Ryan Wiley - Disappearance

I’ve only stayed at this place one night, but it feels like home. I love the layout; it was as if I designed it myself. While I’m here today there are three things I want to accomplish: take painkillers, nap, and bathe.

I have two bottles of water left, but I haven’t checked the house fully to see if there are more. I look in the pantry then go back in the garage to see if I missed them sitting on the floor somewhere, but they aren’t there either.

I remember the basement had a little bar area, so I go down and look around.

Wow, there’s a ton of booze down here — probably around forty different bottles of whiskey, gin, vodka, and rum. They also have a couple warm bottles of ginger ale soda, which I know from my family get-togethers are an essential ingredient for a good cocktail.

No bottles of water though.

The idea of sitting here and getting slammed is tempting. It would sure put me in a better mood and dull some of my pain. However, I know the alcohol would only dehydrate me more and make me go through my precious two-bottle water supply sooner.

I decide there’s always room for compromise, so I pour myself a shot of the best-looking vodka they have. The burn in my throat feels good, tempting me to pour another shot. I know this is a very bad idea though so I put the bottle back under the bar and go upstairs before I change my mind.

I look around some more but can’t find any more bottles of water. So I head back up to the master bedroom and cozy myself into bed. When I close my eyes I think about how unsettling it is being in a complete stranger’s bed. Who knows what went on here and the last time the sheets were cleaned. It’s gross to think about, so I try to forget about it. I feel the fatigue start to set in. Yesterday was the most stressful day of my life and I think my body is still trying to recover from it both mentally and physically. It’s only a few minutes before I drift off to sleep.

I don’t remember the entire dream — or nightmare I should say — but at the end a man in all black with a shadow for a face pushes Abby over the edge of what looks like a cliff. I can see her falling to the ground, terror in her eyes. Right as she’s about to hit the ground I wake up, back into the world of consciousness.

The pain I feel in my ribs is the worst it has ever been. My rest hasn’t made me feel any better.

I’ve had nightmares for as long as I can remember. Most of them stem from my fear of being shot. It’s not that I feel being shot would be a terrible way to die; in fact, being shot in the head is probably one of the most painless ways to go (besides naturally dying in your sleep, of course).

I think it’s the fear building up to being shot I hate. Seeing an evil person holding a gun at you, and you know death is lurking. That’s the part I don’t like. Abby certainly knows how many bad dreams I’ve had in our years sleeping beside each other. I’ve woken her up countless times in the middle of the night screaming.

I’ve had several dreams where Abby gets shot. I’ve never told her this because I don’t want to scare her, so I always tell her it’s me getting shot. This is the first time I’ve ever had a dream of her getting pushed off a cliff though.

Now that I’m awake, I wonder how long I’ve been asleep. It seems like it’s been forever and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the next day. I go to the bathroom and still think it’s weird the toilet flushes. It makes me feel good, like there’s a tiny part of the world that is still functioning.

I take four more painkillers, sipping on as little water as I can to conserve it for later. I suppose if it comes down to it I can start drinking from the toilet, but I’m not ready to go that route yet and hope I never do.

It’s a bit depressing knowing I have to go through the same routine again to get food and supplies. And, this time I don’t have the comfort of knowing where I’m going. I don’t have the faintest clue where a grocery store is and no way of finding one without wasting precious fuel. Topping it all off, I’m miserable — absolutely miserable with pain in so many areas on my body it’s almost laughable.

I make my way downstairs for a bite to eat. The food options are lacking without a functional microwave so I settle for a half-empty jar of peanut butter. It’s not the most nutritionally balanced meal but it fills me up.

As I’m eating, I realize I still haven’t even looked out and seen the backyard. I get up from the table and put the peanut butter back in the pantry and my spoon in the sink; I’m a classy houseguest.

I can’t find a door that leads to the backyard so I make my way out through the garage — taking my ax just in case. The backyard is small and leads to woods that I can only imagine go back for a long way.

In the middle is a playground set. I never did open all of the doors upstairs to look inside. It looks new, so they must have a younger child.

The kid inside of me can’t help but go over and play on the swings. My butt barely fits in them and when I put all of my weight down I feel the top start to creak and bend. Maybe this isn’t a good idea.

I walk to the end of the backyard and then I see it, a small creek! Never in my life have I been this excited to see a creek. I can finally bathe and get rid of this awful body odor. I walk down and feel the water; it’s cool but not too bad.

I race my way back into the house to grab a couple towels, shampoo, and soap. As I walk past the kitchen on my way back out, I think about whether this water is something I can drink. I’m not sure, but my guess is it won’t kill me. I’d rather have some dirty water than nothing at all. I grab a bottle from one of the cabinets and make my way back to the creek.

Before I bathe, I decide it’s a good idea to fill my water bottle up first. As disgusting as I am, one bath will probably contaminate this entire creek.

I fill it up and decide to take a drink to see what it tastes like. If it’s just a small sip, how much harm can it do?

The water is cool to my lips, but tastes like the standard water you would get from the tap. I take another sip for good measure and decide this is likely more than adequate drinking water. I only wish I would have grabbed more bottles, but I’m too lazy to go back.

As I strip down naked, a new feeling excites me. I’ve never been completely naked out in the open like this before. Not that I’m ashamed of my body, but I can’t help feeling a little scared of someone coming by and seeing me.

It’s a warm day but the wind is cold. A gust blows by and gives me goose bumps throughout my body. I step into the creek, which is only a couple feet deep, and get down on my knees to submerge as much of my skin as possible. The soap feels amazing as I cleanse myself. The cold water also numbs some of my pain.

When I’m done I feel great, the best I have in days. It’s amazing how much your mood and body improve after bathing. I wrap myself in towels and dry off, then put my clothes back on. I do a full walk around the house to see if there are any other hidden gems I’ve been missing. They have a huge satellite dish in their side yard, which gets me excited until I remember it’s not much use without a functional TV. My tour ends when I make my way all the way around the house and into the garage. I put my supplies — except for my ax — into the house and decide it’s nice enough outside to enjoy the fresh air. Before I go out, though, I open the car door to check the time – two o’clock.

I think back to my cat theory. If it’s true, then a couple hours from now I’ll have a little visitor. I think if that happens, my strange theory will be finalized. There isn’t a living, breathing creature in sight from what I can tell. No ants crawling, no bugs flying through the air. No birds chirping. No fish in the creek.