My father, may he burn in hell, was not in my life growing up. Although I knew of him, I’d never once met the man.
He’d been homeless, and my parents met while my mother was volunteering at her local soup kitchen. Something clicked between them, and they fell in love. Within a few months of them dating, he moved in with my mother, and it didn’t take long for her to get pregnant with me.
The pressure of having a child was too much for my father to bear, and he became verbally and physically abusive. My mother eventually had him arrested, and he was sentenced to a few months behind bars.
While he was locked up, he got into an altercation with another inmate, and my father killed him. His sentence got upgraded, and he was shipped off to the state prison.
I never visited my father while he was in prison, and when I was old enough to care, I didn’t. My mother was all I needed, and I had no desire to associate myself with a man who had caused her so much physical and emotional pain.
My mother wasn’t perfect, but she did the best that she could. She was there for me and made sure I knew I could always talk to her and that her shoulder was always open to cry on.
She used to hum this song for me whenever she saw I was down, and for some reason, it always relaxed me. Maybe it was because she made it up while I was still brewing in her belly and hummed it all the time.
Whenever the going got tough, she reminded herself—and me when I was old enough to understand—that everything happened for a reason. I don’t know how much she believed that at the time, but that mantra kept her going.
She also continued volunteering at the same soup kitchen where she met my father. She said she felt an obligation to help those less fortunate than her.
Unfortunately, life wasn’t so kind to my mom. My father strangled her when I was nineteen. He’d gotten out on parole, and the first thing he did was visit her. I found her lifeless on the kitchen floor, her neck adorned with black and blue impressions from my father’s fingers.
He was found dead in an alley two weeks later. His body was a mangled mess of ripped flesh and broken bones, and his head had been rotated 360 degrees.
The authorities said that it was the most horrific murder anybody on the force had ever seen, and no one could explain how it happened. They didn’t have any suspects, and nobody was ever charged for the crime, and as far as I was concerned, I didn’t care if they caught the person. He got what he deserved.
My mother’s life, and subsequent death, had a significant impact on me. I wanted to honor her name, so I tried to live my life how she would have.
I didn’t volunteer as she did, but I always kept spare change in my pocket and was more than willing to give someone in need any extra fruit or food that I had.
I also tried to live by my mom’s philosophy of everything happening for a reason, although that was harder to do than being helpful to those less fortunate than me.
I wasn’t as strong as my mother and often dwelled on why things went wrong rather than look at why they might not have been what I needed in the first place.
Over time, I began realizing that my mother was right.
I was an entry-level accountant, and a new job posting went up for a junior accountant. I was more than qualified for the position, but the job was given to the CEO’s son instead.
I was pissed and hated that I was a victim of nepotism, so I put in my two-week notice and found a better, higher-paying job.
In addition to a new job, I matched with who I thought was an amazing woman on Tinder. We messaged back and forth for about two weeks before deciding to go out on a date.
On the night of the date, while running for the bus, I tripped on an uneven patch of pavement and hit the ground hard. Instead of helping me up, two guys walked by and yelled “safe” and “down goes Frazier.”
That was when a woman walked over to me. She helped me up and asked me how I was doing. I felt embarrassed, but she didn’t look at me like a goof. There was a genuine concern in her eyes.
We walked to the bench at the bus stop, and I thanked her again, mainly because I had caused her to miss the bus.
I wasn’t in any condition to go on a date, so I messaged her and told her what had happened. Her response was, “whatever loser.”
When I laughed, the woman next to me asked what was so funny, so I told her.
“Sounds like you dodged a bullet,” she said, and we both laughed. I introduced myself, and she told me her name, Virginia.
We talked until her bus came, and we exchanged numbers. Occasional texts and calls became an everyday occurrence, and we were dating within a month.
After a few months of dating Virginia, I had doubts. I thought about the night we met and what would have happened if I had met up with my Tinder date instead. However, all those doubts were erased when I got sucked in by a sensationalized headline: Millennial Femme Fatale Charged With Multiple Homicides And Feeding Human Remains To Her Dog.
The woman in question romanced men she met on dating apps and then ground them up into pate and fed them to her dog. When asked why she did it, her response was, “my dog was a vegan.”
I scrolled down through the rest of the article and nearly vomited when I saw her mugshot. It was the lady I had to cancel my date with because I was a klutz. That could have been me, and I couldn’t believe how lucky I was.
I knew that Virginia was the one for me, and I proposed to her on our 2nd anniversary. We were married eight months later, and we welcomed Everett into the world two years after that.
The night he was born will forever be burned into my mind. Not because of any complications we had, but because of the local news report we saw while in labor and delivery.
The company that snubbed me on the job promotion had been under investigation by local and state authorities for unsavory business practices. It was also alleged that CEO and his son, who had worked his way up to CFO, were running a Ponzi scheme on the side. Some of the people they defrauded lost their entire life savings.
The CEO and CFO were murdered. Someone broke into their house and disabled the safety protections on the industrial paper shredders they were using to cover up the evidence of their crimes.
Their faces had been pushed into the cross-cutting blades until it looked like poor lattice work on a cherry pie. They soiled themselves post-mortem, giving new meaning to “soggy bottom.”
And once again, I was left with the question of whether that could have been me. I had somehow cheated death twice, and it felt like Virginia and Everett were the reason.
Unfortunately, the birth of Everett put a severe strain on our relationship. We both underestimated the physical and mental toll that being new parents would have on us.
Virginia and I barely talked about anything other than the baby. We consumed ourselves with Everett so that we didn’t have to face our problems.
And I’m a little ashamed to admit it, but I had considered leaving them. Things were just so stressful, and I didn’t know if I could handle it. But then I thought of how hard it was for my mom and didn’t want to subject Virginia to the same struggles.
I began acquiescing more because it was easier than arguing, and I chose not to worry when her attitude was always chippier when she worked late. Maybe she was happy because she accomplished a lot of work, I reasoned.
Everything happens for a reason, right?
Things took a turn for the worse when our son was kidnapped. He was on his way to his afterschool program, and he just disappeared. They searched everywhere in the school, but there was no trace of him.
The police interviewed and cleared all the staff members and any parents who had been at the school during Everett’s disappearance.
Almost everyone. One of the per-diem janitors was missing. He wasn’t on the school grounds or at his last know address. An amber alert was issued, but ultimately, there weren’t any credible leads.
You would not be remiss in thinking that experiencing such tragedy would have brought us closer together, but the exact opposite took place. Everett’s kidnapping drove a wedge further between us.
We both had taken some time off from work to be with each other, but it felt like I was skating on ice so thin that it would break if I ate a bag of crunchy Cheetos.
Virginia and I barely spoke, and as the days passed, she went from blaming me to saying it was too hard to look at me because all she could see was Everett’s face in mine.
It also didn’t help when the police continuously said they didn’t have any leads. We were approaching three weeks, and fewer resources were devoted to finding Everett. Additionally, the janitor, their number one suspect, was still missing.
It got to the point where Virginia argued with me all the time. I understood that she was going through grief, but so was I.
Eventually, she packed a bag and said that she needed some time away from me and would stay with a co-worker.
I tried calling Virginia several times, but she always sent it to voicemail and then texted me after saying she wasn’t ready to talk.
My world was crumbling before me, and I no longer had a reason to live, so I decided to take my own life. I went into the kitchen and grabbed the sharpest knife I owned. I slumped to the floor and closed my eyes as I held the trembling blade against my wrist. I sighed and thought, everything happens for a reason. Maybe I’ll be reunited with my son in the afterlife.
I whimpered and gripped the handle tightly until my knuckles were discolored. A long-forgotten memory came to me as the knife bit into my flesh.
While my mother was teaching me how to ride a bike, I fell and skinned my knee. I was in hysterics, but she held me and hummed that same tune that had calmed me so many times before.
I dropped the knife. As painful as it was, I had to keep on going for Everett. They never found a body, and even though the odds were not in my favor, there was a chance that he could still be alive.
I decided I wouldn’t mope around anymore and went to work the next day. Unfortunately, I was a creature of habit, and I went to my son’s school first. I stood there for a few moments and left before I started crying.
I called my job and said I would be running late, but they told me to take my time. I walked around aimlessly, not paying attention to anything or anyone until I heard a familiar voice say, “it looks like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
I stopped and saw it come from a homeless woman I occasionally saw during my travels. She was always polite, and I often gave her spare change or bought fruit for her—bananas were her favorite.
We greeted each other, and she asked me what was wrong. For some inexplicable reason, I told her. I guess I held on to too much and desperately needed someone to talk to.
When I finished explaining everything, she hugged me and told me everything would be okay; even though I didn’t believe it, it felt nice to hear it from someone else. I felt myself relax a little, and I thanked her for listening before leaving.
I went to work and trudged through the day.
The thought of going home to an empty house had gotten to me, so I cried most of the walk home. I was in a daze, and my body was on autopilot. The only thing that broke me from it was the sound of a child’s laughter coming from the living room.
I ran in there, and my heart jumped out of my chest, and I audibly gasped when I saw my son sitting there, eating a banana sundae and watching cartoons on TV.
“Everett,” I yelled out. He dropped his sundae and jumped into my waiting arms. I squeezed him until he said it hurt. I let the tears flow freely and soak the collar of my shirt. Against all odds, my boy was home.
Once I calmed myself down, I couldn’t help but ask him a barrage of questions.
“Are you hurt?”
“Where were you?”
“Were you scared?”
“Did anybody touch you?”
“How did you get here?”
Everett said he was scared at first, but then “mommy called and said that her friend was a really nice person and was going to take care of me and that she was going to see me real soon.”
Before I could even take in what he said, he continued, “and then mommy finally came and I was happy. But then I asked where you were and mommy said that her friend would be my new daddy but I was sad and I missed you. Every time I asked to see you she would say I couldn’t. Then an old lady came to visit today and she and mommy and mommy’s friend were yelling. I covered my ears and closed my eyes because it was so loud. When they stopped yelling the old said that she would buy me ice cream and take me to see you.”
My mind could not comprehend what was going on, and my thoughts were everywhere. Did Virginia arrange the kidnapping? Why? Who was her friend? Who was the lady that saved my son? How did she even know where I lived?
I called Virginia, hoping to get some answers. It took a few moments for the phone to start ringing, but I heard a muffled sound as it did. It sounded like a phone was ringing.
I followed it to a trunk—one I’d never seen before. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and opened the latches. I stared at it for an eternity before I lifted the lid.
The first thing I noticed was the unmistakable scent of Pine-Sol. The second thing I noticed was my wife’s face and her dead eyes. Her mouth had been stretched open, and a light-brownish liquid filled it. The man next to her suffered the same fate.
Their limbs were bent and broken in different directions to make them fit in there. It was grotesque and looked like some million-dollar edgy expressionist art installation.
I slammed the trunk shut before Everett could see and called the police. Shortly after, they showed up, processed the scene, and asked questions.
The second body was later identified as belonging to the missing janitor. The police ascertained that Virginia had been having an affair with the janitor through phone records, and they planned to run away together with Everett.
The authorities found doctored passports and a large sum of money in the hideout they had been using.
As far as how they were murdered and by whom, there were no leads, and the only thing that Everett could offer was that “an old lady bought me ice cream.”
I thought about the homeless woman and how I had told her what was going on the same day Everett came home, but I quickly dismissed her, as so did the cops.
Although I was grateful to whoever bought my boy home, I was also terrified. What I saw in that trunk defied all logic, and that person had been in our house and knew what my wife and the janitor looked like. They knew what my son looked like.
Had they been stalking us?
How long have they been stalking us?
Were Everett and I going to be next?
I no longer felt safe in our house, so I sold it and moved us to New Hampshire.
I enrolled Everett in a school a week after we moved there. It didn’t take long for him to make new friends in school, and I was glad he was adjusting so quickly.
I found a job relatively quickly as well.
He asked about his mother sometimes, but I told him that she did something terrible and got put in a very long time-out for it.
Overall, life was good. As far as real estate went, you got a lot more for your money, and you weren’t right next to your neighbors.
The months flew by, and Everett’s sixth birthday was approaching fast. He’d been hinting at wanting a bicycle for his birthday, and I obliged.
He woke up early on his birthday and saw the bike waiting for him. He was overjoyed and couldn’t wait to ride it in the backyard. We went out together, and he got it after only a few tries.
Everett said he was thirsty, so I went inside to get him some water and watched him through the kitchen window. I was so proud of him, and it made me smile to see him having so much fun. He had suffered through so much, yet he could still smile and laugh every day.
His laughter turned to sobs when he hit a fallen branch and flew off his bike. I went outside to comfort him, but someone had already calmed him down when I stepped on the back porch.
I called out to them. “Hey, get away from my kid.”
The person turned to face me, and I instantly recognized her. It was the homeless woman.
I slowly approached and said, “look, I appreciate you saving my son. I do, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart, but you need to leave.”
She stood up and approached me.
“Lady, are you deaf now? I want you to leave before I call the cops.”
She just kept walking and smiling at me.
She opened her arms, and I heard that she was humming as she got closer.
I stood there, unable to move my body until she wrapped her arms around me.
I recognized the song that she was humming, and tears fell from my eyes. I buried my face into her shoulder, and she patted my head. Then she spoke.
“Now, now, there’s no need to shed any more tears. Everything is going to be okay now. Don’t you remember what I’ve always told you? Everything happens for a reason.”