Part 8 (1/2)

He answered the questions they put to him. He wasn't aware of the news cameras that took shots of him which were to appear in the evening papers all over the country.

Eventually it was over. The police gathered up the picnic lunch, his mother's purse, and everything else. A gray-haired man in a dark brown suit who introduced himself as Captain Waters told him to get into the Cadillac. ”I'll drive,” Waters said.

Entirely submissive, Fred obeyed. On the way into town Captain Waters said he would take Fred home if he wanted to go there, but it would be really better if he accepted an invitation to stay at the Waters home for a few days until things were straightened out.

”All right,” Fred said.

Eternities later he was in a house with comfortable furnis.h.i.+ngs. A motherly old lady was hovering around him. Captain Waters was on the phone calling someone.

There was a steaming dinner on blue design Swedish dishes. Under coaxing Fred nibbled. Door chimes sounded. Captain Waters pushed back his chair and went away. He came back with another gray-haired man who pressed a thumb against Fred's cheek, listened to words Captain Waters was saying, then ordered Fred to roll up his sleeve.

He swabbed a spot with alcohol and inserted a hypo needle. Fred watched with listless eyes.

”Get him undressed and to bed,” the doctor said. ”Poor kid. Suffering from shock. Have to watch him the next few days....”

_Shock_.... Fred tried to concentrate on the meaning of the word.

The bed was an enormous expanse of fresh smelling sheets and luxurious blankets. The pillows were mountainous ... and so soft....

The sun was streaming in through open French doors, filtered through bronze screen doors. An electric clock on the dresser pointed at eleven.

He lay there without moving, remembering everything that had happened the day before. And he had a feeling that, in his sleep, he had been doing a lot of thinking. Or was it dreaming?

”Poor boy,” a melodious voice purred.

He opened his eyes. It was the motherly woman, with a tray of toast and eggs and steaming coffee. The sight of it made him aware that there was a huge emptiness in his stomach.

He ate, gratefully. Mrs. Waters busied herself about the room, humming soft tunes, smiling at him whenever he looked at her. When he had finished, she took the tray.

”You just relax and sleep some more,” she said. ”The bathroom is through that door over there. If you want me for anything just call. I'll hear you. And if you want to get up and wander about the house just do so.”

She departed, leaving the door part way open in invitation.

Fred sighed and closed his eyes. In that moment of relaxation the thinking he had done during the night rose into consciousness.

For he knew now what he had to do. There was no other avenue of exploration. It might not even be possible. But if it was possible he was going to do it.

He was going to vanish.

There alone lay the solution. He should have realized it. Once he vanished as had the others, he would have experience with the mystery.

Personal experience. He would have all the data he required, instead of just data from the world he was in. If he had the ability to solve the problem of reappearance he would then be able to return, and go back again and show the others how to return.

The key to vanis.h.i.+ng was belief, that quality of thought which his father had systematically weeded from his mind since earliest infancy.

It might take time to overcome that, but it should be possible.

Already he believed some things. Or did he? Was it merely a realization that those things had a probability that approached certainty?

His patterns of thinking were too ingrained. His mind was too well integrated. If he became irritated the irritation immediately brought up the memories of the factors that made him react that way. If he became happy he consciously knew the pattern, stretching back to early infancy.