Vanished By Larry M Thompson (Sample)

1.

As soon as the plane lifted and settled in the air, Joe Dance leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The war had been long and hard, but now it was over. He was finally going home to see his Pa, wife, and four-year-old daughter.

A dream jolted him awake. He was reliving the war again. His whole unit was gone, except for Joe and his buddy Vance King. Vance would have been with Joe, but instead, he had re-enlisted.

Joe looked out the window as the plane sped down the runway. His shoulder was starting to flare up again. The doctor in charge of the medical tent had told Joe that even though they’d removed the bullet, the pain would persist for a few more months. He was lucky it had happened to his left shoulder, as he was right-handed.

When the plane stopped, the seat belts were Automatically released. He stood with the other passengers and walked down the gangplank, to baggage claim. His rucksack stood out among all of the civilian suitcases. Joe Dance walked out of the airport, home from war and aching to see his family.

It was too beautiful a day to ride in a taxi. The sun was shining over Amber Sky, Joe’s hometown. He walked Away from the busy airport, which wasn’t far from his house. This was a small town—a homely town. The kind of place where Everyone knows everyone.

Amber Sky was the kind of town where merchants were always slow to Open up at ten o'clock, not a minute earlier, not a minute later. It was nine o’clock. One more hour to go. Most merchants were sweeping or wiping windows, while some just stood around with coffee in their hands. Everyone who saw Joe waved as he walked by. Some even stopped to speak with him briefly.

It felt good to be home again. As Joe paused to catch his breath, a warm glow spread across his dark brown face. Yes, it felt good to be home.

As Joe continued walking, his thoughts drifted to Anne and how she often lost her temper. A patrol car sped past, sirens blaring and lights flashing. “Hope they’re not after Anne again,” Joe thought with a smile. Anne had racked up several speeding tickets over the years. She had a lead foot and always said, “Twenty-five is too slow for our town.”

One time, a young cop got fresh with her while writing a ticket. Anne, whose temper was as short as an inch, slapped him across the face. This time, Pa had to step in and smooth things over. Pa Dance was an important man in their community. His word carried a lot of weight. People listened to and respected him. I thought we’d never get her out of that one. If it weren’t for Pa, she might still be in jail.

Anne used to be a preschool teacher, but that ended after an incident with a little girl who stuck her tongue out at her. Anne lost her temper and yanked the child by the arm. The little girl wailed and told her parents about it later that night. Furious, her mom and dad stormed into the principal’s office, mad enough to bite steel.

The principal called Anne into the office. Anne lost her temper, and an argument ensued. She said some things she shouldn’t have, and she lost her job. That night, she left home and stayed gone for a whole week—all because Joe wouldn’t go up to the school and make them give her job back. Joe smiled and thought to himself, “I guess we all have a temper to a certain degree; some just hold it better than others.”

She wasn’t bad, not at all. Anne was a loving wife and a great mother. She was a woman who accepted Pa living in the house with us and always treated him kindly like he belonged there too. Pa loved her too—he’d do anything for Anne.

She was at church with Father Morton, our priest. The whole family was there every time there was a service, worshiping God. We all thought the world of Father Morton.

Pa loved Anne and Brittney, his granddaughter. If anyone ever said or Did anything bad about her, you’d be in deep trouble with him. That’s just the way he was.

Anne was a good mother to the prettiest little girl—Joe’s little girl. She was beautiful and intelligent. There was even a time when Brittney cooked breakfast for him, with her mama’s help, of course. It was the worst breakfast Joe had ever laid eyes on. Joe and Pa looked at each other the whole time, praying they wouldn’t be asked to eat it.

The bacon was burnt black and as hard as a rock. The biscuits were even worse. What had possibly once been scrambled eggs now more closely resembled bits of charcoal. Nobody wanted to break little Brittney’s heart, so Anne distracted Britney While Pa and Joe scraped their plates into a small garbage can that Anne had placed under the table before they started cooking. While scraping the plates, Joe and Pa said things like, “Oh honey, this is so great!”

“Here, Daddy, have some more,” Brittney would say.

One night, they watched a video of that breakfast and nearly laughed themselves to death.

Brittney stood in the doorway, asking, “What are y’all laughing at? What’s so funny?”

Joe responded, “Oh honey, we’re just having a little fun.”

There was a long pause as the tension died down. She put her small hands on her little hips, just like Anne often did, and said, “You’re drunk, aren’t you?” We all just about doubled over with laughter.

Joe sat down on a bench at the hardware store and looked up and down Main Street. This was a town where the speed limit was twenty-five from one end to the other—the kind of town where the sheriff was strict and enforced the law. The sheriff was so strict because, many years ago, a child on a bicycle had been killed in a hit-and-run accident, all because someone didn’t want to take the time to obey the traffic law.

Joe looked around, thinking about how the town was going to grow and how he would make a big difference in it himself. Joe always enjoyed doing mechanic work and planned to open his shop. There was only one big auto and tire shop in town—Bellowes Auto Repair. They were a one-stop shop with two gas pumps, tire services, and main repair work.

Joe’s place would be bigger and exceed Bellowes’ shop. First, however, Joe needed to get a job. Bellowe had told Joe that when he got back from the army, to give him a call, so getting a job wasn’t a problem. The problem was finding time to work there, start his place, and still see his family.

Our town, Amber Sky, was not much different from others, except it was connected to the interstate. Nowadays, towns are being built on separate roads. Before going to war, Joe had heard that the interstate would bypass the town, but to do this, it would have to go through either Pa Dance’s land or his neighbor and best friend Peppy’s land.

Neither of them wanted this. Peppy’s land was on the right side of the road, stretching to the mountains and the river. Pa’s land was on the left side.

The merchants were slow to open, as they always were here. It was still an hour before anyone would be open.

It felt good to be home again, Joe thought, as a glow began to spread across his dark brown face. Being home felt good.

It was a welcoming and friendly town, full of smiling people who greeted everyone warmly.

Kindness seemed woven into the very fabric of life here—each interaction felt genuine. Anne and Joe knew the hustle of big city life all too well, but honestly, who truly enjoys the chaos of downtown? Our town was small, but it was Happy. Life here had its charm, and in many ways, it felt better.

He felt content as he walked home. The railroad lights began to flash, signaling the approach of the train. Cars slowed to a stop as the familiar sound of its horn echoed through the

crisp air.

He sat on a bench closest to the road, waiting. It had been about ten minutes since he left the airport behind me. In the distance, the first train chapel came into view—a cherished landmark built years ago that the entire town loved.

Behind the bench was the city park, a peaceful space with a mile-long walking track winding through vibrant flowers and towering old trees. Families and friends gathered throughout the park, enjoying the fresh air and well-maintained grounds. Peepy and Pa Dance often talked about how beautifully kept the park was—it seemed like someone worked on it every single day.

Across the road, the famous Peppy’s Diner stood near the railroad crossing. The diner and its adjoining parking lot were always bustling with life. Locals gathered there for food, dancing, and an evening of fun. Peppy had recently started thinking about expanding the parking lot, especially since the new interstate would bring more customers his way.

Further down the road stood Amber High and the grammar school, located on a quiet deadend street. Nearby, the imposing courthouse loomed with its wide front steps and old-fashioned charm. The jail was tucked on the left side of the building, while City Hall, the police station, the fire station, and even the bus depot shared space within its walls.

The bottom floor of the courthouse was lively, with flower vendors and benches where old timers like Pa Dance gathered to chat, whittle wood with their pocketknives, and engage in friendly spitting contests with tobacco juice. It was the heart of our town—undeniably country and proud of it. During bad weather days, they would gather inside the basement and sit on one of the benches. On pretty days, they would be on one of the benches outside facing the road watching the traffic go by as they spat their tobacco juice.

Joe glanced across the street at Peppy’s Diner. It was only 10:00 a.m., but the parking lot was already starting to fill. Peppy stood outside, surveying the lot and Likely planning for his next big project—maybe another parking area in the back to accommodate the growing crowd.

Behind Peppy’s place was a small room he used—a quiet space with a modest back porch. The front room had two tables, and he loved to sit there with a book, gazing out the window at his land which stretched all the way from his restaurant to the mountains. He adored the view of the land, surrounded by trees, fields, and stretches of forest. Peppy even Kept a barn and a few horses. Pa Dance helped with upkeep. With two hundred acres of land it would be hard for peppy to upkeep the land himself.

Next to the diner and across the road, Peppy, ever the promoter, was well-known for sharing his love of hunting and fishing with anyone willing to listen. He was a hard man at times—stubborn and set in his ways—but he had a way of drawing people in, much like the traveling teIt shows that it passed through town. People admired him for it, even if he could be a challenge to deal with.

Joe smiled, recalling how Peppy had his quirks, just like everyone else. This caused Joe to remember a conversation he and Anne had right before he was called to war

“Honey,” Anne had said, “I cut my old black hair a little shorter today. I hope you forgive me.”

“She knows I prefer long hair on women,” he thought. Anne said “I’m even thinking about cutting it all off—going slick-headed. Will you still love me?”

Normally, he might’ve teased her and said, “I’ll have to think about that,” but today, he would laugh and say, “Honey, do it! I’d love you even if you became a skinhead.”

Just then, Brittney chimed in, “Cut it all off, Mommy —you’d be pretty that way too.”

As Joe reminisced, a patrol car stopped at the railroad crossing, waiting for the train to pass. Two officers inside were staring at Joe and talking about him. He tried to ignore them, but their lingering glances were hard to miss. The train finally passed, and the lamps lifted, but the officers remained parked, still watching. Joe felt his patience wearing thin and was about to confront them when a car behind the patrol honked its horn. The officers reluctantly moved on, turning toward the police station.

Joe continued his walk, passing a vacant lot where workers were starting on a new building—a big sign read “Future Home of Hobby Lobby.” A gray-haired Black man looked up from the site and waved at Joe. Joe waved back.

“Lawdy mercy, is that you, Joe Dance?”

“It is. How are you doing, old Mose?”

“It’s alright,” Mose replied, walking over. “I see where I’m gonna be working soon.” “Yeah, that Ought to be nice for you,” Joe said.

“Glad to see you back home safely. You could go to work here and be the manager.”

“No, that wouldn’t work. I plan to start my own business.”

“That right, What would that be?”

“Mechanic. You know how I love mechanic work—always have.”

“Mercy, I’d sure like to get in on that.”

“You can. Come in and be my number one man.”

“You mean that?”

“I sure do.”

“I’ll do just that. Hey, Mr. Belllowes has been in bad health. He’s looking to sell his shop. It might be worth talking to him.”

“I’ll do that. See you later, Mose.”

Joe moved on, his steps quickening as he neared home. Finally, he came to the last street near Morten’s Chapel, circling past the mailboxes. The sight of his house just beyond the curve filled him with anticipation. But as he approached, something didn’t feel right. The yard, once perfectly kept, was overgrown with weeds. The gate sagged halfway to the ground, the house itself had a neglected, lifeless appearance.

Home, at last, Joe thought, though unease crept in. The gate fell completely when he pushed on it. He rang the doorbell, but no one answered. Slowly, he pushed the door open—it was broken, like the gate.