I USED TO KNOW HIM

CHAPTER TWENTY

     Suddenly, in the middle of the yard, Detective Lieutenant Callum Brice

disappeared into thin air! Nick heard him yell for help, but he could

see nothing. The yelling kept going straight up into the air until it

grew faint in the distance.

     Nick stared dumbfounded at the area where the cop had suddenly faded

out of sight. What the hell was going on in this screwy place? Then he

heard the shout below him and he twisted to stare at the borders of the

small creek. It was the two men from Andrew Hocum's gas station - the

blond giant and the sandy haired guy. Panicky, Nick snapped off a shot

and the blond dived for cover.

     "The dumb bastard is shooting," the blond yelled to his companion

several yards away. "Let's get the hell out of here, before he hits

something!"

     He got a brief glimpse of them as they took off through the brush and

snapped a shot at them to hurry them along, just as Margret's car rocked up

the rutty road and braked beside the police car. She leaped out yelling

for him and he went down the stairs to meet her, the gun still in his

hand.

     Her face was drained of colour as she came into the house, the red of her

lips looking even redder against the pale wash of her face. "Nick!

Where's Callum?"

"I..."

"Oh, my God, Nick! Have you killed him?"

     "I couldn't hit him," Nick told her. "I emptied the magnum at him and he

disappeared into the air." His eyes had a wild look in them, "Right into

the air," he added inanely. Everything was so balled up. Everything was

crazy. He wasn't Nick Danson ... he didn't know his name ... Brice

vanished into thin air ... the two guys were dogging his tracks...

women came out of the woodwork to make love to him. What the hell else

could possibly happen?

     Margret was staring at him. "You killed him," she breathed.

"No, no! He vanished. He vanished ... honest to God, I never even came

close to hitting him. I might as well have thrown rocks."

"Men do not disappear into thin air," she said.

"Listen, forget that for a minute. How'd he know I was here?"

She sank wearily onto a chair and looked at him. "He found the watch I

gave you a few years ago. It was lying at the crash site. He came to the

office where I work and asked about you. I denied that I knew you were

back and he began to yell at me about my life being in danger and that I

should stay away from you until he had a chance to put a bullet into

you. My God, Nick! What have you done?"

     "I dunno," he lied. Should he tell her that he was not her husband, that

he didn't have the foggiest notion of who he was? He decided against it.

"How'd he know where to find me?"

     She sighed. "He helped you build the place. Now where is he?"

"Goddammit, Margret, I told you! How many times do I have to tell you that

he vanished!"

"Stop yelling at me!"

     "Then believe me! It happened! I saw it happen, and I wasn't seeing

things! Go out and look. If you can find his body out there, I'll eat

it."

     She uttered a little cry and came into his arms, holding him tightly.

"Oh, darling, I want to believe you. I want very much to believe you;

but men can't vanish."

"Brice did."

"All right. If you say, he did. All right. Now what?"

     "I don't know. I have to think. I have to try and remember what happened

to me. It's the only way that this crazy whirl will make sense, and it

has to make sense. It has to."

She nodded. "Let's go into the room. I want to be with you tonight. Let

me have the gun, dear?"

He stared at her, his jaws knotted. "You think I'm nuts, don't you? You

think I'm crazy."

     "Darling, darling, of course not. But I wish you'd give me the gun."

Resignedly he unstrapped the gun and gave it to her. He shrugged. "I

don't blame you. Hell, I think I'm crazy too."

She didn't argue the point.

     They both went into the front room and sat there staring into the ashes

of the dead fireplace while dusk fell about the cabin. Finally Margret

started the fire. When she had finished, she bent and kissed him.

"Why don't we get some sleep, honey," she said. "That may help."

"I'll be up later," he told her and she kissed him again. Then she went

to bed.

     How long he sat there he had no way of knowing, but the fire was

steadily dying. The thoughts hammered in his head and he became lost in

them, trying mentally to find the key that would tear away the veil and

grant him a peek at his past. Bits and snatches had filtered through,

garbled and incoherent, that had tried to shed light yet could not. And,

while he leaned toward one conclusion, drawn from the dreams, he felt it

too fantastic for belief.

     He was so absorbed in his thinking that he never heard the door open

slowly. When he did hear the soft tread behind him, it was too late! A

handkerchief of chloroform was clamped strongly over his face! He

struggled, trying to get away from the hands that held him, but he was

powerless! The chloroform got to him. He couldn't breathe...

He slept.