Ye of Little Faith Part 7

Authenticated cases. In southeast Asia the people of an entire city of over a million inhabitants vanished overnight. In the last century an entire trainload of people, including the train, vanished while going from one city to another a few miles away. And there have been vanishments with reappearances, too. In England there was an old woman who suddenly vanished before the eyes of her family. At the same instant she reappeared in a room in London, miles away, in front of other people. Did she know your father's theory? Did the train that vanished know that theory?" Curt was smiling. "No. You see, it's something unrelated to your father's theory."

Fred was nodding. "You may be right," he said. "I didn't know about those."

"You may go now, son," Curt said. "I'll be out around eleven o'clock in the morning."

Fred rose quickly. "Okay, Curt," he said. "I'll see you." He hurried out. It was too much of an effort to hide the sudden trembling. He hadn't known about other cases of vanis.h.i.+ng. They provided data to expand the whole thing, while not in the slightest detracting from the validity of anything else.

And if the talk had been prolonged much more Curt would have inevitably tumbled to his motive for telling him the theory.

Promptly at eleven Curt arrived. Fred's mother had already prepared the large basket of food. There were ten minutes of last-minute bustle, then they were off, with Curt skillfully tooling his Cadillac in and out of traffic until they were on the open highway.

"I know just the place," he told them. "Woods, meadow, brook. Even a couple of cows." And he did. When they arrived shortly before twelve-thirty it was all that.

Fred relaxed as the car came to a stop. Every second of the trip he had been ready to seize the wheel and keep the car from cras.h.i.+ng if Curt vanished.

"Still a little nervous?" Curt asked him as they got out.

"No. No, of course not!" Fred said.

Curt didn't pursue the subject. Instead, he became something utterly different than he had been before, a carefree thoroughly likeable man, full of humor.

Fred began to regret that he had chosen him as his victim. He began to hope that the process might not be automatic, that Curt wouldn't vanish.

But he stayed close to him and listened to his every word and watched his face as much as he dared without staring, so that if the moment came he could get whatever there was to get of value from it.

For the first time in years his mother began to be carefree. She even joked back at Curt occasionally, something she had never done with Martin in Fred's memory. Her joking was clumsy and uncertain. Fred laughed uproariously to encourage her and to hide his uncomfortable feeling.

"Oh, I haven't felt so good in ages," she said when they were seated around the tablecloth spread with sandwiches and salads and cakes. "It's wonderful getting out like this. We'll have to do it often."

"We will," Curt said. "At least once a week."

Fred's mother picked up a sandwich. She started to raise it to her mouth. She was smiling at Curt and about to say something to him. Both Curt and Fred were watching her.

Abruptly she wasn't there. The sandwich seemed to remain stationary for a long second. Then it dropped to the tablecloth.

Curt was holding a paper cup filled with hot coffee. His hand constricted. The cup collapsed, spilling steaming coffee over his legs.

Fred stared at the s.p.a.ce his mother had just occupied. Abruptly he squawked, "No!" He turned accusing eyes on Curt. "You told her!"

Something seemed to go out of the man. He seemed to become visibly smaller. "Yes," he whispered, "I told her."

Fred was crying. "But you shouldn't have," he sobbed. "I told you because I wanted you to vanish. I didn't want her to, and now she has.

And nothing happened that I could use."

Curt blinked at him, absorbing this new bit of information. "You wanted _me_ to vanish?" he echoed. "Yes, I can see that now. I didn't know. It seemed too absurd. I thought you were just imagining things. Yes, I went out while you were at school and spent the whole morning teaching her every step. It was fairly easy. We had planned on coaxing you to explain it to her. Knowing it ahead of time she could pretend to grasp it that much more easily. We were planning on coaxing you into a more social relations.h.i.+p. Actually, she had already read the theory in your father's book she was reading for the publisher." A gla.s.sy look came into his eyes. "The book. If the theory is at the root of the disappearances the book shouldn't be published. Yes, by G.o.d. That's what your father was driving at. Your mother told me the publisher had told her your father tried to get him not to publish it."

"The book has the theory in it?" Fred said. "It mustn't get published.

Why--thousands of people would read it and vanish. We've got to stop them!"

Curt was shaking his head in bewilderment. "But we can't be sure. It must be something else, though what I don't know."

"No," Fred said bitterly.

There was a long silence. Curt broke it by saying, "What did you expect to accomplish by my vanis.h.i.+ng?"

Fred told him of Horace's shouting to his wife, "Ethel! I've got it!", and the others seeming to have a flash of divination or insight just before they vanished.

"I wanted," he explained dully, "to be with you when it happened, in the hopes I could get something more than I have to go on. In that way I might be able to find out something so I could bring my father back. And Mom." He began to cry.

"I see," Curt said, calm and a little subdued. "It's possible that may come. After what I've seen happen I can admit it as a possibility."

"Then you will make every effort to tell me?" Fred asked.

Curt smiled wryly. "You make it sound inevitable. But--yes, I will."

Fred's eyes were large and round. "I've got to find the mechanism. I've got to go where they've vanished to and show them how to get back!" He turned his eyes on Curt. "Don't you hate me?" he pleaded. "I'm just the same as a murderer!"

"No, my son," Curt said gently. "Wherever your father is, your mother is with him now. If--" A startled expression appeared on his face. "So _that's_ it," he almost whispered.

"_What's_ it?" Fred asked. "Tell me. Please tell me. I've got to know, you know. You promised!"

Curt frowned in a visible effort to jerk himself back. His eyes, holding a faraway look, rested on Fred's face, looked at it, and through it.

"You promised!" Fred screamed. "Tell me!"

Curt opened his mouth as though to speak. His lips smiled.

And--he was no longer there.

Fred was alone, with the picnic lunch on the white square of tablecloth, with the gleaming Cadillac a few yards away, with the two white and black spotted cows grazing a short distance away, with the noisy little brook nearby.

Alone....

He became aware of a police siren growing louder. He became aware he was behind a wheel, that there were cars in front of him veering wildly out of his way. The speedometer needle pointed at ninety.

How had he arrived here? He took his foot off the gas. He was driving a Cadillac. Curt's. But Curt was gone. That was it! He had started out to look for the police.

He pulled over to the side of the road as the police car came screaming up. Shakily he told them about the disappearances. Any doubts they might have had were held in reserve by the obvious sincerity of his grief.

He led them back to the picnic grove. The tablecloth with the food on it was still there, untouched. One of the cows was grazing beside it.

They listened while he told again of his mother and Curt vanis.h.i.+ng before his eyes. Their reserved skepticism was thrust out of their minds when he identified himself as the son of Dr. Martin Grant, who had disappeared.

They used their car radio. In a surprisingly short time several other cars were coming through the gate into the pasture.

Fred, his mind paralyzed with grief, stood forlornly near the Cadillac.