Disappearance at Bear Lake Vol. 01

Cleared my internet history about four times, but I'm still scared the FBI somehow flagged me. Wouldn't be surprised one bit...

Fucking seriously, what am I even doin They were listed as 'Thumb-Screw Clamps'. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with them when they arrive.

Rick CAN NOT find them...

I feel like I'm loosing control over my own des--

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Transcribed from the audio-cassette labeled "Prep. Mrs. Summers #1 [Side B]", provided by Mr. Crumb, who is now a valued friend of the investigation:

Click.

Mrs. Summers: "--saw it first. A cabin, just up-hill a ways from where we stood. Felt like seeing a mirage in a desert."

Interviewer: "I can imagine. Must have been a relief."

Mrs. Summers: "Looked like a small hunting-lodge. Mostly concealed behind pine trees, so I wasn't sure I'd really seen it; but once the dirt path leading upward became visible to me, I knew it was real. I nudged my daughter. 'There', I said, 'behind those trees.' Rachel couldn't see the cabin at first, but by that time I'd already started scrambling up the path. She followed."

Interviewer: "And that's how you met him, right?"

Mrs. Summers: "Please, just let me finish..."

Interviewer: "Yes, ma'am -- I mean, Mrs. Summers. Sorry."

Mrs. Summers: "Erghmm -- Anyway, I'd seen the chimney. That's what had started me running up the path like some wild dog. There were wisps of smoke trailing from it and I knew someone had to be inside. They just had to. And I thought, well, they'd have a phone we could use, maybe, or, like, they'd know the direction to the nearest highway. Anything, we were so desperate."

Interviewer: "What happened then?"

Mrs. Summers: "I honestly thought we'd been rescued, for a few minutes there. Hope is a dangerous drug, but what a high while it lasts. I'd bet few people get to feel that kind of rush in their lives. Sky-diving be damned, I reckon. My legs were shaking and I felt numb by the time Rachel and I made it to the top of the hill. She lost her shoe on the climb, but neither of us turned around to collect it. Once we got to the cabin, we found the place empty. Totally empty. We knocked on the door, but nothing... No response. I tried to look through the windows, but they were all curtained. Eventually, it was Rachel who realized the back door had been left open."

Interviewer: "Did you let yourselves in, then?"

Mrs. Summers: "Well... What would you have done? Wait on the welcome-mat?

Interviewer: "I suppose not."

Mrs. Summers: "At this point, I was honestly starting to think I'd hallucinated when I saw the smoke. I hadn't eaten anything resembling food in a number of days and it can't be ruled out. I might of even had food poisoning from a squirrel, can't be sure. My memories all feel muddied. The water we were drinking definitely wasn't the cleanest, either."

Interviewer: "That's okay, Mrs. Summers. I understand. You're doing the best you could."

Mrs. Summers: "Swell pep talk, mister."

The Interviewer is heard clearing his throat.

Interviewer: "So...Were you hallucinating when you saw the smoke, Mrs. Summers?"

Mrs. Summers: "No... Once we were inside, the first thing I saw was the fireplace. It was a giant fireplace, made of stone, with an open hearth that provided a lot of heat -- just an immense amount of heat, I remember that. There were a few logs left inside it, smouldering away. I knew someone must have been home recently, but they had left, presumably to go hunting. Considering it was still early morning, hunting seemed the most likely option."

Interviewer: "Did you wait for them to return?"

Mrs. Summers: "Well, yes... What else could me do? Rachel started looking around for a phone, anything we cold use to get in contact with Rick. A way to get us both home. I joined in the search, after a brief hesitation. It just didn't feel right to rummage around a stranger's things, even if we were in a life-or-death situation. Y'know? I suppose we'd already broken-in, after-all, so there wasn't much left to lose at that point, right?"

Interviewer: "I guess not. Go on..."

Mrs. Summers: "There was this old European bookcase, across from the fireplace. I've never seen anything like it in my life. I love books, have ever since I was a girl, so I felt drawn to it the moment I laid eyes on it. The first title that stuck-out to me was 'On Human Bondage'."

Interviewer: "Oh, my..."

Mrs. Summers is heard chuckling to herself.

Mrs. Summers: "No, no. I later learnt that particular book isn't actually about bondage at all, but there were plenty of books on that topic occupying the shelf. A number of huge volumes; one titled 'Pain & Pleasure Through the Ages', the other 'Medieval Instruments of Torture'."

Mrs. Summers can be heard lighting a cigarette, then taking a long sip from her coffee.

Mrs. Summers: "I tried not to pay it any attention, I just kept telling myself that I had no right to judge a stranger by their belongings, especially considering I was technically trespassing at the time in question. I've known some guys before -- nice guys, I liked -- who were into all that cheesy sex crap."

Interviewer: "Of course, everyone has their secrets. I know that as well as anyone."

Mrs. Summers: "Yeah, But... The hairs on my neck started standing on end, all the same. It was creepy as all Hell. I felt like I'd stumbled into some horror movie. One of those horror films were the naive teenagers gets lost in the woods and comes across a sadistic serial-killer; except, I wasn't a naive teenager. I'm was an adult, who knew how to take care of herself and her own."

Mrs. Summers is heard sighing, then taking a lingering drag from her cigarette.

Mrs. Summers: "In retrospect, I should have ran away, right then. I should have grabbed Rachel's wrist and ran like the Devil was on our trial."

Interviewer: "What did you do?"

Mrs. Summers: "There was a drawer, at the bottom of the bookcase. I don't know what I expected to find in there. One of those satellite-phones, maybe, or just a radio, something. I opened the drawer and it's full of, well--"

Interviewer: "--Yes?"

Mrs. Summers: "I'm not being a prude, I'm just thinking of the right words to describe it. Have you ever been to a sex store? You know that one aisle, with the leashes, collars, clamps. The BDSM section, I guess."

Interviewer: "Of course."

Mrs. Summers: "It was like that. Except..."

Another drag from her cigarette.

Mrs. Summers: "None of these were 'toys'. They were the real thing. Like something straight out of that book, Medieval Instruments of Torture. A deep drawer, overflowing with the kind of sex toys that only have one person's pleasure in mind.

Interviewer: "That must have been a horrible thing to discover..."

Mrs. Summers: "Like I said, I've seen plenty of sex toys before. Even owned a few, back when Rick and I started feeling the doldrums of our marriage set in. It was the equivalent of seeing a plastic water-gun, then being shown a Smith & Wesson. So, uhm... I picked up these thumb-screw nipple-clamps, because I just wasn't sure what they even were. I guess, in that regard, I can sometimes be naive -- was naive, I mean. And that's when I heard Rachel screaming somewhere behind me. But when I turned around, he sn--"

Click...

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Diary Fragment, Eight of Eight:

--I'm fucking losing my fucking mind. I'm going crazy...

Rachel found out about what I did. Saw the recite for my plane ticket. She knows all about my little "retreat".

We fought, we yelled, then we started to bargain. In the end, I had to buy her a ticket, too. I just had to.

We're booked for this Winter, during the Christmas break. Only two weeks from today.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

I can't believe I want this.

I can't believe I'm going bac--

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To be Continued...

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AFTERWORD:

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If you enjoyed this story (so far), despite the odd format and copious exposition, then let me know in the comments section below and I'll get to work right away on Vol. 2. And if you didn't enjoy this story, feel free to tell me that, too. It's what comment sections are for! And besides, if you've really read this far, I think you've earned the right to vent your frustrations with my writing.

I'm considering switching things up a little for Vol. 2 and perhaps writing the story in a more traditional format, then reverting back to the epistolary style for the finale: Vol. 3. I'd be very curious to hear some of your thoughts regarding that idea. At a certain point, I'm afraid it's going to feel too contrived, spoiling the verisimilitude.

If you're excited to read Vol. 2 and need something to read in the meantime, I'd humbly direct you toward my Literotica profile. I've published a number of stories in the past (plus one poem); but, very soon, I'll be publishing a whole lot more, likely in one batch. This will also include an essay I wrote about the greatest films in the cannon of BDSM cinema. Hopefully, if you enjoyed Vol. 1 of Disappearance at Bear Lake, then you'll enjoy my other stories, too. Some of them even include story-telling gimmicks as unnecessary as this one does!

Well, I suppose this is the point where the two of us have to say goodbye. Until next time, dear reader. I'll be here waiting for you...

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