Disappearing Act, Part XII

Friday.

I verified some things concerning Design Handbook. Information told me that no such publication had that name in their directory. I am going to see for myself all the same.

I recognized the building. I looked at the list of offices in the vestibule. I knew that I wouldn’t find the magazine, but in spite of that it still caused a shock.

I took the elevator, stupidly, my stomach tied in knots. I had the impression of being carried adrift far from everything that exists.

I went down to the third floor. I found myself at the exact place where I came to find Jane once.

It was a textile company.

- There was never a magazine office here? I asked at the reception.

- Not that I can remember, responded the employee. But I have only been here for the past three years.

I went back home. I told Mary that I was feeling ill, that I was not going to work tonight. She told me that she wasn’t either. I went in our bedroom to be alone. I stayed in the place where we were going to put our new bed, after its delivery next week.

Mary followed me. She stayed in the doorway.

- Bob, what’s the matter? I don’t have the right to know? Her voice was nervous.

- There’s nothing wrong.

- I beg you, don’t say nothing’s wrong. I’m not blind.

I wanted to run towards her. But I turned away.

- I have a letter to write.

- To whom?

I lost my temper.

- That’s my business.

And then I told her that it was to Jim.

She looked me right in the eye.

- I would like to believe you.

- What does that mean?

She turned her back on me.

- All right, you give my love to … Jim.

Her voice broke. I got goosebumps just hearing it.

I wrote the letter. I decided that Jim could help me. The situation was too desperate to keep it a secret. I told him that Mike had disappeared. I asked him if he remembered Mike.

Curiously, my hand hardly trembled. Maybe it was like this when one practically doesn’t belong on earth.