The Vanishment by Jonathan Aycliffe Read Free Book Online

closest, dearest friends. That had to count for something.
    "I don't know, Peter. He's gone back to sleep. I'll ask him in the morning. But I know he's busy with his Lithuania project, he could be tied up all day. Why don't you get Sarah's mother to call?"
    "I don't want her involved. You should know better than to suggest it. You know what she's like."
    "Well, all right. I'll ask Tim."
    "We haven't quarreled, Susan. Truly we haven't."
    "Tell me about it tomorrow, Peter. I'll be back around one. And get your bloody clock fixed."

    That night I dreamed a very strange dream. I dreamed I was in the hallway, looking up the stairs. For some reason, I was afraid. There was something at the top of the stairs, something I did not want to see or meet. And the upper half of the staircase was in darkness. In spite of my fear, I felt myself being drawn, step by reluctant step, along the hall to the foot of the stairs. I looked up into the darkness, struggling to tear myself away, but the force that drew me upward was more powerful than my fear. I started climbing the stairs. As my foot touched the first step I woke to the sound of my own voice, barking like a dog's.

    I rang Susan at five past one. She reminded me that I had not given her the address for Petherick House or my phone number. When I had dictated them, I asked if there was any news.
    "Tim went over this morning, Peter. He got no answer to the bell, so he let himself in. There was no sign that Sarah had been back. I tried ringing half an hour ago, but it's still the answering machine. Can you think of anywhere else she might go? Pat's, maybe?"
    "Her sister, Lorna," I suggested lamely.
    "Well, why don't you try her and anybody else you can think of? If you draw a blank, ring back and we'll talk it over. Tim's due back around half past five. I'll ring before that if I hear anything at all."
    "I'm frightened, Susan," I said weakly.
    "There's no need to be. She'll turn up. You'll see."
    But that wasn't what I had meant.

    By half past five I was profoundly worried. Lorna had heard nothing and was frostier than ever. I rang Sarah’s mother and father in Huddersfield; they said she hadn't been in touch. Her father quizzed me about what he called "your latest separation." I hadn't the strength to argue with him. When I hung up, my hand was trembling as usual. After that, I tried a couple of her old flatmates, some colleagues from work, even a couple in a converted vicarage in Northumberland with whom she often spent painting weekends. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I was growing scared.

    I rang London again around eight o'clock. This time Tim came to the phone.
    "Peter," he said, "why aren't you being straight with me? Something must have made her leave."
    “We were getting along fine," I answered. "It's just that. . ." I told him what I could.
    "That doesn't sound like Sarah," was all he said.
    "None of this is like Sarah," I retorted.
    "I think you should go to the police."
    "What, and have them poking their noses into everything? They'd get nowhere."
    "You're getting nowhere yourself. And unlike you, they know the district. You should have gone to them before this. How long has it been?"
    "Nearly forty-eight hours."
    "Jesus, Peter—that's far too long. Get in touch with them tonight. Drive over."
    "I can't. I can't leave the house. In case she comes back."
    "Well, ring them then."

    I didn't, not right away, not that night. That night something happened—something that unsettled me for a long time afterward. I had spent the evening trying to write, but it had been useless. My mind was not on the story but on Sarah. I kept listening, half expecting to hear her feet outside the door, or her voice calling from the kitchen. Intermittently I would look up, as though the telephone was about to ring, thinking she had at last decided to call a halt and make her reappearance. But there was nothing all evening.
    The devil of it was that I loved her very much. We had been married thirteen