The Case of the Vanishing Boy (9 page)

They crossed railroad tracks, swung down past empty store buildings and a warehouse, and stopped on a corner beside a rusted tin structure that might once have been a machine shop.

“Fifth an' Cherry,” said the driver.

Jan peered around in dismay. In the gloom of the street lights, the other three corners seemed to be only empty lots filled with debris.

“You—you sure this is the right place?” he faltered.

“I oughta know, bud. I was raised in this town. Funny place to meet a guy, but there ain't nothing to be afraid of.”

Jan got out. The driver made a fast U-turn and drove hurriedly back the way they had come. Hardly was the cab out of sight when a door in the side of the tin building creaked partially open.

“Hey, you!” someone called in a low voice. “This way—on the double!”

Sudden anger helped dampen his fear, and he took his time about approaching the door. On the threshold he hesitated, trying to see into the darkness, then a strong hand grasped his arm and drew him inside.

Instantly he felt an awareness of danger, but before he could react to it a wasp seemed to sting him in the back.

He cried out and tried to jerk away, only it was too late now for anything. His body turned to lead and he fell into blackness.

9

PRISONER

He awakened by degrees, painfully struggling to come out of a blackness that threatened to swallow him, yet trying desperately not to make the least movement. Every time he moved the world heaved sickeningly about him. It was like being deathly ill in a tiny boat on a stormy sea.

What had happened to him? Where was he?

He opened his eyes, and closed them quickly against the pain of the light. For a time beyond imagining he tried to think and remember, then very slowly memory came back to him. Midway Plaza … the phone call … the long taxi ride to the tin building … the voice ordering him to the door …

Jan groaned and opened his eyes again. The light hurt, but he squinted against it while he struggled to sit up and take in his surroundings. Resting on an elbow, he waited until the uneasy walls around him steadied, then carefully turned his head.

He was in a tiny room just large enough to contain his cot, a chair, and a table. To his right was a door with a small circle of glass in the upper half of it. On the left was another door, partially open, disclosing a washbowl and a toilet. There was no window in the place. The light came from a half globe in the ceiling.

Suddenly dizzy, he sank down again, wondering how long he had been here. Without a clock or a window, it was impossible to tell whether it was day or night. Then, judging by Ginny's reaction, it came to him that it couldn't have taken more than four hours for the drug they'd given him to wear off, and more likely only three. If it was half past eleven when he entered the tin shed, then it was still dark outside, and somewhere between two and three o'clock in the morning.

All at once an awful thought struck him. He sat up again, clawing under his shirt to locate the little transmitter that had been taped to the small of his back.

It was not there.

He was still sitting up, frightened now, when he heard a key turn in the lock of the door. Then slowly the door opened, and a big man in a rumpled white jacket entered and stood looking at him reproachfully.

There was not the least doubt in his mind that his visitor was Big Doc. There was the great flabby body, the big, round bald head, the short, pointed beard, and the curious feeling of familiarity that had distinguished the dreamed version of the man. Even the plump white hands with their oddly pointed fingers were familiar.

“Shame on you!” the big man purred softly, giving a slow shake of his head. “Running away like that! Tsk! Tsk! Have you no gratitude for what I've done for you?”

For a moment Jan could only stare at his visitor, hating him. Then he said hoarsely. “What have you ever done for me?”

“You don't remember?” The broad face broke into a smile. “I didn't think you would. Matilda is very efficient. But you
do
remember this!”

A plump hand slipped into a side pocket of the white jacket and came out holding a small object partially covered with adhesive tape. It was the missing transmitter. The thing looked as if it had been smashed with a hammer.

“You should be punished for trying to lead people here,” the soft voice went on. “But fortunately your little tattletale was discovered before any harm was done. So I will not blame you. After all, you did fall into evil hands.” Once more there was the slow shake of the head followed by the clicking of the tongue. “That idiot Rhodes would undo all the good work I have done with you.”

Jan clutched the sides of his cot, trying to steady himself against the room that wanted to revolve around him. Suddenly he wished he had the ability of Heron Rhodes to use the eye as a weapon. Then he was thankful he didn't, for in his hate he might have turned it on the man before him, with terrible consequences.

“Where's Ginny?” he demanded.

“She's quite safe, dear boy.”

“You—you promised to turn her loose if I came back.”

“We did nothing of the kind. We promised merely to inform Dr. Rhodes where she could be found—though I'm sure my associate had no intention of being specific. The name of a foreign country would have been enough.” The big man shrugged and smiled. “He disobeyed our orders, so it does not matter. What really matters is you. You are a very important young personage, and we need Ginny for insurance that you will not run away again. Not only would you be a grave danger to society, but Ginny would suffer. She will always suffer painfully unless you do exactly as you are told. Do I make myself clear?”

Jan half rose from the cot, fists clenched, then fell back and clung to it again as the room tipped drunkenly. Nothing was clear at that moment except that he and Ginny had lost their chance of escape and were now at the mercy of what surely must be a madman.

“You—you're crazy!” he gasped.

The big man smiled tolerantly. “No, dear boy. I am merely being practical. You have a rare and valuable ability, but you are also the victim of a very difficult mental illness. Among other things you have lost your identity. I have been trying hard to restore it to you, but it will take a long time. Unfortunately it is complicated by—”

“No!” Jan cried. “You—you're lying! I know you're lying! You're trying to make out that I'm Brice Riggs, but I'm not! I never—”

“You
are
Brice Riggs, dear boy.”

“I can't be! They say Brice Riggs killed seven people! I've never killed anyone!”

The big man shook his head sadly. “You should be thankful, my friend, that you have no memory of what you did. God is merciful that way. You have multiple personalities, and you killed under the influence of the most violent one. It has often been dominant. You were put away in a, ah, most unpleasant institution—for the criminally insane.” Again came a sad shake of the head. “A truly frightful place. I would hate to see you sent back there, your mind blanked again.”

The big man paused; the little cold eyes in their plump rolls of flesh gave him a meaningful look. “I had great trouble having you released to me. If I had not been who I am, with a name to be reckoned with in these matters …”

“Who—who are you?” Jan asked.

“I am your friend, dear boy. The best friend you have ever had. I am trying to save you from yourself. Never forget that. And never forget that you are Brice Riggs—and not some other personality who would like to destroy Brice Riggs and take over his mind. If I see any signs of such a personality emerging, I will be forced to turn you over to Matilda for further treatments.”

The big man smiled, then with a contemptuous flip of his hand he tossed the wrecked transmitter upon the table and went back through the door, closing and locking it.

A moment later the overhead light went out, leaving Jan in darkness.

Jan clung to his cot, fighting a new fear as well as the effects of the drug. The very sound of the name Matilda had sent a chill of pure terror through him. Why? What was there in a name to make it so dreadful? 104

With the lights turned off, the room was completely dark save for the bit of glass in the corridor door, which was now a small, vague circle of gray suspended in blackness. The dark added to his dread. As he thought of the comfort and security of the Rhodes' library, he was almost tempted to make use of his curious ability and go back there, if only for a little while. If he had managed to do it from the van, he ought to be able to do it from this place, wherever it was.

Or could he? He was so weak and upset from the drug they'd given him that it might be impossible. Then he realized it would be wiser to save that move for later, after he'd located Ginny and worked out some sort of plan.

Who, or what, was Matilda? A woman?—perhaps the person who had spoken over the loudspeaker in the library? Somehow he didn't think so. Big Doc had given him the feeling that Matilda was a
thing
.

At that moment, remembering what Big Doc had said, an utterly horrible thought struck him. Was Matilda a machine that was used to blank a person's mind?

Jan began to tremble, and in a sudden reaction to the thought he tottered from the cot, fell against the wall on his left, and felt his way to the open door of the toilet. It was only by accident that his groping, unsteady hand touched a wall switch and a weak light came on in the ceiling. When he returned to the cot long minutes later he left the little light on; its soft glow dispelled some of the terror of being alone with his fears in utter darkness.

Though he felt better now, an inner wisdom urged him to turn off his thoughts for a while and try to sleep. He must have succeeded after a fashion, for when he got up again and went to the toilet he was able to walk steadily and his head was clear. There was no drinking glass at the washbowl, but he held his mouth to the tap until he had had his fill, then splashed cold water on his face. This time, when he returned to the cot, he was wide awake and the circuits of his mind were going at full speed.

Matilda. It had to be a machine. And it almost certainly had to be a machine they strapped you inside, with something like electrodes around it so they could run a current through your head. A special sort of current that would blank out what you were and leave you ready for something new. Sure. He could almost see the devilish thing. It was as clear in his mind as if he'd actually been inside of it.

Then, with a little shock, he realized he
had
been inside of it, because it was all so familiar to him. He'd been inside, maybe several times, and it had robbed him of his past. But he must have rebelled at the last session and gotten away before they'd turned him into Brice Riggs.

Anyway, there wasn't the least doubt what was in store for Ginny. They'd blank out the Rhodes part of her, and leave her a poor little blind girl with no one to turn to but Big Doc or one of his helpers. Then she'd have to do just as she was told. And they'd do the same thing to himself, until Jan—who'd already lost his past—became Brice Riggs, without even a memory of the Rhodes family. He and Ginny were slated to become Big Doc's slaves.

Of course it would take time. Many months, probably. And while it was going on, Ginny would be a sort of hostage to keep him from teleporting to freedom. Unless Big Doc decided to keep them drugged till they'd been taken safely out of the country.

The thought of being drugged again brought Jan to his feet, hands clenched in rising uneasiness. Almost certainly plans had already been made for a quick trip somewhere. These people, if they had any sense, wouldn't risk remaining here any longer than they had to after taking someone like Ginny. If he had any hope of saving her, he'd better start working on it immediately.

He went quickly to the door and tested it, even though he knew it was locked. The latch did seem a little wobbly. Maybe, if he had a screwdriver … His hand shot to his rear pocket where he had been carrying the knife. But the knife was gone, and now he discovered that all his pockets had been emptied.

Somehow he had to get out of here. How else could he locate Ginny?

Suddenly it occurred to him that it might be worth trying to return to the Rhodes' library in the hope of finding Nat Martin there. If he could see Martin, he probably could get a skeleton key or tools to open the door. Then he caught his breath at an idea so simple he wondered why he hadn't thought of it earlier. He could get another transmitter from Martin and bring it here.

But what if the State Bureau man were not there at this hour?

Jan rubbed his eyes, trying to think. If he could just locate Ginny, she could call to Otis and find out about Martin. In fact, she could set the whole thing up so Martin would be ready for him when he arrived and no time would be wasted. He sure didn't want to be late getting back here and be caught with a new transmitter.

He turned and studied the room. He didn't know what he was looking for—just something, anything, that might help him to get out of here so he could explore the building.

Then, glancing into the lavatory, he saw the square of molding on the wall opposite the doorway. It looked as if a small window had been covered over.

He sped to it, hope rising. A hurried inspection showed it to be a two-foot-square molding enclosing what seemed to be a plywood panel painted the same color as the walls. It was hardly noticeable at a distance; only now, studying it closely, was he able to see that the upper part was hinged.

With fingers that were suddenly trembling he began clawing at the bottom of the panel, which was just above the level of his eyes. In his haste he managed only to rip off the end of a fingernail. The panel was stuck fast.

He whirled, searching frantically for some small thin object he could use as a pry. There was only the smashed transmitter on the table where Big Doc had tossed it.