Vanish (5 page)

Helen changed quickly into a pair of jeans and a clean blouse. She grabbed her keys and was headed for the door when a thought struck her. She might not be home for a while. She rushed back to the bedroom and stuffed a few items into an overnight bag.

Then she was out the door.

MITCH OPENED HIS EYES and found himself staring up at a cloudless blue sky. A patch of weeds and tall grass surrounded him, and the ground rose sharply on either side. He struggled to sit up. A strip of gravel and an asphalt highway lay to his left, and several yards to his right rose a wall of foliage and trees. Sunlight glinted off the chrome of a motorcycle, parked on the gravel shoulder several yards away.

Mitch frowned. That was
his
motorcycle.

His head spun as if he were fighting off a hangover, but he couldn’t recall drinking last night. In fact, he couldn’t recall much of anything.

The sun was just topping the trees. It was still fairly early in the morning. Around nine or so. He must’ve been out here all night. He climbed out of the ditch, staggered back to his bike, and inspected it for damage. Everything seemed fine.

He found a bottle of blackberry Merlot in the leather side bag, along with two plastic coffee mugs and a small, velvet box.

Memories flitted back to him. He had been on his way to pick up Linda. He was going to propose last night. He had planned to take her down to the lake and…

No, there had been a storm. He recalled the strange cloud bank. Lightning flashed inside—but not lightning. Lights.… It was like… like something was inside.

Mitch scanned the highway. Not a single car had gone past since he had awakened. He was in a rural wooded area near the Wisconsin border. A new subdivision was going up on the west side of the highway. A bulldozer and a backhoe stood silent amid a few large mounds of dirt.

A Mobil sign rose over the trees a quarter mile back down the road. He remembered passing it last night.

Mitch swung a leg over his bike. He had to call Linda and let her know he was all right. In fact, he was surprised she hadn’t called the police. For that matter, why hadn’t any state trooper or sheriff’s deputy bothered to stop during the night? Seeing an abandoned motorcycle along the side of the road should have caused someone to investigate.

Mitch thumbed the ignition switch and swore. The key had been on all night, so the battery was dead. After several attempts with the kick start, he managed to fire up the engine. He turned around and headed back to the Mobil station. Maybe he could use the phone there.

Rolling to a stop under the pump canopy, Mitch bit his lip as he surveyed the gas station and quick mart. They stood amid several wooded acres with a dense tree line just beyond the parking lot. He shut off his bike and peered into the trees.

The mesh of trunks and branches caught his eyes, drawing his gaze deeper. Something about it didn’t look right, like one of those pictures that had other objects hidden within a scene.

Everything was still. No sounds of traffic, no birds. Nothing. Just a slight breeze wafting through the upper branches. Then his breathing quickened—he thought he heard something. Like the branches clacking in the wind. Or snapping underfoot…

Mitch tore his gaze from the trees and headed into the store.

“Hello?” His voice sounded strangely distant as he entered. “Anybody here?”

No one answered. He spotted a phone behind the counter, next to the register, but couldn’t quite reach it from his side. He looked around.

“Is anyone here?” he called again, louder. “I just need to use your phone.”

Mitch drummed his fingers on the counter. Finally he slipped around back and dialed Linda’s number. After several rings, her answering machine kicked in.

“Hey, Linda, it’s Mitch,” he said. “I… uh…” He was suddenly not sure what to say. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there to pick you up. I, uh… I had some problems with my bike on the way and… I’m headed back to my place, so you can call me there, okay? I… I love you.”

Mitch hung up and eyed the cash register. He tapped the phone absently, wondering how much money was in the drawer.

After a moment, he shook his head. These places all had surveillance cameras. He wasn’t about to ruin his whole life over the prospect of a few easy bucks.

He was heading back out to his bike when he heard another sound in the woods. A branch snapped. A shadow flitted amid the tree trunks. He peered closer. It hadn’t looked like a squirrel or a raccoon. In fact, he thought it had looked big enough to be human.

A rustling off to his right drew his attention in time to see a second shadow duck behind a tree. This one was definitely big enough to be human.
Probably just some kids goofing around
, he thought, but a chill shuddered through him nonetheless. The empty highway and gas station were beginning to creep him out.

Mitch heard a third sound to his left. Whispering. He turned to see a figure standing in the shadow of one of the trees. It was tall—over six feet—and thin. He peered closer but couldn’t make out any distinct features. It was a gray silhouette in the shadows. It stood still for a moment and then slipped back behind the tree.

“What… what do you want?” Mitch tried to sound gruff, but his voice wavered.

No one answered. Nothing moved.

Mitch backed away from the trees. His mouth went dry. “Wh-who are you?”

A soft breeze blew through the trees, and amid the rustling of leaves, Mitch thought he heard more whispering. First one voice. Then another in reply.

Mitch scrambled to his bike and jumped on the kick start. The engine sputtered.

He glanced at the trees. Three gray figures stood at the edge of the woods. They were no more than fifty feet away, but he couldn’t make out any distinct features. Only that they were tall and thin.

Mitch swore and jumped on the kick start again. This time the engine fired up and he spun around, out of the station, back onto the highway.

CONNER PULLED INTO Marta’s driveway and stared at the house. Sunlight filtered down through the branches of the big ash tree in the front yard and cast patches of light and shadow onto the doorway.

Conner made his way around back to the patio door. Marta kept a key under a potted plant. He found it and let himself in.

“Marty?” he called but his voice sounded flat and small. He walked through the kitchen into the hallway. Ahead of him was the foyer and to the left was the living room. She hadn’t redecorated much since the divorce.

He peered up the stairway. “Marty?”

No answer. The house was silent.

Conner was just about to head up the stairs when his legs stiffened. His body convulsed as pain tore through him. Intense and sharp. It felt as if a giant knife had pierced his chest and cut down straight through his torso. His neck and arms stiffened. His jaw clenched. He felt himself topple forward onto the tiled floor. An intense pressure built inside his chest and neck. His ribs felt as if they were going to snap. White light seared through the corners of his eyes, blotting out the hall and the room beyond. The pressure mounted. The pain was so intense that it paralyzed him. He felt his tongue clenched between his teeth. He couldn’t even scream.

Then, as suddenly as it started, the pain left. The pressure was gone and Conner went limp. He lay on the floor, unable to move, gasping for breath. The white light faded and his vision slowly returned. It was as if someone had flashed a powerful spotlight in his eyes in the middle of a dark room and then turned it off again. Now he saw only spots. Large white blotches that turned amber and red. He heard himself moaning. But his voice was muffled and distant, as though his eardrums had burst.

He lay gasping for breath for several seconds. His body limp, his cheek pressed against the cold ceramic floor tile.

Then something moved past him. A small, bare foot touched softly on the tile right in front of his face, then lifted and was gone.

Conner was too numb to react. He tried to lift his head. To see who had just walked past him. He struggled to move but his limbs wouldn’t respond. Every nerve ending tingled from his convulsion. Using his shoulders and all of his strength, he managed to roll onto his side. His arms flopped about like deadweights.

He glimpsed a figure moving through the kitchen, small and waiflike. He couldn’t see any features, though. It moved quickly, silhouetted in the sunlight that streamed through the patio door. Then it was out of sight.

Conner tried to talk. “Hey… ,” he moaned.

A second later, the figure flitted back across the kitchen.

As his paralysis slowly abated, Conner struggled to his feet, clutching the walls to steady himself. His head spun like he’d just spent the last several hours on a Tilt-A-Whirl ride. He stumbled into the kitchen, bracing himself against the doorway.

His vision was still blotchy, but he heard the flap, flap, flap of bare feet on the tile floor. Conner lurched to the cooking island in the center of the kitchen. From there, he saw the figure standing in the breakfast nook, shrouded in the sunlight.

It turned and ran toward him.

Conner jerked backward, fumbling for something to protect himself if need be. A small body emerged from the light and sprinted past Conner, back down the hallway, out of sight. Sunlight glinted off a bouncing mop of blond hair.

“No!” Conner stood frozen, clutching the granite countertop to keep himself from falling.

He cried out again. Louder this time. Shock had turned to fear. And fear into rage.

“No!”

His heart pounded and he gulped for air. He tried to move but his legs buckled under his weight. His anger was slowly giving way to something else.

Conner clung to the island. Clutching it, leaning his weight on top of it. His gasps for air turned to sobs.

He tried to speak again. This time his voice was only a whimper.

“Matthew?”

HELEN GOT OUT OF her car and peered up at the apartment. Kyle lived in a small one-bedroom on the fifth floor. There had really been no need for him to move out of Helen’s condo, but he had wanted his space. He was twenty-four and needed his own space.

Helen looked back down the street. A few cars were parked along the curb, but like everywhere else, no people were in sight. The sun cast the whole street in an amber glow. The sidewalk and shops along the block were punctuated by the shade of evenly spaced trees. It would have been a cheerful scene, were it not for the conspicuous lack of people.

She turned her attention back to Kyle’s building, steeled herself, and went inside. Letting the door close behind her, she stood in the foyer, listening. No music, no muffled voices, no sounds of life anywhere in the building.

There was no elevator, so Helen paced herself up the four flights of stairs.

She got to Kyle’s floor and found his apartment. Number 503. She knocked and listened. No sounds inside.

She knocked again. “Kyle?”

No answer.

“Kyle,” Helen called louder, but she could hear her voice quivering. “Please.”

She pulled on the doorknob and pounded harder. “Kyle!”

Tears stung her eyes, and she pressed her forehead against the door. Why would he have left without even calling her? Where had everyone gone? What was going on?

“Mom?”

Kyle’s voice broke through the silence with jarring abruptness.

He stood at the end of the hall, staring at her, almost as if he was surprised to see her.

Helen ran to him. “Kyle!”

She threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him. But he just stood there, arms at his side.

Helen wept now, unable to control her emotions. Her mind reeled with a thousand questions, but she couldn’t even think what to ask him first.

After several seconds, she stepped back and wiped her eyes. “Where were you? Do you know what’s going on?”

Kyle looked confused and shook his head.

Helen frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I… I don’t know.” Kyle looked down at his hands. “What’s happening to me?”

Helen reached for his hands but he withdrew.

“What’s wrong?”

Kyle just shook his head.

Helen took a step toward him. “Kyle, honey, what’s the matter?”

Kyle winced in pain and took another step backward. “Mom… what’s happening to me?”

He held his hands out. His palms were blistered and red.

“Kyle!” Helen gasped. “What happened to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let me see them—”

“No!” Kyle pulled away and backed up further.

“Honey, I’m not going to hurt you. Just let me see them.”

Kyle winced again. His hands stiffened. Helen saw the blisters crack and begin to bleed. Kyle gritted his teeth and groaned. “It hurts!”

Helen’s eyes widened. The blisters were spreading across her son’s hands even as she stared at them. Blood dripped onto the floor.

Kyle threw his head back. “What are they doing to me?”

He turned his hands over. The blisters were spreading onto his wrists and forearms. He screamed, “It burns!” He tucked his hands under his arms and doubled over. “Why are they doing this?”

Helen was in tears. “Kyle, who? Who’s doing this? What happened to you? Where were you?”

But Kyle was no longer listening. He moved away, clawing at his shirt. Helen could see the blisters spreading onto his neck. He screamed again and bolted past her, down the hall.

“Kyle!” Helen called after him, but he was already down the stairs.

She followed him, her mind now growing numb from shock. What was happening? She could hear his cries echo up the stairwell.

In a panic now, she hurried down the stairs. Kyle’s voice grew fainter.

“Kyle!” she screamed. This had to be a bad dream. Or some kind of hallucination.

Helen reached the bottom and ran out into the street, where she was met with the same silence she had encountered earlier. Kyle was nowhere to be seen. She ran up the street, calling out for him. After three blocks she stopped, out of breath. She stood there, gasping for air and listening.