The Vanishings by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins Page A

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?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œIs she there?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œYour mother, of course.”
    â€œUm, I think so. She’s not up yet.”
    â€œNot 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?”
    â€œNo. 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.”
    â€œUm-hm.” Lionel wished he were still in bed.
    â€œIt’s just that on a big news day like this, I’d expect her before now.”
    â€œUm-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?”
    â€œPlease. Oh, and I also have a message for your sister.”
    â€œWhich one?”
    â€œClarice. Her friend Vicki called and wants Clarice to call her. You know her?”
    â€œNo, but I’ve heard ’Reece talk about her.”
    â€œWell, 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