"You promised!" Fred screamed. "Tell me!"
Curt opened his mouth as though to speak. His lips smiled.
And—he was no longer there.
Fred was alone, with the picnic lunch on the white square of tablecloth, with the gleaming Cadillac a few yards away, with the two white and black spotted cows grazing a short distance away, with the noisy little brook nearby.
Alone....
He became aware of a police siren growing louder. He became aware he was behind a wheel, that there were cars in front of him veering wildly out of his way. The speedometer needle pointed at ninety.
How had he arrived here? He took his foot off the gas. He was driving a Cadillac. Curt's. But Curt was gone. That was it! He had started out to look for the police.
He pulled over to the side of the road as the police car came screaming up. Shakily he told them about the disappearances. Any doubts they might have had were held in reserve by the obvious sincerity of his grief.
He led them back to the picnic grove. The tablecloth with the food on it was still there, untouched. One of the cows was grazing beside it.