Ye of Little Faith Part 6

He left Curt's office highly exhilarated, almost drunk with the emotion of things working right. It lasted until the following evening when the doctor showed up and he and Fred's mother put on their little act. Then his emotions swung the other way. He experienced a reluctance to go through with his plans. There was too much that was likeable about the man. And his mother did like him.

"Poor Dad," Fred thought.

After dinner the next evening, Curt kept the conversation on Fred's father. It was, Fred sensed, the right time to bring up the theory. Curt would do anything to please him, to draw him out.

But he hesitated. Stretching elaborately, he said, "I'm sleepy. Why don't you and Mom play Canasta or something?"

"I'm going to be much too busy," his mother said. "I have to finish proofreading your father's book for the publisher. Mr. Browne is finally going to print it, and wants it back right away."

"When did that happen?" Fred demanded. "Can I read it?"

"You can read it when it comes out. Now you and Curt go into the study and leave me alone." She herded them out of the room.

This interlude had served to strengthen Fred's resolve. Alone with the psychiatrist, he let slip that he knew of a wonderful theory his father had originated, then tried to cover up.

Curt used flattery. Fred took his cue and slyly bragged that it was a theory few college professors could understand even, but he understood it.

More coaxing and he was ready to start in. But his conscience got the better of him. He balked, and even as he tried to squirm out of it he realized that it was too late. Dr. Gaard would never rest until the theory had been told.

"I'll tell you the next time you come," he suggested as a last retreat.

"Tonight," Curt said. "Even if it takes all night. You can miss school tomorrow." He winked. "I can okay it with the teacher."

"All right," Fred said in sudden crystallization of decision. "But only if you agree to master every step of it, stopping me until you have."

Curt agreed. He started in.

After half an hour it settled into serious listening on Curt's part, and pertinent questions that made Fred realize he was dealing with a mind of more than average keenness.

Fred's mother wandered in occasionally, and out again, without being noticed by either of them.

An hour pa.s.sed. Two. The final steps were drawing nearer. At times Curt was even antic.i.p.ating some of them. It was midnight when it was finished. The mind of Curt Gaard held the entire pattern.

Fred couldn't take his eyes off the man's face. The face that was mirroring the rapid flow of thoughts as it reviewed and attacked every brick in the structure, finding it solid, and solidly cemented to its neighbors.

Then he saw a change come over the man's face. He had accepted the theory. Now he was trying to integrate it into the problem of Fred Grant. He hadn't yet seen the connection between the theory and the mysterious disappearances.

And perhaps he wouldn't. If he did he might go the final step and realize what was going to happen to him. Fred hoped that wouldn't happen. He didn't want his victim to be conscious of being a victim.

"You _are_ intelligent, Fred," Curt probed, "to be able to master such an advanced theory." He glanced at his watch. "It's getting pretty late.

I'll tell you what. After school tomorrow drop down to my office. We'll come out for dinner here together."

"Say! That'd be swell!" Fred enthused. "I'll get right to bed so I can get enough sleep." He leaped up and called, "Mom! I'm going to bed now."

He winked broadly at Curt to let him know he was getting out of his way so they could be alone together a few minutes.

And that was that. The die was cast, and all that remained was to try and use it to make progress, rather than letting it be just another disappearance that pointed to nothing constructive.

There was no way of telling how fast it would work. The next afternoon and evening there was little to provide an indication, other than an occasional look that came over Curt for moments at a time.

A date was made for Sat.u.r.day. It was to be a picnic in the country. That meant skipping Friday. Fred violently objected, but Curt and his mother overrode his objections. So in the end it had to be Sat.u.r.day, unless Curt disappeared before then.

He didn't.

But ten minutes before school was out Friday a note was brought into the cla.s.sroom from the princ.i.p.al's office. Curt had called to ask Fred to come to his office directly from school.

Torn between excited antic.i.p.ation that the psychiatrist had made an important discovery, and fear that the man would have vanished before he could get to him, Fred ran from the school building and caught the bus.

At Curt's office the receptionist smiled and told him to go right in.

His sigh of relief was genuine. Curt was sitting at his desk.

"Come in, son," he said.

There were the amenities. "How did school go today?" "Okay." "Anything happen?" Fred waited impatiently. Then: "I've been thinking a lot about your father's theory, Fred, and I would like to ask a few questions--if it won't upset you."

"Of course not!" Fred said.

"Okay, here's a question," Curt said. "Or rather, a statement. You can answer yes or no. You believe the theory is at the root of the disappearances, that in some unknown fas.h.i.+on knowing the theory will cause a person to vanish."

So there it was. Fred debated rapidly in his mind. It might be better to admit it.

"Yes," he said.

"Hmm. Then let me ask you this. How do you account for the fact that you know it, and haven't disappeared?"

Fred decided to be completely truthful and see what happened. "It's because I don't let belief form a part of my thinking, sir. Dad instilled that in me. With those that disappeared, logic was their groundwork of belief."

"But you believe knowing the theory caused them to vanish?"

Fred smiled. "I see what you mean. No, I don't. It's just that no other alternative seems probable, so...."

"So you work with the one that does," Curt said, nodding. "All right, let's work with it for the moment. You have probably done some thinking on what mechanism might be involved in the process of vanis.h.i.+ng. Would you care to tell me about it?"

"There's no reason why not, sir. It takes time for conscious beliefs to sink into the subconscious and integrate there. The time varies with the person and the emotions involved."

"That makes sense," Curt said, nodding.

"I postulated that down underneath even the subconscious, at the very roots of being, is what I named the basic thought matrix. In order for us to be here in this existence at all it must have a certain form.

Change that form and, presto, the person slips out of this existence, perhaps into another."

"I see." Curt drummed his fingers on the desk for a long minute. "I see," he repeated. "Has it occurred to you that you have already rejected your theory? It's quite obvious you have, you know."

"How is it obvious?" Fred asked, wondering what Curt meant.

"Because you told me the theory. You wouldn't have, of course, if you believed it would cause me to vanish like the others."

Fred opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to cope with this. It was unexpected.

"We've gotten to the root of your trouble," Curt went on. "It was a real trouble, to you. In a few months you will look back on it and marvel at it. Right now it seems real. You feel that somewhere your father still exists. You would like to go to him, or perhaps bring him back. Believe me, such mysterious vanis.h.i.+ngs aren't uncommon. The history of the world is full of such incidents. In some cases whole groups have vanished.