The Vanishings

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  Lionel had a vague recollection of André slipping out of bed, sometime after midnight, he guessed. André sometimes sneaked out of the house for a smoke. Because André always slept so soundly after that, Lionel’s father once wondered aloud if André was smoking something stronger than tobacco. And when André spent more time than necessary in the tiny bathroom in the basement, even Lionel wondered if he was taking drugs.

  When André came back from whatever he was doing, he would collapse onto the sofa bed with Lionel and wouldn’t seem to move a muscle for hours. It was not uncommon for Uncle André to still be sleeping, in the same position, even after Lionel’s mother had come down to roust Lionel out of bed. They might argue or crab at each other—usually just in fun—and they were never quiet. But Uncle André would remain dead to the world.

  Once, Lionel’s mother had made the mistake of trying to rouse André too. He was so out of it and so angry that she just apologized and never tried again. He got up when he got up, and that was often very late in the morning. This morning Lionel couldn’t even hear André breathing. He turned to make sure his uncle was alive.

  There he lay, on his stomach, his face turned away from Lionel. The slow, rhythmic heaving of his back told Lionel that André was fine. But he sure was quiet.

  Lionel heard the phone ring upstairs. His mother or Clarice would answer it. They always did. Lionel’s father often urged his wife to let the answering machine screen calls when they were trying to get ready for work and school or when they were having a meal or sleeping. But Lucinda Washington made it clear to the family that she hated answering machines. Theirs was off as long as anyone was in the house. The last one out could turn it on “so it can serve the purpose it was designed for,” she would say. “Not so we can screen calls or get lazy. It’s for catching calls when we’re away, period.”

  This morning the phone kept ringing, and Lionel heard no footsteps upstairs. Maybe it was earlier than he thought. He sat up, feeling that fogginess and heaviness that made him move so slowly every morning. No one was answering the phone. What time was it, anyway?

  Lionel groaned and whipped off the blankets. Uncle André did not stir. Lionel felt the chill of the basement as he moved stiff-legged toward the stairs. Passing a window, he noticed his father’s pickup truck in the driveway, blocking the garage door where his mother’s car was parked. It is early, Lionel decided. Who’d be calling at this time of the morning?

  Lionel was in his underwear, and his mother didn’t want him “parading around that way, now that you’re a teenager,” but he thought she might forgive him if he answered the phone for her. But why wasn’t she or Dad answering it? They had an extension phone on their bed table.

  The phone rang and rang, but Lionel was in no hurry. The phone was never for him anyway. He would answer it only because it woke him and there was nothing else to do. Anyway, he was curious.

  The kitchen was at the top of the stairs. The lights were off. No one was up. He reached for the phone. It was Verna Zee from his mother’s office. “Hi, hon,” she said. “Lionel, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Is she there?”

  “Who?”

  “Your mother, of course.”

  “Um, I think so. She’s not up yet.”

  “Not up? She’s usually the first one here.”

  Lionel glanced at the wall clock, stunned. It was late morning. “Uh, I’m pretty sure her car’s still here. You want me to wake her?”

  “No. I work for her, not the other way around. The only reason I let the phone ring for so long is that I know someone’s always there if the machine doesn’t pick up.”

  “Um-hm.” Lionel wished he were still in bed.

  “It’s just that on a big news day like this, I’d expect her before now.”

  “Um-hm.” Lionel had no idea what Verna was talking about, and neither did he care. Big news for adults was rarely big news for him. “You want me to tell her you called?”

  “Please. Oh, and I also have a message for your sister.”

  “Which one?”

  “Clarice. Her friend Vicki called and wants Clarice to call her. You know her?”

  “No, but I’ve heard ’Reece talk about her.”

  “Well, she sounds real anxious to talk to Clarice.” Verna gave him the number, and Lionel promised to pass along the message.

  Lionel didn’t want to know why everyone was sleeping in. He just wanted to enjoy it. He could head back downstairs and catch some more sleep. If the phone didn’t wake anyone, why shouldn’t he? He glanced at the calendar. It was no holiday. Nothing was planned but work and school. He had started back downstairs when he stopped and turned around.

  Wait, he thought. I could be a hero. I could be the one who keeps everybody from being even more late.

  Lionel went from the kitchen through the dining room toward the stairs that led to the upstairs bedrooms. He opened the door when he noticed something in his peripheral vision. On his dad’s easy chair lay the oversized terry cloth robe. Lionel stopped and turned, staring at it. He had never known his father to take his robe off outside the bedroom. Though he slept in pajamas, he considered it impolite to “walk around in public in them,” he always said, referring to his own family as the public.

  Maybe he had been warm. André and Lionel had gone to the basement while Dad was still sitting there, nearly dozing. Maybe he shed his robe while half asleep, not thinking. But that wasn’t like him. He had always taken great pride in “not being one of those husbands whose wife always has to trail him, picking up after him.”

  Lionel moved into the living room, where he noticed his father’s slippers on the floor in front of the chair. The robe lay there neatly, arms draped on the sides of the chair almost as if Dad’s elbows still rested there. When Lionel saw the pajama legs extending from the bottom of the robe and hanging just above the slippers, it was obvious his father had disappeared right out of his pajamas and robe.

  Though Lionel was always unhurried and deliberate in the logy mornings, now it was as if life itself had switched to slow motion. He was not aware of his body as he carefully advanced, holding his breath and feeling only the pounding of his heart. The harsh sunlight shone on the robe and picked up sparkling glints of something where Dad’s lap should have been.

  Lionel knelt and stared at his father’s tiny contact lenses, his wristwatch, his wedding ring, dental fillings, his dark brown hearing aid, the one he was so proud of because he had saved until he could afford one that would truly blend with his skin color.

  Lionel’s hands shook as he forced himself to exhale before he exploded. He felt his lips quiver and was aware of screams he could not let out. He crept forward on his knees and opened the robe to find Dad’s pajamas still buttoned all the way up. Lionel recoiled and sat back, his feet under him. Suddenly it hit him. He lowered his face to between his knees and sobbed. If this was what he feared it was, he knew what was upstairs. Empty beds. Nightclothes.

  But would everyone be gone? He didn’t want to horrify himself. He didn’t want to see everything that had been left behind, just as he was. He just wanted to know whether he was alone. Lionel ran to the stairs and bounded up two at a time. Little Luci’s bed was empty. So was Ronnie’s.

  Lionel was out of breath. He didn’t want to panic, but he couldn’t control his emotions. It was too perfect that in Clarice’s tiny room, her open Bible lay on her pillow. He imagined her there, as he had noticed so many times, lying on her stomach, reading.

  The master bedroom was more than he could bear. His parents’ bed was still made, his mother’s bedclothes draped on one side where it was clear she had been kneeling in prayer. How Lionel wished he had been taken to heaven with his family and that he had been found reading his Bible or praying when Jesus came.

  Only for the briefest instant did Lionel wonder if he were dreaming. He knew better. This was real. This was the truth. All doubt and question had disappeared. His family had been raptured as hi
s church, his pastor, and his parents had taught. And he had been left behind.

  He had wanted to believe his Uncle André when he said that living a good life was one thing but that all this about pie-in-the-sky by-and-by and heaven and the Rapture was just so much mumbo jumbo. Lionel realized that he believed even more than André did, but since he had never done anything about it, he had missed out.

  Uncle André! He was still in the basement, and for all Lionel knew, was still sound asleep. Tears streaming down his face, Lionel hurried back down, forcing himself not to look at his dad’s empty clothes on the chair on his way to the kitchen and the basement stairs. On the table he noticed the message he had just written to Clarice from her friend Vicki. He grabbed it and bounded down the steps.

  Lionel yanked on jeans and a shirt and was lacing up his sneakers as he called out to André. “You’d better get up, man,” he whined, feeling the sobs in his throat. “We’re in big trouble.”

  But André didn’t stir. Lionel sat on the edge of the couch and stared at his unconscious uncle. How he would like to blame André, anybody, for his own failure. But he couldn’t. He knew everything his family knew. He had simply not bought into it. The question now was, was it too late? Was there any hope for someone who had been left behind?

  He suddenly felt older and wiser than his uncle. And André didn’t seem all that cool and wise anymore. Lionel knew something André didn’t, that they had both been wrong, dead wrong. What was the use of waking André now? He would learn the truth soon enough. Let him sleep in ignorance, Lionel decided. This news would ruin the rest of his life.

  Lionel trudged back up to the kitchen and slumped into a chair near the phone. Was anyone from his church left behind besides him and André? He called the church, and the answering machine picked up, the pastor’s voice announcing when Sunday’s and Wednesday’s services were scheduled. He concluded, “And remember: Keep looking up, watching and waiting, for the time of the Lord draweth nigh.”

  Lionel stood to hang up the phone as the announcement continued about leaving a message after the tone, but suddenly someone picked up the phone. “Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?”

  “Yes!” Lionel said. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Freddie.”

  “Freddie, this is Lionel. Who else is there?”

  Freddie was chairman of the trustee board, the committee that took care of the church and also supervised the ushers. Freddie was often at the church, working or organizing the maintenance.

  “Nobody, Lionel. Nobody else is here but me. Old Mr. Hazel’s clothes are here, but he was the only one in the building last night, playing night watchman when the trumpet sounded.”

  “When the what?”

  “Oh, I didn’t hear it, Lionel. If I’da heard it, I’d be gone and so would you. But you’re calling just like everybody else who’s calling this morning. You missed it just like me, didn’t you? And you’re the only one in your family left, aren’t you?”

  “I am. Well, except André.”

  “Is he there?”

  “He’s still sleeping.”

  “Get him up and let me talk to him!”

  “No, I’m going to let him sleep, Freddie.” Lionel didn’t dare ask how a man so dedicated to the church could have missed the Rapture.

  “I’m coming over there then,” Freddie said. “We, you and I, we both learned a hard lesson today, didn’t we, boy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m going to talk some sense into that uncle of yours, and we’re going to be ready for all the people who come to this little lighthouse looking for answers.”

  Everybody in Lionel’s church referred to it as the little lighthouse at one time or another. “So nobody else from the church got left behind but us three?” Lionel asked.

  “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.

  NINE

  Ryan Left Alone

  RYAN 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 everything 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.