'The Rapture,' said Kelly. 'The Fundamental Christian interpretation of several texts from the Book of Revelation. They have it that at the time of the Tribulation, when the Antichrist comes to power, the righteous will be carried aloft to Heaven. Bodily. One moment they will be among us and the next moment, gone. Vanished.'
Derek stared at Kelly and then he stared at Dr Druid. 'You have got to be joking,' he said.
'No,' said the doctor, shakily shaking his head. 'They went, whoosh, gone, vanished. They might be the first, but they won't be the last. But people won't believe the truth. People never do. They'll blame other people. They'll blame me.'
The doctor, now shaking terribly, buried his face in his hands.
'He's taking it well,' said Derek.
Kelly shot him the kind of glance that suggested that his remark was at best indiscreet and at worst, something far more ghastly than that.
'Sorry,' whispered Derek. 'But come on now. This is clearly getting ridiculous.'
'And the waiter's sister? This would be a coincidence I suppose?'
'Could we have a look at the ward?' Derek asked.
Dr Druid unburied his head. 'The ward?' he asked in return.
'Where the patients vanished. There might be clues.'
'Clues?' Kelly whispered.
'Clues!' Derek whispered back. 'There will be an explanation for this.'
'There is,' said Dr Druid. 'It's The Rapture. They vanished at precisely eight minutes past eight, I looked at my watch. I'll just bet that means something, like the Beast 666.'
'Possibly an explanation that does not involve the Coming of the Antichrist and the onset of Armageddon.'
'All right,' said Dr Druid, hauling himself into the vertical plane. Til show you the ward. But it won't do you any good. It's The Rapture for certain and I am not one of the chosen. And if anything, that's what upsets me the most about this. I've spent my life in the service of others. If there was ever anyone deserving of being wafted up to Heaven, then that person is-surely me. It's all so bitterly unfair.'
'Perhaps they're being taken in shifts,' said Kelly. 'I'm sure that if it is The Rapture, you'll be getting exactly what you deserve.'
'That's a comfort,' said the rattled doc. 'I think.'
'Come on,' said Derek. 'Show us the ward.'
A lady, looking pretty in pink, now entered the waiting room.
She tottered on preposterous Doveston holistic shoes with nine-inch platform soles. The platforms of the shoes appeared to be transparent, little pink lights twinkled within, and lit up tiny plastic busts of a guru called Hugo Rune.
The lady in pink came a-tottering up to Dr Druid.
'What have you done with my husband?' she demanded to be told.
'Your husband, madam?' asked the doctor.
'Big Bob Charker, I'm his better half.'
'Ah,' said Dr Druid and his round eyes flickered at Derek.
'He's sleeping,' said Derek. 'He's under sedation, you'd better come back in the morning.'
'Oh,' said Minky Charker. 'So he's all right then? He'll live?'
'Absolutely,' said Derek. Kelly shot him another terrible glance.
'And who are you?' asked Minky.
'I'm a specialist.'
'Really? Are you?'
'Yes, I am.'
'And what do you specialize in?'
'Bullshit apparently,' whispered Kelly. 'I do love your shoes, by the way.' And she smiled upon Minky.
'They're the very latest fashion. Made of poly-synthacarbon dextroglutimatacide. They channel Earth energy right up the back of my legs. I've lost five pounds since I started wearing them this morning.'
'That is surely impossible,' said Derek.
'No, really. I had it in my purse, but I think it must have fallen out. Still, my impetigo's cleared up and my nipples are as hard as a pair of aniseed balls.'
'I'd better have a look at those,' said Dr Druid.
'We should be getting along to the ward,' said Derek.
'Yes we really should,' said Kelly. 'Goodnight to you, Mrs Charker.'
'Couldn't I come to the ward too?' Minky asked.
'Er no,' said Dr Druid. 'I'm afraid not. You can go to my consulting room and disrobe, if you want to.'
'I'm not particularly keen,' said Minky.
'Then goodnight to you madam.'
'Goodnight doctor.'
Dr Druid turned and led Derek and Kelly away to the general ward.
'Oh doctor,' called Minky. 'Just one thing before you go.'
'Yes?' said Dr Druid, turning back.
'Nurse Gavin is my sister,' said Minky.
'Oh,' said Dr Druid, in a low deep long and terribly sorry sort of way.
'Yes,' said Minky. 'And she rang me five minutes ago to tell me that Big Bob has been carried away in The Rapture.'
'Oh,' said the doctor, deeper and lower still this time.
'So one of you is lying,' said Minky. 'And I don't think it's my sister. Bearded women never he; it's a circus sideshow tradition. Like eating quails' eggs when the moon is new, and posting early for Christmas.'
'Oh,' and 'oh,' the doctor said again.
'You'd better come with us,' said Derek.
'I think I better had,' said Big Bob's better half.
Derek gave the general ward a specific looking-over.
He peered under beds, he peered into bedpans, he peered behind curtains and into cupboards. He peered and then he poked about and then he peered some more.
'He'll ruin his eyes with all that peering,' said Minky. 'I had a brother once who used to peer. The wind changed twice and he was stuck with the kind of moustache that only comes off with turps.'
'I'm sure I've heard that line somewhere before,' said Derek, looking up from his peering and poking.
'There's nothing new upon God's Earth,' said Minky. 'Except for The Rapture, of course. That's new, but it has been expected.'
'You believe in it then, do you?' Kelly asked.
'Well you have to believe in something, don't you dear? My uncle used to believe that he was the reincarnation of Jesus. He was a Buddhist, you see. So he had the best of both worlds. He had the stigmata and when we were kiddies, he used to let us put our fingers through the holes in his hands. When he fell asleep we'd fill his holes with plasticine. You don't see plasticine around any more, do you dear? It's gone the way of crazy foam, Potty Putty and X-ray specs. Not to mention the see-back-oscope.'
'The see-back-oscope?' Kelly asked.
'I told you not to mention that!'
'Sorry,' said Kelly, twisting her hair into terrible knots.
'That's an awful nervous habit you have there,' Minky observed. 'You should see a specialist. But not that one doing all the peering. He'll soon be needing glasses.'
