Raymie had shaken his head and Ryan was frustrated. “So you’d make it worse by lying,” Raymie said.
“Who cares?”
“I do!” Raymie said.
“Why all of a sudden?”
“I need to talk to you about that.”
“Then come on over and we’ll talk about it.”
“Ryan, you just don’t get it. I’m not going to your house anymore when your mom isn’t there, OK? You don’t have to agree, but that’s how it’s going to be.”
“You’re right. I don’t get it. What’s got into you?”
“Why don’t you come to my house and I’ll tell you? Didn’t your mom say that if you weren’t home when she got home, the only other place you were allowed to be was my house?”
Ryan agreed. A few minutes later they were talking in Raymie’s garage. Both Raymie’s parents happened to be home. Raymie started right in.
“We started going to a new church, and we’ve been learning a lot of new things.”
“Oh no, not this again! Are we gonna wind up prayin’?”
“No,” Raymie said. “This is different. Really. At our old church we believed in God and the Bible and everything—”
“Don’t I know it!”
“Yeah, but we were getting kind of bored, especially my mom.”
“Your Mom? I thought she liked all that stuff.”
“She did, but she said something was missing. Somebody invited her to this new church, and we started going, and we learned a lot more.”
“Like what?”
“You really want to know?”
“No, but something tells me you’re going to tell me anyway, so let’s get it over with.”
Ryan had hoped that would insult Raymie just a little and they could get on to playing, but Raymie plunged ahead. “At this new church, New Hope right here in town, they have this really nice old pastor—”
“Wait, the church is called what?”
“New Hope Village Church.”
“Weird name for a church.”
“Anyway, Pastor Billings is a really nice old guy, but he doesn’t just read out of the Bible and then talk about stuff in general like the guy at our other church. Pastor Billings has everybody look up the verses and follow along with him, and he tells us we should read the Bible every day at home, too.”
“Every day? Yuck!”
“No, it’s great. It’s like we can check up on him and make sure we understand and agree and all that.”
“But all that boring religious stuff!”
“That’s what I used to think too, Ryan. I liked the stories in Sunday school, but when I had to sit in the service, I hated it. I thought I would hate it here, too, but I don’t. Pastor Billings says there’s more to being a Christian than just going to church and trying to be good. You want to know what he says?”
“No, but keep going. You’re gonna be a preacher yourself someday!”
“He says we can know God.”
“Oh, come on!”
“No! That’s what he says. He showed us from the Bible that God loves everyone and wants them to know him. That’s the reason Jesus came to earth. He was actually God and—”
“Yeah, and he taught us how to live and everything, I know.”
“No, it’s more than that. He wants people to become true Christians by following him, not just doing what he said but letting him live in our lives.”
“Now you’ve lost me.”
“I wish I could explain it like he does. You have to come with me sometime.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on! If you told me something was great and important, I’d at least listen.”
“Good for you. You think I’m going to follow Jesus or let him, what did you say, live in . . . ?
“Live in your life.”
“Too strange.”
“I’m just not explaining it right. My mom knows. Let’s ask her.”
“No! I’ve heard enough, OK? You know God now, is that it?”
“Well, yeah . . .”
“And that makes you want to follow all the rules and do everything right. Why? So you can get to heaven?”
“No! That’s what I used to think. When I’d do something I knew was wrong—like breaking your mom’s rules and everything—I felt bad because I thought that might be enough to send me to hell. I thought if I did enough right things to make up for the wrong things, maybe I’d make it to heaven. But I never knew for sure.”
“Now I’m really not getting it.”
“That’s why you should talk to my mom. We’ve both received Christ and—”
“Received Christ? You’re not gonna be like those people that go around knocking on everybody’s door, are you?”
“Sometimes I’d like to, Ryan. I want everybody to know.”
“So, if doing everything right is not how you get to heaven, why did you all of a sudden become so perfect?”
“I didn’t. I want to do right things because I know that’s what God wants. But I’m just doing that to thank him for forgiving me and saving me and promising me heaven someday. Know what I mean?”
“No!”
“And you don’t want to talk to my mom?”
“No, thanks. What about your dad?”
“Well, we’re praying for him.”
“So he doesn’t go for all this stuff?”
Raymie looked embarrassed. “Not really.”
“Well, maybe somebody in this family still has a brain. What about your big sister?”
“We’re praying for Chloe too.”
“So I’m not the only person you know who thinks this is a lot of baloney.”
“That’s what you think?”
“Not really, Raymie. It just sounds weird, that’s all. And I don’t think you even understand it much.”
Raymie shrugged. “That’s true, but I understand enough.”
“Are we done now?”
“I guess.”
“Can we play with that model of your dad’s plane?”
“I’ll get it.”
When Raymie left the garage and trotted up the stairs to his room, he left the door that led into the house open. Suddenly Ryan found himself listening in on a strange conversation. Mr. and Mrs. Steele were talking about something even weirder than Raymie had. “Can you imagine, Rafe?” she was saying, “Jesus coming back to get us before we die?”
Ryan heard the rattle of a newspaper. Mr. Steele said, “Yeah, boy, that would kill me.”
Now Mrs. Steele sounded mad. “If I didn’t know what would happen to me,” she said, “I wouldn’t be so glib about it.”
“I do know what would happen to me,” Mr. Steele said. “I’d be dead and gone. But you, of course, would fly right up to heaven.”
That seemed to shut her up. Ryan heard Mr. Steele rise. “Come on, Irene,” he said. “Tell me thousands of people wouldn’t just keel over if they saw Jesus coming back for all the good people.”
Now she was crying. “I’ve told you and told you. Saved people aren’t good people, they’re—”
“Just forgiven, yeah, I know.”
Ryan heard Raymie bounding back down the stairs, just as Mr. Steele was saying, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m happy for you that you can be so sure.”
Raymie’s mother answered softly. “I only believe what the Bible says.”
These people were crazy, Ryan decided. He wanted to ask Raymie what his parents meant, talking about Jesus coming back for people before they died. But he just wanted to play and think about something else.
He thought that maybe someday he would go along with Raymie to that new church and see what all the excitement was about.
But he never did.
FIVE
The Eve of Destruction
THE evening before the event that would change the lives of Judd Thompson, Vicki Byrne, Lionel Washington, and Ryan Daley, they didn’t know each other. Oh, Judd Thompson had seen Vicki Byrne at New Hope Vil
lage Church on those few occasions when she was dragged there, all but kicking and screaming, by her parents. But he couldn’t have told you her name.
He knew she went to his school, Prospect High. But she was trailer trash. They would not have been seen together. He didn’t know, any better than Lionel Washington did, that Lionel’s sister Clarice shared a seat on the school bus with Vicki. Judd and Clarice didn’t run in the same circles either.
It didn’t register with Judd, even when the pilot’s name was announced on the 747 flight to London, that the captain also occasionally attended New Hope Village Church. Judd had seen Raymie Steele at church. Raymie was part of the middle school youth group. But Judd didn’t know Raymie’s name. And he certainly had no knowledge of Raymie’s best friend, Ryan Daley.
In truth, the four kids were entwined in a web of connections they knew nothing about. Only the events of that night, mainly the event late in the evening, Chicago time, would push them together, a strange mix of most different people and personalities.
Judd Thompson Jr. took a bigger gulp of the champagne than he should have and had to cover his mouth to keep from spitting it out. Some of it came out through his nose, which burned as he coughed. He looked around sheepishly and was relieved to notice that no one had paid any attention. Ick! He would just pretend to sip from the glass until the beautiful flight attendant took it away.
Judd had his eye on the two seats ahead of the men across the aisle from him. A rather large man had squeezed his way past Judd to sit in the window seat next to him, and as roomy as first class seats were, Judd decided he would rather sit alone if he had a choice. He had been told at the counter that he had bought the last seat on the plane, but those two seats on the other side were still empty. He hoped whoever had reserved them had changed their mind or would miss takeoff for some reason.
But just as the flight attendants were gathering up glasses and napkins and telling passengers to stow their tray tables, a stooped, old couple boarded and headed for those seats. The flight attendants had helped the other first-class passengers store their belongings, but all were busy as the couple made their way up the aisle.
The young man sitting in the window seat across the aisle from Judd was shutting down his laptop computer when he seemed to notice the old couple. He turned to the man on his right, the one who had already loosened his tie and downed three small bottles of liquor. “Sir, that elderly gentleman could use a little help, I think.”
“So?” the man on the aisle said. “What do I look like, a stewardess?”
“Would you let me by, then, so I can help him?”
The drinking man cursed and turned in his seat to let the younger man pass. Judd watched as the old man took off his sport jacket and felt hat and reached for the overhead bin, which was too high for him. The younger man said, “May I help you with that, sir?”
“Why, thank you, son. You’re very kind.”
“Not a problem.”
“What’s your name?”
“Cameron Williams,” he told the old man. “Call me Buck.”
“Peterson,” the old man said, extending his hand. “Call me Harold.”
Judd was fascinated. Harold Peterson introduced his wife to Buck, and as they all sat down Mrs. Peterson told Buck her husband was a retired businessman and asked what Buck did for a living.
“I’m a writer,” Buck said. “With Global Weekly.”
Wow, Judd thought. A big shot. And not that old.
After takeoff, dinner, and a movie, Judd tried to relax. Most passengers put away their reading material and curled up with blankets and pillows. Soon the interior lights went off, and when Judd headed toward the tiny bathroom, he noticed only the occasional reading lamp here and there. By the time he was back in his seat, the plane was a dark, quiet, humming chamber. He wished he could sleep, but he couldn’t get his mind off his family.
When would they discover he was gone? How would they feel? What would they do? Was it too late to just catch a plane back home, apologize, and beg for mercy? No, he was going to see this through. He was going to prove he could be independent.
But boy, he thought, he was going to be tired. When that plane hit the ground in London, he was going to have to find a place to stay. Nervous energy left him weak and drowsy, but there was no way he could keep his eyes shut. Too much to think about.
For two years since her parents had become Christians in the most bizarre way at that trailer park dance, Vicki Byrne had watched for them to fail. She was embarrassed by what they called “witnessing”—telling other people about Christ. They said they were “sharing their faith” with the people they cared about.
That sounded so much like a cult, like the weirdos who tried to talk to people in airports, that Vicki wanted nothing to do with it. Her little sister was so excited about Sunday school and church that Vicki decided not to hassle Jeanni about it. Her older brother, Eddie, wrote and told her he had begun going to church up in Michigan.
Vicki felt surrounded by idiots. She admitted to herself that she was impressed that her father had quit drinking. He still smoked, but he was trying to quit. He always said he felt bad about that, but she never saw him smoke at church, and he didn’t even smoke in the trailer anymore. He often said, “Someday God is going to give me the strength to beat this thing.”
Vicki’s mother pleaded with her, to the point of tears, to go to church with them once in a while. Vicki finally gave in and asked if they would get off her back if she went to one service a month. They agreed, but she really had gone only three or four times in all. Every time her mother or father reminded her that she was not upholding her end of the bargain, the arguing began. She would swear she had just been to church with them the month before. They would show her on the calendar that she had not. She would yell and scream and walk out. They would plead and cry and pray for her.
When she went to church, she hated it. Sometimes her mother looked at her to see if she had listened to what the pastor had just said, and at other times her mother leaned over and whispered the pastor’s last sentence. “Get out of my face!” Vicki hissed at her. Again, her mother fought tears.
Vicki didn’t understand herself. Often she asked herself why she had to be so mean, so angry. It was obvious that this . . . this thing, whatever it was, was working. Her dad was a new man. He never missed work, was always on time, got promoted, had more friends. He was always sober. He looked happier. The only sore point in his life, besides his smoking, was Vicki. She could see him getting more and more frustrated with her, and she had to admit her goal was to make him explode in anger. Why? So she wouldn’t feel so bad about herself.
She had always hated it when he had blown up at her in the past, but this new obsession with church and God was worse. The one time she pushed her dad past his limit, rather than yell, he broke down. “I think the devil’s got hold of your soul and he won’t let go!” her father exclaimed.
Vicki laughed in his face. “What?!” she said. “You really believe that, don’t you? You think we’re living in the dark ages and maybe I’m a witch, is that it?”
“I didn’t say that,” her father said, moaning.
“Don’t you see how crazy you all are? Please, just leave me out of this!”
“We don’t want you to go to hell!” her mother pleaded.
“At least I’ll be with my friends,” Vicki said. She had heard people say before that they wanted to spend eternity where all their friends were. She thought it was a pretty sassy line. Her parents just cried all the more. That didn’t reach her. It made her sick. After a year or so they couldn’t get her to go to church at all.
The only control Vicki’s parents had over her was grounding her. She was not allowed to go anywhere or do anything if she stayed out too late. They didn’t know where she was or what she was doing, but they had an idea who she was with, and they didn’t approve of her friends.
Vicki considered herself lucky that the last two times she had been out past he
r curfew, only twenty minutes each time, she had been able to slip into the trailer and tiptoe past her sleeping parents’ bedroom undetected.
On this evening, though, the same night Judd Thompson Jr. was making his escape from boredom on a flight to London, Vicki Byrne was going out. Her parents would have a fit, she realized, if they knew what she and her friends were up to. They had scored some pot and were smoking and riding around with older kids who had cars.
By the time her friends dropped her off at the entrance to the trailer park, far enough from her trailer so the car wouldn’t wake anybody, Vicki was already more than an hour late. Her mother had told her she would be waiting up for her in the little living room. Vicki felt wasted, and she didn’t want the lecture, the grounding, the tears, the prayers.
As she came into view of the trailer, she noticed the only light on was a small reading lamp in the living room. If her mother was dozing there, she would surely awaken if Vicki tried to sneak past. She knew what she would do. She would slip in the back door. If her mother discovered her in her bed, she would swear she had come home on time and had even tried to wake her mother.
Vicki crept around back, trying not to make noise in the gravel. She slowly opened the little-used door and did her best to keep it from creaking. She held her breath and pulled it softly closed behind her. She could see the light on in the living room. She undressed in the dark and slipped into the bedroom she shared with Jeanni.
As Vicki lay on her back in bed, she allowed herself to breathe again. But something was strange. Maybe the pot had done something to her mind, or her hearing. Normally she could hear her father snoring from down the hall. And she could always hear Jeanni’s deep breathing.
Now she heard nothing. Not a thing.
So much the better, she thought. She felt as tired as she’d ever been and was grateful for the peace and quiet that allowed her to drift into a deep sleep.
Lionel Washington always looked forward to the times when Uncle André would come to Mount Prospect and stay overnight. He might be in town for an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting or one of the other half-dozen or so support groups he belonged to. Other times he might just be in the area “on business,” though Lionel’s mother often asked him not to share what that business might be.
The Vanishings Page 4
