“Oh, Heron!” Hecuba interrupted. “Will you get off your soapbox and get on to Jan?”
“I’m coming to him, m’dear. Jan, I should tell you that we found all your records in Zworkin’s files in the mansion. Added to what Sergeant Bricker and Bill Zorn have been able to dig up during the past week, we have the whole story. But just telling you isn’t the right thing for you. It should come from your own mind. Now, by this time you’ve no doubt that there’s Aragon blood in you.”
“It—it’s pretty evident,” Jan mumbled.
“I see you’re still upset by what you did to Helga. Well, don’t be. It’s better that she and Leopold finish their lives as morons, than to be locked up for a few years and then turned loose to start their rotten work all over again.”
“Maybe so,” Jan admitted. “But I hate knowing that I have that awful ability—”
“That’s good, for then you won’t abuse it. You’ve read the book, so you know that no one of our blood ever has. You must look upon it as something given you for defense, like a cat’s claws. And you must remember that the power you generate depends upon the violence of your emotions. Take those blackbirds I used to kill when I was a kid. I did it only because they used to drive away the bluebirds. The very sight of one—”
Heron shrugged. “The thing is, you could never have brought Helga to her knees so quickly if Ginny hadn’t meant so much to you.”
Ginny’s cheeks began to pink, and Hecuba said quickly, “I was in the back seat of the car and saw it all. I know I’m vindictive, but I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. And those doctors who’ve examined them simply can’t understand—”
Otis wailed, “When are you gonna regress him? I wanna know—”
“We’re not going to regress him,” Heron said. “We’re simply going to ask him questions.”
“I suggest,” said Hecuba, “that you let Ginny do the questioning. She was with him when he got that shock on the wall, and she knows what’s been going on in his mind.”
Ginny rubbed a freckle on her cheek, then said quietly, “You’ve already put most of it together, Jan. But let’s start with the Glendale station where I first saw you. When you escaped that day and ran away, why were you so anxious to get to the station?”
“To meet you,” he said.
“Me?” she exclaimed. “But how—”
“I had to get there before you left on the train,” he told her. “You see, you were the only clue I had in the world. I’d overheard Big Doc and Helga talking about the two of us, and I knew you’d be at the station on a certain day at a certain time. So getting to the station before you left became the most important thing in my life. But because of Matilda, I’d forgotten everything else by the time I got there.”
“I had a feeling it was something like that,” said Heron. “But go on, Pet.”
Ginny said, “Tell me your mother’s name again.”
“Teresa.”
“And your father’s?”
“Raoul.”
“Your father’s last name?”
“Er—uh, Riggs. But no, it can’t be Riggs.”
“Why not?”
“Because Riggs is dead.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I—I saw him … killed.”
“How was Riggs killed?” Ginny asked very quietly.
“He—he—he—it happened on a bus. A small bus like a van, with seats in the back.”
“What happened?”
“We—we were being taken somewhere at night. We’d been in a boy’s home of some sort, a real tough place, but they were glad to get rid of us because Brice was always causing trouble, and I was always running away. Bolinsky was driving the bus, and Big Doc and Helga were following in a car. They’d given us shots to put us to sleep, but I woke up before Brice did, and—and—”
“Jan, what happened?”
“The bus had stopped, and Big Doc had come inside. He had what looked like a jack handle in his hand, and he hit Brice with it. Then they took me out and let the bus run off the road, down what seemed like a high embankment …”
There was a silence. Then Heron said, “We had an idea it was something like that. Go on, son.”
“That’s all I know, because they gave me another shot, and when I woke up I was in a tiny cell somewhere.”
“Marysville,” muttered Heron. “Because, having become Brice Riggs, and a homicidal maniac according to your papers, as well as a state resident, you had to clear through them.”
“Anyway, the next time I woke up, they were taking me out of Matilda, and I didn’t know much of anything. I’d forgotten what happened on the bus, and didn’t begin to remember it till after I got that shock on the wall.”
“Then you started remembering your father,” Ginny reminded him. “What was his last name?”
“Riggs—no, of course not. That’s from Big Doc’s tape recording I had to listen to in my sleep. If you’ve found out my full name, why don’t you just tell me?”
“Naw,” said Otis aloofly. “That would be poor therapy. You gotta do your own remembering.”
Ginny said, “Your mother’s name was Teresa, and you know she was Spanish. Were you christened Jan?”
“Er—no. She called me that because my father liked it. But she didn’t write it that way in the Bible.”
“How did she write it?”
“J-u-a-n. Oh! I was really named Juan.”
“How did she write the rest of it?”
“I think it was T-r-e—”
“Go on.”
“T-r-e-m-a-i-n-e.
There was a dead silence while they all looked at him. “Tremaine,” he said slowly. “I’m Juan Tremaine. But who—”
Then his mouth came open in shock as he remembered. “Why, I—I must be your cousin! The Tremaine cousin you told me about, that you thought had been killed …”
“Yes,” said Hecuba, dabbing quickly at her eyes. “You’re the last Tremaine. They disguised it as Aragon in the book, but the real name is Tremaine. Our mother was one, so we’re your family. You—you must call me Cousin Heck.”
“You’re not calling me Cousin Heron,” growled her brother. “You’re calling me Pops like the others do.”
Ginny smiled tremulously and touched his hand under the table. “Welcome home!” she said.
About the Author
Alexander Key (1904–1979) started out as an illustrator before he began writing science fiction novels for young readers. He has published many titles, including Sprockets: A Little Robot, Mystery of the Sassafras Chair, and The Forgotten Door, winner of the Lewis Carroll Shelf Award. Key’s novel Escape to Witch Mountain was adapted for film in 1975, 1995, and 2009.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1979 by Alice Towle Key
Cover design by Jesse Hayes
ISBN: 978-1-4976-5252-1
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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The Case of the Vanishing Boy Page 14