Disappearance Read online

  I trace my thoughts back to what food I do have left at the house. I'm stocked full of stuff in the pantry with an almost lifetime supply of canned beans. But, I realize, those would be pretty disgusting without a microwave. I do have a few things left in the refrigerator, mainly a bit of sliced ham I could use to make a sandwich. That seems like my best course of action for now until I figure out what's going on and why nobody seems to be out today.

  As I make my way home, I observe plenty of cars and trucks still parked in people's driveways. Is this out of the ordinary? Maybe there are always a lot of cars parked even when the power is out.

  I pull into my driveway and reach up and press the garage door opener, forgetting about the power again. I get out of my car and go through my newfound, annoying routine of opening it the old fashioned way. As I open the door, my optimistic personality starts to kick in as a little part of me is expecting Abby to be here.

  "Honey, you there? Hello! Hello!" There's still no answer. My patience is starting to boil, and it's getting very frustrating. Why didn't she leave a note telling me where she was going? If she did carpool with a coworker, why didn't she kiss me goodbye?

  As I go to the fridge, I realize I need to open and close the door as quickly as possible to leave the cold air in because who knows how long the power will be out. It's the middle of fall in Ohio, so the temperature is usually around the 50s or 60s. It's already starting to cool down in the house, and I'm not a big fan of cold weather. If the power was on and I was home the thermostat would be set on a nice, warm seventy-five degrees.

  As I take the ham out, I see there are about two "my size" servings left. I don't really care about conservation though at this point because I'm starving. I'm going to demolish this jumbo-size sandwich with no regrets. While I'm eating, I go into game-plan mode.

  What kind of place would be open, even when there's no power? I'm guessing the police station might be a good place to begin. I would hope people's safety is a 24/7 job even with no power. Maybe they know exactly where the power is out. If it's just in this area, I could head outside of town and reach a pay phone to check up on Abby.

  Now that I think about it, that would be logical. If a coworker picked Abby up and carpooled to work and they have electricity at their office, it would make perfect sense that she hasn't been concerned or tried to call. Not that she could reach me anyway. I'm now convinced that is what happened. After all, she does have two close friends, Anna and Kristie, who make the same daily commute. Anna and Abby work at the same company, a nursing home where they both assist the elderly. I can't even remember what Kristie does. I know Abby has told me about where she works before but I remember it being kind of confusing. Whatever it is, I do remember that it's very close to where Abby and Anna work.

  I've always thought that it's crazy that all three of them ride separately to work. If I had their commute, being a passenger two-thirds of the time would be much more to my liking. I would have forty-five minutes both ways to read or get some productive work done. I've asked Abby about this, and she says Anna and Kristie have different work schedules. Anna often has to stay later because she has more people to take care of. Kristie, I believe, has to do some traveling during the day, so sometimes she isn't nearby when it's time to come home.

  This is what Abby has told me, but I think the honest answer is she likes her long commute. Abby is a very emotional and attached person. It's hard for me to understand why she chose nursing for the elderly as a profession. "I just love old people," she says. I will admit that I have been at her work before and seen her in action and she is terrific at what she does. Many of the patients barely have an idea of what's going on but she somehow manages to make them smile. It's a job I can't imagine myself doing, as I'm nowhere near the people person she is. Give me a computer, Wi-Fi, and an empty room and I'm happy.

  I've always thought about how great it would be if you had solitary confinement in prison. The only outside communication would be someone pushing food and water in through a little hole in the door. Of course I wouldn't want to be stuck in a room forever. I would need to have some sunlight or I would go crazy. But if I could live in solitary confinement and somehow sweet-talk the guard into giving me a laptop and Wi-Fi, that would be paradise!

  Abby couldn't last through that scenario for an hour. She would get so bored and become so desperate for human contact, I picture her running full-speed into the door trying to get out.

  I think Abby uses her solitary commute home as a way to think about the elderly patients she works for. It's always very hard on her when one of her patients dies. I can always tell when she gets home if this has happened. She does everything she can to hide her sadness but I always know. When she has a good day though, it's equally as obvious. She seems to glow the entire night as I listen to her tell crazy stories about what her patients did that day. I'm sure this violates some kind of privacy regulation, but I'll bet ninety-nine percent of doctors and nurses are doing the same thing when they get home.

  I make my way toward the bathroom. Before I begin to do my business though, I think about whether this is a good idea or not. Will the toilet flush without electricity? I feel like such an idiot for not knowing this -- if only I could do one quick Google search and know the answer for sure. Unfortunately, at this point in the bathroom process I'm going to have to learn first-hand what the answer is. As I finish up my darker-than normal-bathroom experience, I move my hand over the flusher. I pause and take a deep breath, "Here goes nothing" and press down. Much to my delight, I watch the water swirl around and make its way down into the depths below.

  Now that I have everything in order and a full stomach, it's time to make a decision on my next course of action. Before I leave and waste gas, especially considering I'm not sure if gas stations are working now, I think I'm going to ring on a few more neighbors' doors and see if they happen to know anything. If there's a reason besides the power being out that everyone seems to be staying home now, I'd very much like to know about it.

  I have never even seen most of my neighbors. For all I know they could be alien zombies who feed on nearby children. Before I go ringing doorbells, I need to decide what I'm going to say. I don't think it's a good idea to start off, "Hey, I'm your neighbor you've never met. I was just checking in because I'm bat-shit paranoid right now and I think my wife has disappeared!" Yeah, that approach probably wouldn't go over well. Even though I've never met these people, I don't want to make a bad first impression.

  I tell myself to be as honest as possible, without giving away too many details. I'll say that I'm their neighbor because there's no reason to lie about that. Then, I'll ask them if their power is out? Yeah, that would be a good opening line. It gives us something to complain about and make small talk. I'll then tell them that I've been driving around town this morning and nobody seems to be out. Maybe they'll know something about that. OK, that sounds like a good conversation plan.

  Now that I have everything figured out, I know I better take action now. I've learned over the years that the more I think about something, the more I begin to procrastinate on it. I have no reason to wait any longer, so it's go time.

  I put on my jacket and make my way to the neighbor across from Dave's house. This should be interesting.

  Chapter 3

  I ring the doorbell on the first mystery neighbor's house. As I do, I think about whether I've ever seen this neighbor before. From what I can recall, I never have. A few of the neighbors I've seen grabbing their mail, or opening their garage door to leave their house, but with this house neither has happened. This makes me wonder why I picked this house to begin with.

  I listen closely to try to hear footsteps. I'm honestly anticipating this to be the case but I hear nothing. I ring the doorbell again. I imagine what I would do if someone rang my doorbell at this time of day. One ring I definitely wouldn't answer, two rings might get me off my chair. Again I'm shy, and I also assume nine times out of ten the person at the door is s
omeone trying to sell me something. And ten out of ten times, it's something I'm not going to buy.

  If someone rings my doorbell three or four times, I'm off my chair ready to admire this person's tenacity. Which is why I begin venting my frustrating on this neighbors doorbell when they don't answer after a dozen rings. Unless this neighbor is deaf, they really must not be home.

  OK, door number one is a bust so let's try door number two. Again, this is a neighbor I've never seen or met before. I forget what I plan on saying if they do answer. Something about the power outage and being their neighbor and that I'm crazy. Got it. As I ring this doorbell, I'm now starting to notice I can't actually hear the doorbell making a sound. It's been a long time since I've rung a doorbell, but I'm almost positive you can hear the "ding dong" from the outside of the house.

  Then it occurs to me again that the power is out! Do doorbells even use electricity to function? I imagine so. I resort to excessive pounding on the door. As hard as I'm hitting the door, I'm guessing it's just as loud as the doorbell. If they are home, they should be able to hear this even upstairs.

  I remind myself again that people do work at this time of day, but then remember nobody is out on the roads either!

  I make my way to doors three, four, and five and get the same result. I go across the street, and knock on doors six through ten. Still nothing. This has to just be a coincidence. I persevere and knock on doors eleven through twenty-five. This covers my entire street so I make way to the next street over. Defeat is starting to creep in, not to mention a throbbing in my hands. I had to switch to using my left hand after door ten. I fight through the pain because, without any cars out, somebody has to be home. Somebody has to be sitting around in their pajamas waiting to answer their door. It's now that my worry scale goes from a five to six range to an eight or nine and quickly making its way to a 10. This isn't making any sense.

  I hate to say it, because it sounds too ridiculous to think, but did everyone somehow disappear? I quickly dismiss the thought because there's no way this could be true. There has to be a logical explanation for this, although it's becoming graver and graver what that may be.

  I make my way to the next street over to decide which house I'm going to try first. I decide on the nice two-story brick house with a tree in the front, perfectly mown and fertilized lawn, and a kid's rubber ball still on the front porch. They also have a nice black SUV in the driveway. As I get ready to knock, I take a deep breath and think this is going to be it. The craziness ends now when this person opens the door and explains what is going on. I knock on the door, again with complete confidence that someone is going to answer. Even knocking two, three, and four times I know they're going to answer. It's not until knocking five and six times that I start having doubts. And then knocking seven and eight times is when I know nobody is going to answer that door. I shrug it off and make my way to the house next door. Somebody has to be home. It's a numbers game, and that's all. I knock on the door, waiting and hoping, but nobody answers.

  Now I start adding a thorough check through each window to my inspection process. Most windows I find have the blinds closed and do me little good. Some windows though have blinds that are only half closed or even completely open. For each window that I can see through it's more of the same.

  The inside of the houses are, for the most part, clean and tidy with the occasional newspaper or shirt left out, but nobody is home. It's as if they were there last night, but gone today. I don't know if this realization makes me feel good or depresses me further. I suppose if every house was either in 100% spot-on condition, or if every house was completely empty of belongings, that would be a lot scarier -- scary movie type stuff. No, there must be a plausible explanation for this. I just haven't figured out what that is.

  After I've knocked on around forty houses, I decide it's no longer a coincidence. I'm now convinced that nobody is home anywhere in this neighborhood. I don't know where they are or why they left, but I know they are no longer here. I try to calm myself down after coming to this conclusion. I keep telling myself there is a logical explanation for this and I can't wait to laugh later when I find out what it is.

  If there were ever a person who would remain oblivious to what's going on, it would have to be me. After all, I haven't watched a news program in my entire adult life. I never look at or read any online news sites. Occasionally, I'll walk past a newsstand where I glimpse at the main headline. That's about it for me as far as keeping up with the news. I overhear coworkers discussing current events so, in a way, you could say that's how I keep up with the news. I just never found much interest in it -- too depressing for me.

  With that, I make my way back to my house. I've spent the last couple of hours knocking on doors in the middle of the day on a weekday. I laugh a little at how silly that sounds. I normally like to follow a very detailed and structured routine, so this day has been quite the experience for me.

  Before I enter my house, I check the gas gauge in my car to help with my decision process of what I'm going to do next. It looks like I still have about a half tank but I think the first thing I should do is stop by a gas station anyway. I have a very good feeling that, without power, gas stations aren't going to work. How could they? You do, after all, need electricity to display those dollars climbing higher and higher. Maybe by some miracle though the displays are battery operated and the gas gets filled into your car by a non-electric pump. Just thinking this makes me realize how far fetched it sounds. The gas station probably isn't going to work, but I still want to check it out first hand just to be sure.

  The intrigue has me overwhelmed now, and I decide I must find out the answer. There's a gas station about two minutes and twelve seconds from my house, so it's a quick round trip I can make. If I weren't convinced that there's a good explanation why nobody is around, I wouldn't make the trip. I would save every last ounce of gas I have.

  I pull out of the garage, not even bothering to pull the garage door down. On a normal day and a normal situation, I'm very cautious about leaving the garage door up. My car has a long history of being broken into. I join the long list of people who have had their CD players stolen. Another time, I had my car broken into for nothing more than the change that was visible in the cup holder. This thief's $2.27 robbery cost me a $500 out-of-pocket deductible to fix the car lock they ripped open. It would have offended me less if they had stolen something valuable.

  There isn't much to steal in my garage anyway. It's big enough to fit my and Abby's car and that's about it. I do have a ladder, an edge trimmer, and a snow blower but I wouldn't lose a minute of sleep if those were stolen. I suppose it's the principle behind getting robbed that makes me want to prevent it by any means necessary. I rarely get upset but thieves seem to anger me more than anything. Abby feels the same way. If we had it our way, anyone who was convicted of stealing on more than one occasion would be sentenced to getting his or her hands chopped off. On the first offense we'd settle for a finger or two.

  Pulling out of the driveway with the garage door still up speaks volumes to my confidence that nobody is around. As I make my way to the gas station, I'm already starting to regret my decision, even though it's only a five-minute trip. I push down hard on the accelerator and listen to the roar of my Chevy Cavalier's little four-cylinder engine. With nobody around, this is the first time I've felt the urge to be disdainful toward the law. I speed through the first stop sign and feel a rush of excitement. I can do anything I want now and nobody will know or care. I make my way to the gas station in record time -- twenty seconds faster than normal. I pull into the first available spot and look out my window with high anticipation. My fate and my next course of action depend heavily on what I'm about to witness. What I see is my worst fear; the display is empty. There's no power.

  Still, I get out of my car, twist off my fuel cap and grab the gas hose. A couple drips of gas fall off the nozzle as I put it into my tank. I push up on the lever but I can tell nothing is coming ou
t. I immediately look around as if to find some solution to this problem. Is there somewhere I can go where I can manually pump the gas? Nothing I see gives me that impression; I'm completely out of luck. Wherever I'm going to go, it better be close and I better have a good reason for going because now I only have about 130 miles of total driving left with this car. I know this, not because my car has any of those fancy mileage-prediction features but because I've driven my car for 150,000 miles now and I know almost down to the exact mile how far it will go with this amount of gas left. You start to pay attention to these things after you run out of gas four times in a span of two years. It's a dumb accomplishment that should also be worthy of getting your hands (or your head) chopped off.

  What should I do now? In the worst case scenario, I can try to break into people's garages and see if they have a gas tank I can "borrow." I'm nowhere near that point of desperation yet though.

  Seeing that there's no hope at the gas station and I have no further ideas left to explore here, I get back in my car. I take one last look at the gas station's mini-mart thinking about what I could do if I somehow broke into the store. Would I be able to turn on the pumps then? I realize there's nothing I could do. There's no electricity and no key to some magical gas door.

  I think about other places I could get gas. Growing up I worked at a golf course. Those carts used gas. I know because part of my job was to fill them up every couple of weeks. It's a great idea but the course where I worked is two hours away.

  I decide to file that away into the "try later" category if things get desperate. I'll go to the nearest golf course and attempt to steal gas from the pumps. There are four golf courses within ten miles of my house, two of which I know use gas carts.

  I pull out of the gas station and decide there's nothing further I want to explore for now. I've learned now that gas is at a premium so I don't want to waste any more. On my quick commute home, a realization occurs to me... silence. I normally like to listen to the radio on the way to work because driving in silence makes me go crazy.