The Vanishing by Gary Brown (top 10 motivational books TXT) 📕

singing, only softer. I picked Mellie up in my arms and we went outside. The closer I got to the barn, I realized it wasn’t singing that I was hearing at all. It was chanting. I slid open the barn door. There was Anne and her friends, sitting in a circle. Four men, five women. They were wearing black robes, and the women wore veils. They were praying or reciting a mantra… something like that. When I walked in, they immediately stopped what they were doing, stood up, and left. They didn’t even acknowledge my presence. Nor did Anne. She walked past me like I was a ghost, like I wasn’t even there. I remember her eyes, so distant and vacant. I ran after her, but she just kept walking. I grabbed her arm and turned her around to face me. The next thing I knew, it was lights out. Someone struck me from behind and I went down for the count. When I finally came around, they were gone. And they had taken Melanie with them.”

“I assume you called the police?”

“Yeah, for what good it did me. They said there was nothing they could do. Technically, Melanie was with her mother. Because I didn’t see who hit me, there was no one to press charges against. The cops said I should give it some time, that they’d probably turn up in a few hours. They never did. I was on my own. I had no choice but to find them myself.”

“Where did you go?” Claire asked. “What did you do?”

“At first I didn’t know where to look for them. Then I thought of the university. I figured if that’s where Anne met these people, there was a chance that’s where she might be. I looked everywhere. I scoured the campus. I talked to her fellow professors, but they claimed they hadn’t seen her since she took her leave.” Martin took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “That was the last time I saw my wife and daughter.”

“So, you believe Anne and the people she was with were part of a cult?”

“I found out two months later that she was. She turned up in Uganda, of all places.”

“Uganda? What was she doing there?”

“Maybe I should re-phrase that. Her dental records showed up in Uganda.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It seems she fled the country, probably the same day I last saw her. It turns out that the people she was with were part of a Christian doomsday cult known as ‘The Movement For The Restoration Of The Ten Commandments Of God.’ Over one thousand people died in a fire that gutted their church in Kanungu, a small town about two hundred and twenty miles southwest of Kampala. Anne was one of them. The local police found over three hundred skulls, including the remains of seventy children. There was no way to tell how many died. The Ugandan government estimated the count at closer to fourteen hundred. They had burned almost all beyond recognition. Most of the bodies had been reduced to ash because of the intensity of the heat and the duration of the blaze. They entered dental impressions from the remains into a database. One of their hits turned out to be a match for Anne.”

“What about Melanie? Was she with her mother? Did she survive the fire?”

“I don’t know. Melanie just… disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

Martin nodded. “I’ve been trying to find her for the last five years. Melanie’s picture and vital statistics are registered with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. I’ve traveled to Uganda twice to look for her. I’ve hired private investigators, posted a web page, and filed missing person’s reports everywhere I can think of. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t curse myself for not listening to my gut instinct about Anne. I just knew that she was involved in something way over her head. If I could have stopped her, she would never have taken Melanie, and we’d still be together today, like the family we were.”

With his last words, Martin’s voice cracked.

They stood in silence, looking out over the tranquil waters, connected in their thoughts. Claire took Martin’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

“You’re a good person, Martin,” she said. “I sense that about you. You’ll find your daughter one day. You have to. It’s that simple.”

“I hope so, Claire,” Martin said. “More than you could know.”

18

CLAIRE RETURNED HOME at one-thirty in the morning. The display on her home phone read VOICEMAIL. Inspector Maddox had called to tell her he had run a search on the partial name she had given him, but was unsuccessful in turning up any leads. He had, however, promised to make a few more calls on her behalf the following day.

Not tired enough to sleep, Claire changed for bed, then went to the kitchen and prepared herself a cup of chamomile tea with honey and lemon. She sat at the kitchen table, thinking of Martin. The experiences they shared were eerily coincidental: the loss of his wife and daughter, she of her parents and sister, both under mysterious circumstances. Before tonight, she knew little of Martin Belgrade. Now, it seems, their lives had become inextricably entwined.

The tea slowly produced its desired effect, and Claire decided it was time for bed. She picked up Martin’s book from the front entrance table where she had dropped it as she retrieved the phone message and walked upstairs. Maybe a little light reading would help her drift off to sleep.

She switched on her nightlight, propped her pillows, and made herself comfortable. She re-read the inscription and smiled, then flipped through the pages of the book, concentrating on nothing, randomly reading a few paragraphs here and there until one chapter caught her attention. Suddenly, her blood ran cold.

The chapter dealt with a lesser-known faction of the cult Martin’s wife had been involved with. The group was called The Brethren and the picture, though grainy, showed members of the cult farming a field.

A