The Vanishing Point Read Free

been very generous with the library. I have to ask their permission before we can do anything/’
    â€œThen what?”
    â€œHopefully, they’ll allow us to keep the journal at the center and make it available to scholars, as they have the other papers.”
    â€œThe journal is a major find. It should be published and read by everyone,” Tim said.
    He’d had five hours to think about this while driving down from Utah. Claire had had only a few minutes, and she hadn’t even considered publication yet. “Well, of course, publication would be an option if the family is willing. UNM Press would be the logical choice.”
    â€œNot them!” Tim cried. “The journal should reach a wider audience.”
    â€œI don’t know, Tim. It’s been more than thirty years since Jonathan Vail disappeared. The journal is news here, but not everywhere.”
    Tim tugged at his bandanna. “It would be fair if my name appeared on the book, since I was the one who found the manuscript.”
    They were both in a publish-or-perish profession. If Tim intended to be an academic, having his name on such a prestigious publication when he was so young would jump-start his career. It would also be a coup for Claire, who was considered a member of the faculty and, as such, was required to publish. “It is a possibility, but it’s premature to be talking about publication. As I said, there are other things that need to be taken care of first.” Claire stood up. “Thank you so much for bringing this to me, Tim. It will be wonderful for the center.”
    â€œThis is where it belongs,” Tim said. “Will you call me when the copies are ready? I want to read all of it.”
    â€œOf course.”
    After Tim left, she slid the notebook back into the briefcase and balanced the package in her white-gloved hands, reveling in the center’s good fortune. Claire had been a librarian for twenty-five years and had never held a document she valued so much. She wanted to read it, authenticate it, solve the mystery of Jonathan Vail’s disappearance. But first she had to copy the journal and report the discovery to Harrison Hough, the director of the center.
    She took the journal to the Xerox machine, placed each page carefully on the glass, and made a copy. Then she copied the copy. There was a lot of white space in the notebook. Only sixty pages had writing on them, and some had precious little. The handwriting appeared to be Vail’s, but occasionally the script turned larger and sloppier, as it did on the final page. When the journal was published—and Claire was sure it would be—it would make a very slim book. The size wouldn’t matter to Vail scholars. To them the journal would be an electrical charge from a phantom limb, Jonathan Vail’s message from another era.
    Once the copies were made, Claire wanted to return to her office, lock the door, close the blinds, turn off the phone, shut down the computer and read, but she picked up the copies, the notebook, and the briefcase and carried them down the hall to the director’s office. She was still wearing the white gloves, an obvious indication that she was holding an important document, even to an administrator as obtuse as Harrison Hough, who, at the moment, was talking to a colleague. Claire stood outside the doorway and waited until they finished their conversation. Harrison had the only office at the center with exterior windows. They were high up, near the ceiling, and while the sky could be seen through them, students walking by could not. When it turned dark, Claire had the impression a black cat rubbed its back against the glass. As soon as the colleague, Ralph Monroe, said good-bye to the director and headed for the door, Harrison glanced at his watch.
    â€œThat looks important,” Ralph said, indicating the briefcase.
    â€œIt is,” Claire replied.
    She entered the office, closed the door