no matter the cost.


EPILOGUE - ETHEN