The Vanishings (9 page)

“Oh, there'll be more,” Freddie said. “So far all I've heard from are neighborhood people. I'm praying everybody else who knew the truth acted on it before it was too late, but I imagine there'll be more of us turning up.”

“What do we do now, Freddie? Are we going to hell?”

“I don't know for sure, boy, but I aim to find out. And for starters I'm coming to talk to that uncle of yours.”

It would be at least an hour before Freddie could get to Mount Prospect, Lionel knew. He wanted to turn on the TV and see what the news said about the disappearances. It must have caused all sorts of chaos. But first he dialed the number Verna Zee had given him for Vicki Byrne.

Lionel heard desperation in her voice. He
identified himself and she immediately said, “Clarice is gone, isn't she? Disappeared.”

“Yes.”

“And your parents and, what, a couple of younger kids?”

“All gone.”

“Oh, God.”

“That's what I think too. It was God.”

“There's no doubt about that. What are you going to do, Lionel?”

“I don't know. My uncle's here, and a guy's coming from church. I'll be all right. What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to go to my parents' church. I called there, and a guy named Bruce Barnes is waiting for me. He says there's still hope.”

“Hope?”

“For us, for everybody left behind.”

“Really?”

“That's what he said. He didn't want to talk about it on the phone. But I'm going there. It's not far from your house.”

“The white church?”

“I think it's brick.”

“No, I mean the white people's church?”

“I guess. I'm going this afternoon. Why don't you come too?”

“I might.”

Later, after Freddie arrived and roused André, Lionel answered yet another call.

“Washingtons,” he said.

“Cameron Williams of
Global Weekly
calling for Lucinda Washington.”

“My mom's not here.”

“Is she still at the office? I need a recommendation for where to stay near Waukegan.”

“She's nowhere,” Lionel said. “I'm the only one left. Mama, Daddy, everybody else is gone. Disappeared.”

“Are you sure?”

“Their clothes are here, right where they were sitting. My daddy's contact lenses are still on top of his bathrobe.”

“Oh, man! I'm sorry, son.”

“That's all right. I know where they are, and I can't even say I'm surprised.”

“You know where they are?”

“If you know my mama, you know where she is too. She's in heaven.”

The man sounded unconvinced. “Yeah, well, are you all right? Is there someone to look after you?”

“My uncle's here. And a guy from our church. Probably the only one who's still around.”

“You're all right then?”

“I'm all right.”

From the basement Lionel heard first the laughter from his uncle, who accused Freddie
of pulling a practical joke on him. Freddie assured him it was no joke, and André began to cry, then to scream. He raced up the steps, pushing past Lionel. “Tell me it isn't true, Lionel!”

“It's true, Uncle André.”

In the living room Andre shrieked at the sight of his brother-in-law's pajamas, robe, and other material items. Lionel poked his head in. “You don't want to go upstairs, André.”

But André ignored him and charged up there. Lionel heard loud sobbing, swearing, and doors opened and slammed shut. André barged back down.

“Where's your daddy keep his truck keys?” he demanded.

“Why? Your car is still—”

“My car is trash! Now where are they?”

Andre's eyes were wild.

“On the hook next to the refrigerator, but—”

André grabbed the keys, dropped them, scooped them up again, and hurried out. “Aren't you going to get dressed?” Lionel called after him, apparently making Andre remember he didn't even have his wallet.

André ran back in, gathered up his pants and wallet and shoes, and bounded back out in his underwear. He roared away in the
truck, and Lionel wondered if he would ever see him again.

Freddie asked if Lionel wanted to go back to the church with him. “No, sir. I'm going to stay here and watch the news. Then I'm going to meet a friend of Clarice's.”

“I'll check on you later,” Freddie said, and Lionel thanked him.

He made his way slowly into the living room and sat on the couch, watching the horrible news from around the world. Sitting across from his father's empty bedclothes, Lionel had never felt so alone.

R
YAN
Daley awoke early that fateful morning. He had a fading recollection of noise in the middle of the night. It had not been enough to wake him fully, but he remembered thinking his dad had come home. But then he remembered that his dad was not expected until morning. His mother was to pick up his dad after Ryan headed toward the Steeles’ to walk to school with Raymie.

Ryan didn’t hear his mother and assumed he had risen before her. He took his shower and dressed, then finished his homework before heading down to breakfast. Surely she would be up by now.

But she wasn’t there. A note awaited Ryan. It read: “Honey, please stay here until I call you. I’m going to try to get to O’Hare. I’m not sure I’ll get through because of every
thing that’s been happening, so please don’t worry. And if the stuff on television bothers you, just turn it off. Dad and I’ll be home as soon as I can find him. I couldn’t get an answer at the Steeles, so don’t go there unless you talk to Mrs. Steele or Raymie first. And don’t walk to school alone. There may not even be school today. They should say on the news. I’ll call you sometime this morning. Don’t go anywhere until you hear from me, please. Love, Mom.”

Ryan had no idea what she was talking about, but that didn’t keep him from worrying.

He got himself some cereal and turned on the little TV his mom kept on the kitchen counter. None of the stations would come in, so he turned it off. When he finished eating, he decided he would call Raymie. The phones weren’t working, but he noticed the message light blinking on the answering machine. He pressed the button. His mother had called at four-thirty in the morning. So that was what he had heard. She had left in the middle of the night. And this call came long after she had written the note and left.

“Ryan,” his mother’s recorded voice said, “I’m stuck in some unbelievable traffic here, and I don’t know if I can get to O’Hare or back home. I’ll just keep trying. When you get this message, call me on my car phone.
You know the number. I can’t get through to O’Hare by phone either, and the first time I tried to call you all the circuits were busy. So if it doesn’t work, keep trying. And remember, don’t worry. I’ll find Dad and we’ll get home as soon as we can.”

His mother had sounded worried herself. How could he not worry? Ryan still couldn’t bring in any TV stations, so he turned on the radio and hooked up his video games. He was immersed in his favorite game when he realized what was happening. It was like a scary science-fiction movie, the kind he had not been allowed to watch until he turned twelve and which still scared him if he was honest with himself.

Something had happened. Millions of people all over the world had disappeared at the same time. They left everything behind but flesh and bone. Driverless cars, trucks, and buses had crashed, ships ran aground, planes crashed. Wherever someone was in charge of something important and they disappeared, something terrible went wrong.

Ryan yanked his video game controller out of the TV and began searching for any good channel. Finally every channel was suddenly crystal clear, and the newsmen even talked about that. They said that service providers were finding that power, water, and commu
nications were sometimes good, sometimes bad. “If you must make a phone call, be sure it’s an emergency and get off quickly to keep lines open as much as possible.”

Now Ryan was scared. What if his dad had been on a plane where the pilot disappeared? This had happened just before eleven, when he had first heard the sirens! The news reports told of fires throughout the suburbs and the city of Chicago. In fact, there were fires all over the world where people had put something on the stove, then disappeared and never came back to turn it off. Ryan imagined his mother trying to drive through impossibly blocked neighborhoods. He saw a helicopter view of the expressways, which were like huge parking lots. The only luck some people had was when they were able to get off the highways and try the side streets.

Ryan knew his mother had expected to be home by now and not leave him there alone to see this. He was fascinated by the reports from around the world, and he sat wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open, as video shots showed people disappearing and their clothes floating to the ground.

A tape broadcast from Hawaii showed a birthday party where the birthday girl, her two brothers, and her parents vanished as a neighbor videotaped her blowing out her
candles. She leaned close to the cake and took a breath, then she disappeared, and her party hat fell into the candles and erupted into flames. The woman doing the videotaping saw only the flames and quickly doused the fire, then realized that she and another couple were the only people still there. Ryan heard her gasping and trying to talk as she taped the scenes of little piles of clothes all around the room.

When the station replayed the tape in slow motion, Ryan saw what the video camera woman had not seen. Just before the little girl’s hat fell into the candles, the girl had disappeared, and her dress dropped out of the picture.

A video from a helicopter on the West Coast showed cops pulling over a motorist. As one patrolman approached the driver’s side and the other backed him up at the right rear of the car, the driver and one of his two passengers disappeared, and so did the backup cop! The patrolman assumed the driver and one of his passengers had ducked down in the seat, so he pulled his weapon and warned his partner, who was no longer there.

The cop put both hands on his revolver and skipped to the back of the car to check on his backup and discovered his cap, shirt,
badge, trousers, belt, gun, cuffs, ammunition, and shoes right where he had been standing. The patrolman panicked, screaming at the occupants of the car to come out with their hands up while he scampered behind his own patrol car for cover.

As he crouched there, one woman in the backseat of the car came out in hysterics, screaming that the driver and the other passenger had disappeared. The cop made her lie face down on the pavement, and he cuffed her before searching the car. He pulled empty clothes from the seats, then released her from the cuffs and comforted her as they tried to make sense of it.

By the time the cameraman in the chopper realized what had happened, several accidents had occurred on the same stretch of highway. He pulled back and panned wide to see tractor-trailer trucks hung up on guard rails, cars having plunged down ravines, and even the clothes of a utility worker hanging from a ladder that led to the top of a light pole.

Ryan wished his mother was home, but he didn’t think he could speak even if someone was there to listen. This couldn’t be real! He changed channels and found the same thing on every one. People were urged to stay in their homes as long as they were safe, and to
stay tuned for more information. Ryan tried Raymie’s phone again and reached only the answering machine. He did not leave a message. Later, if he dared, he would walk down to the Steele home and see what was going on. He wondered if anyone he knew had disappeared.

Ryan tried his mother’s car phone. It rang and rang, but no one answered. He didn’t get that usual recording about the cell phone customer having driven outside the service area or already being on the phone, so he knew he was getting through. It wasn’t like his mother to leave the phone in the car if she wasn’t there, and she always left it on when she had it with her. Ryan couldn’t figure it out, and now he was really worried.

He found a station that listed all the crashes of planes that had been due into O’Hare that morning. His father had been coming in from Asia, which was all he knew. One of the crashed planes was coming from there, but Ryan didn’t know the time or the number or even the airline. He just hoped against hope his father had not been on that plane.

News helicopters showed scenes from above O’Hare where big jets were parked up and down the runways. People walked from the planes as far as two miles to the terminal,
and once there, it was nearly impossible for them to get out of the airport. Traffic gridlocked the road that led into and out of the airport. Ryan watched as thousands of stranded passengers walked through the zigzagged cars and down the overpasses and exits until they found taxis and limousines that would carry them toward their homes, if they could make it through the tangled mess.

Somewhere out there Ryan’s mother was either trying to get to O’Hare to learn some news about her husband’s flight, or she had already picked him up and was trying to make her way home. From what Ryan could see on the news, he didn’t expect her for a long time. He dialed and redialed her cell phone number, but she never answered. He hoped with all his might it was just part of the communications breakdown caused by so many people disappearing.

Ryan grew panicky, unable to reach anyone by phone and not having any idea whether his parents were safe. He hated to think his mother might try to call him while he was gone, but he had to get out of there. He had to get to Raymie’s house and see what was going on.

Ryan tried his mother again, then Raymie’s line. Still just the machine. He hung up and ran from the house, down the block, and to
the edge of Raymie’s property. People were outside their homes, talking with neighbors. Many were crying. They watched as he approached the front porch of the Steele home. He didn’t want to appear to be up to anything, so he just sat on the front step as if waiting for his friend, until people seemed to forget about him.

Ryan was going to ring the bell when he realized the drapes were open, the door was unlocked, and it stood open about an inch. There was no car in the driveway, but someone must have been home. He slipped inside to the bitter smell of burnt coffee. He tiptoed into the kitchen and saw the coffeepot in the sink, still hot.

Ryan knew someone was home, but who? He opened the door that led to the garage. Only Mr. Steele’s BMW was missing. Mrs. Steele’s car was there, and so was the one Raymie’s sister drove when she was home. Raymie’s four-wheeler was there, of course, and his snowmobile and his bike. So who was here and who wasn’t? He checked the hall closet where Raymie’s father’s trench coat, flight bag, and cap were stored. Captain Steele was supposed to have been on some long trip to England or somewhere.

Ryan tiptoed upstairs to the bedrooms, past a bunch of family photos on the walls.
Raymie’s door was shut. Ryan knocked lightly. No answer. He pushed the door open. Raymie’s nightclothes were in a neat pile on the bed, and Ryan looked enviously at the picture on the bedside table of Mr. Steele in uniform near his plane.

As Ryan left Raymie’s room, he held his breath. He heard something coming from the master bedroom suite. What was it? Someone was home!

From the hall, Ryan could see all the way into the suite. There, lying face down on the bed, his uniform in a pile on the floor beside him, was Raymie’s dad. He appeared to be sleeping, except that his shoulders heaved as if he were crying. Ryan didn’t dare disturb him. He slipped back down the hall, down the stairs, and headed for home.

Ryan had a sinking feeling as he entered his quiet house. He turned on the TV and saw lists of people who had been on board the flights that crashed on their way to O’Hare. “We repeat,” the announcer said, “it has never been our policy to release names of missing or presumed-dead passengers before next of kin can be notified. However, with such massive tragedies and the impossibility of local law enforcement agencies being able to keep up with the grisly business of informing families, we have been asked to make
these names public as tastefully as possible. Remember, if someone you know appears on these lists, it means only that they held reservations on these flights and that their whereabouts are currently unknown.”

Ryan covered his eyes and peeked through his fingers as the names slowly scrolled by. He recognized one as the father of a friend of his. Another one or two looked familiar, and all he could do was wonder how many friends had lost family members. Then he saw his dad’s name, and he burst into tears.

He turned off the TV and shook his head. It couldn’t be. He tried to make himself believe that his dad had somehow survived and would be calling him. But that wasn’t going to happen, and he knew it. It would be just he and his mom now. Did she know already? There was no message light blinking on the answering machine. Maybe she wanted to tell him in person. Maybe she didn’t even know yet!

He dialed her cell phone for what seemed the hundredth time. It rang and rang, and finally someone answered. It was a gruff male voice. “Hello! Who’s this?”

“This is Ryan Daley, and I thought I was dialing my mother’s cell phone.”

“Uh, you are, son, if your mother’s full name is, ah, Marjorie Louise Daley.”

“Yes!”

“Where are you?”

“Who is this?”

“I’m sorry, son. This is Sergeant Flanigan, Des Plaines police.”

“What happened? Is my mom all right?”

“I’m afraid she’s not, Ryan. There was a gas-main leak we didn’t know about, and it blew while several cars were in an intersection here. Your mother’s been taken to Lutheran General in Park Ridge. You know where that is?”