The next evening, Tom found himself meeting with the Blossoms, against Sierra's advice. Nevertheless, she was there alongside him.
"Mr. and Mrs. Blossom, thank you for having us," he said as he sat on the sofa across from them in Thornhill's parlor. "I appreciate that right now is a very sensitive time for you—"
"That's not an issue, Sheriff," Penelope Blossom cut in. Her drawn countenances seemed emphasized by the severity of her French twist hairstyle, and she squeezed her husband's hand in a vise-like grip.
Clifford did not seem aware of her actions. Tom couldn't help but notice he had the other man's unwavering attention.
"What of my son?" Penelope's tone was demanding, but also anguished, and as much as he aimed to separate his professional life from his emotions, Tom could not hold back a swell of empathy for her. Losing his child was his absolute worst fear.
He took a deep breath. "I understand you've been talking with Mayor McCoy about potentially hiring private investigators to locate Jason."
Sierra sent him as sharp look at his opening; she had wanted to let the Blossoms continue their search as long as it kept them happy, but Tom couldn't allow them to live off of false hope.
Clifford nodded quickly. "Yes. We'll do whatever it takes to find him."
"Like I told you back in July, if Jason survived his fall into the river, we likely would have known in the first twenty-four hours," Tom said quietly. "I don't mean to be callous, but I think it's time that you two recognized that Jason is, in all likelihood, dead." Though tempted, he didn't glance at Sierra during his next statement. "And while I understand the two of you hold considerable influence in this town, you should also know that the police cannot continue dedicating time and resources to this case. I'm very sorry, but in spite of political pressure," he again did not glance at Sierra, "we need to focus on investigations with current leads."
His frank address sent the Blossoms scrambling for a response.
"But the divers never found a body," Clifford said desperately. "And you've been searching for more than six weeks now. Without a body, doesn't that mean Jason could still be alive?"
"That's right," Penelope said with a decisive nod. "He might just be lost or hurt—or maybe a stranger found him washed up on the riverbank and took him in."
"Cheryl never saw Jason surface after their boat tipped," Tom said gently. "No one saw him leave the river or encountered him afterward. And his photo was broadcast on national news during the first week, and now has been appearing regularly across the tristate area for over a month. We've checked with every hospital within a one hundred mile radius just in case someone did find him and bring him in. But there's been no results. Combine that with the total lack of activity on any of his credit cards and his bank accounts, and it all adds up to someone who is no longer living."
He looked at Clifford and Penelope directly. "It grieves me to tell you this, but in no way do we expect to find Jason alive. We're just waiting on a body at this point. We're in regular contact with all the morgues in every county that's even in the vicinity of any part of Sweetwater River in case a John Doe is called in—"
"Then find him!" Penelope bolted up from her seat, her trembling fists clenched at her sides.
Tom tensed at her sudden exclamation, and he sensed Sierra do the same.
"Dead or alive, I cannot rest until my son is found and returned to his home!" Penelope's breath emitted in short gasps.
"Mrs. Blossom—" Tom began, but Clifford cut him off.
"She's right," Clifford said. In contrast to his wife, he remained still as a statue on the sofa, but dismay was clear on his face. "Jason belongs at Thornhill."
Reseating herself, Penelope smoothed her skirt and then clasped her hands. "He belongs here," she echoed firmly.
The meeting did not last much longer, to Tom's relief, and he and Sierra held back any comment until they reached their cars at the end of the driveway.
"We can't continue to waste time and money dredging that river," Tom told her flatly. "We shouldn't be using funds and manpower to look for a dead kid when there's an entire town relying on us for help."
"We need to consider Clifford and Penelope's feelings," Sierra reminded him piously. "I agree, Tom, that this search has gone on far too long, but you forget how much I value the Blossoms' input."
"Trust me, Sierra, I'm very aware of how much they contributed to your election campaign, and I understand you're angling for more," Tom informed her tersely. "And I feel for the Blossom family, but we've got to stop considering Jason's 'disappearance' our top priority. There hasn't been any kind of sign he ever managed to pull himself out of the water. He drowned in that riv—" a movement from the shadows brought him to break off, and he could guess who the eavesdropper was. "Hello, Cheryl. How are you this evening?"
Emerging from a nearby garden grove, Cheryl Blossom joined them, clad in one of her many exceptionally brief outfits, the kind that sent a flare of guilt through Tom for so much as glancing in her direction.
"Hello, Mayor McCoy, Sheriff Keller," she said, with a respective nod to each of them. Chewing on her lower lip, she seemed about to say more, but then she abruptly turned and walked back up the drive, the stiletto heels of her leather boots clicking on the asphalt.
"What a strange girl," Sierra remarked, watching her go.
"Hmm," was Tom's only response. Whenever he had previously visited the residence to give news to Penelope and Clifford, Cheryl was always lurking in the background, seeming troubled in all senses of the word. A part of him doubted her version of the events that supposedly took place at Sweetwater River on July 4th, but he had never been able to find any kind of evidence that she was mistaken or lying.
While Tom had planned on going home after their meeting with the Blossoms, he found himself returning to the station. There he remained until past midnight, reviewing all the evidence they had collected, going back over the timeline of Jason's suspected drowning, just in case there was anything they had missed. But again, Tom found nothing, and again, Jason drowning in Sweetwater River seemed like a natural conclusion. The only conclusion.
But then why didn't they have a body? While Tom knew drowning victims were sometimes never recovered, he couldn't ignore a nagging sense that the absence of any type of remains was significant.
Of course, Tom mused during his drive home, not only did the lack of a body prevent the police from closing the investigation, but it also prevented the Blossoms from having closure for their tragedy. No wonder the family was as adamant as they were that his force continue searching all night and every day.
Tom sighed as he unlocked the front door, walked inside, and then locked it again behind him. Jason's corpse would probably be found by fishermen during trout season, or God forbid, an elementary school field trip gone to the river to learn about the local ecosystem. And yet, no matter who found Jason, Tom would be immensely relieved that the town and the family could finally begin healing from the loss.
"Hey, Dad," Kevin said as Tom walked into the kitchen. He was scrubbing pots and pans in the sink. "Welcome home."
"Hey." Tom frowned at him. "Why aren't you in bed? You've got seven o'clock practice tomorrow morning, remember?"
"I know," Kevin replied quietly. "I just wanted to wait up for you, in case there was something you needed. You usually call when you're going to be late."
Guilt stirred within Tom when he realized he hadn't let Kevin know when to expect him, but honestly, he was too fatigued for much self-recrimination. "Sorry. Some things came up."
"Do you want to talk about anything?" Kevin offered kindly.
"It's not an appropriate topic of conversation," Tom told him wearily. "You should go to bed."
"I just think you would be better off talking to someone," Kevin persisted. "I know you have to play a lot of different roles as sheriff, but is there maybe a counselor you could go see?"
"Kevin, my job isn't something for you to worry about," Tom said testily. He could feel the ache of the day's stress from the top of his shoulders to the bottom of his feet, and he was rapidly losing patience with Kevin's questioning.
"But I worry about you," Kevin said in earnest. "Ever since I came back home a few days ago, you've been obsessed. And I heard you talking to Mayor McCoy on the phone—you think Jason's definitely dead, and let's face it, at this point, it's not like he would be anything else—"
"That's enough," Tom said sharply. "Go to your room, Kevin, and go to sleep."
Kevin looked taken aback. "But Dad, I—"
"Kevin, please. Just do as I say. You need to rest." His voice switched to be dangerously close to begging, and Tom rubbed his forehead, trying to stave off another bout of temper.
For his part, Kevin accepted Tom's second command without objection. "All right," he replied neutrally. "Good night, Dad." He turned to the staircase.
"Good night," Tom told him, trying to put cheer into his voice, but only succeeding in revealing his own exhaustion. Kevin sent him a knowing look from over his shoulder, clearly recognizing how drained he was, but Tom ignored it.
With Kevin gone up the stairs, Tom took the opportunity to slump into a chair at the kitchen table and rest his head in his hands. Not only was he weary from the day's events, but he knew his decision to end the search for Jason Blossom (or rather, his body) would prove controversial to the town's citizens. Sierra certainly wouldn't back him up. He would have to spend the next day dealing with the media and the resulting fallout.
But he was the sheriff. He wore the badge, and if he got the glamour, he also got the dirty work. It was up to him to do right by the town, even if it meant leaving the investigation unresolved for now instead of pursuing it further.
He knew the Blossoms needed closure. He knew the town needed closure. But at the moment, he couldn't give them what they needed, and he had no choice but to own up to that fact.