I usually look forward to my birthday, but today was different. You see, my mom and I recently moved back to her hometown, approximately 3 hours from our previous home. I’ve already coped with the idea of spending it with family I rarely see, rather than my friends that were left behind. The problem was the bittersweet news my mom revealed to me.
“I know it’s been 15 years, but I think it’s time you met your father. We’re the only ones he has left to think of as family.”
I found her demeanor ironic. She looked as if she just gave me the best present ever. “I guess,” I replied.
She sensed the solemn tone in my voice and reassured me that he wanted to be in my life and had his reasons as to why he couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine a valid excuse for him not to be, but I just gave a lukewarm smile for lack of a better response. “I’m going to the creek, at least, until everything is set up.” She nodded her head in compliance. The creek was a getaway of mine. I have a knack for exploring and stumbled upon it by chance. When I mentioned it to my mom, she was clueless which I found odd considering this was her childhood home. Taking into account that my grandparents weren’t the type to go walking in the woods, I like to think I’m the only person to gaze upon this utopia. Well, that’s until I happen to see another person with his back turned, stomping out a small fire.
I was startled, to say the least, and hid behind a tree wondering who the hell was this guy. He turned around, looking, as if he expected someone. Not even a second later, he shouts, “I know you’re here! No need to hide!” Instantly the butterflies from the sight of this man evolved into full-fledged fear. His voice was so intimidating, yet calm; like a person who knew they couldn’t be rivaled. I wanted to race home as fast as I could, but my feet wouldn’t mimic my heart. I just stood there and watched for a few more seconds. His confident tone didn’t match his body language. I noticed he wasn’t staring in my direction, but instead the direction I usually came from. That’s when the hair on my arms started to relax and the goosebumps I previously conjured began to ease back into my skin. I began to question if he actually knew of my existence or if he was waiting for another.
“I mean no harm, I promise. My name is John! May you please come out?”, he bellowed.
I don’t know why, but I gained a sense of trust after hearing that. Still wondering how he ever had noticed me from 50 yards out; I shouted back. “My name is Jonathan, how did you know I was here?”, remaining hidden as I spoke. He turned around, but to no avail did he see me.
“Nice to meet you, Jonathan,” he replied while still clearly on alert.
I eased my way out the bush, brushing leaves and twigs off my body. “That doesn’t answer my questions. How did you know I was here and more importantly how do you know about this creek?”
Now standing face to face, he grinned and replied with, “I’ve been here many of times since a teen. Today marks 15 years, if I’m correct.”
I called his bluff immediately, “ha, 15 years, you can only enter back here through that way,” pointing in the direction of my home.
“You’re right, that is the only way. Also, I’m not wrong, nor did I come from that way. There’s a lake just opposite of here. That’s where the creek leads to and that’s where I gathered these fish from.”
I interjected, “well that explains the fire. I was also unaware of a lake nearby, but that doesn’t explain how you came undetected. This property has been private for years and I’ve been coming back here for a month straight. Look me in my eyes and tell me the truth!” I spoke with authority.
As he prepared his response, we locked eyes, but came to a halt. Suddenly, I felt a deep searing pain forming in my head. My vision started to give out and my nose started to bleed profusely. I dropped to my knees watching blood droplets hit the ground, wondering why he hadn’t thought to help. My thoughts were so clear. That’s when I realized I couldn’t hear anything, but my thoughts alone. The pain seemed to sharpen as my thoughts became clearer and louder. It was the perfect form of self-torture. How could one silence their very conscience? As my vision fluctuates in a constant attempt to adjust, I notice a blood puddle forming parallel to mine. I looked to see John mirroring me as if we shared bodies. His face wore such grimace…such…pain, seemingly un-imaginable, but only seemingly; for I knew whatever he felt I felt as well. He reached out as if he was attempting to latch onto me for comfort then… darkness.
When I came to, it was clear that the sun was ready to clock out for the day. “Mother must be worried sick about me,” I muttered groggily, as I achingly rose from the ground. I surveyed the area once my memory reforged. There he was, laying on the ground, but near a freshly lit fire. “Are you ok, John?” I asked with great concern.
He rebutted jokingly, “I should be asking you the same.”
I chuckled a bit, “yea I suppose you’re right. I guess there’s a reason why a man should never look in another man’s eyes,” I continued. We just stared at one another and laughed. “Hey, John?” I sobered up, “How long have you lived here in Mississippi?”
“My whole life. Mississippi that is. But as far as this town, I’m not even sure. And you?” he questioned back.
“I was here until 4 years of age then moved about 3 hours away on the coast. I recently moved back here a month ago,” I explained before pivoting topics, “I’m still curious. How did you know I was here as soon as I arrived without hearing me?” His answer made me question how much I should really trust him.
“Because it was 5:45.” 5:45…that’s something only I could know. You see, I routinely come out at that time every day since finding this place. It’s when the breeze feels the best.
“Just how long have you been watching me?” I spoke accusingly.
He prolonged his sentence as if never hearing me; Expression never changing, “it’s when the day is at its coolest and the world seems to go quiet. That’s one thing you will always appreciate about the country.”
“I…I’m sorry about the outburst. This is all weird to me,” I explained. “But I trust you.”
“It’s ok, I get where you’re coming from. I just don’t have much time to explain, plus today has been a rough day.”
“Speaking of rough, what did you do to get that mean-looking cut on your hand? Did you get it earlier when you dropped to the ground?” I asked.
“Oh, yea this? I gotten it earlier before that. Fishing isn’t easy when you are without a rod.”
I brushed off the sense of pretension that came with that statement and continued to ask what I really wanted to know. “How did you get that huge scar if you don’t mind me asking,” pointing at his forehead.
“Let’s just say I didn’t have the best dad growing up. Today marks 15 years now.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to… I- ”
“It’s ok. I’m 30 now,” He interrupted, “I’ve had plenty of time to grieve and today happens to be the day that I decide to stop living in the past.”
I tried to break the awkward silence, “Happy birthday John. My mom happens to be 30 as well, and what do you know, we have the same birthday.” He gave me a smile and a happy birthday back. “I guess that makes us twins,” I joked. I immediately notice that we sort of look alike aside from the height and the scars. Almost identical to one another, to be exact.
Before I could speak again, he said, “you know, I have a son with your name as well. He’s my little mini-me. Unfortunately, my wife must keep me updated while I’m away. I wish my mom could see him now, may her soul rest.” Adding to the list of questions; I asked him how old his son was, and why couldn’t he see him. I don’t know why, but I even asked him about what had happened to his mother. His face appeared to take on a more serious look from what I could make out in the dark. His tone was the definite confirmation, “it’s personal.”
“Oh right, sorry. You know, I always wondered what it was like to have a dad that was caring. I never saw mine before. My mom had me when she was 15, and he has been out of her life since. She had the nerve to think seeing him now would be a great ideal. She even had the excuse of saying that it wasn’t his choice to not be in my life. To be honest I don’t know if it’s worth it or not. You know? I don’t even know his first name,” I spoke ventingly.
“That’s some tough stuff, kid. You seem to be doing just fine to me. You must have a strong woman for a mom,” he replied reassuringly.
“Thanks man, I do actually. Speaking of which, I should be getting home. She’s going to be pissed that I missed out on my own party.”
As I headed towards the path home, he stopped me. “Hey, kid? Don’t give up on your father just yet. I’m sure your mother wouldn’t lie to you. Life has a lot of unexpected moments and sometimes us adults have to do things for the sake of another, even if it means missing out on part of our child’s life.”
“Yea, I’ll keep that in mind,” I said with a smile.
“Now, we both should get going,” John emphasizes. Suddenly, I got this eerie sensation. I couldn’t help but feel like I was being watched; watched by someone other than John. “Shhh, you hear that?” John spoke in a soft, but alert tone. For the moment we were mannequins after closing; but that moment was short.
A loud voice called out, “Freeze! Make this easier on yourself, Bates.”
“Bates?” I thought to myself, “what do they want with me?” Without a hint of hesitation, John swept me off my feet and ran at a rate that I never thought was possible as shots fired. Startled by the spontaneous event, I remained speechless as John juked and jive his way farther into the woods.
“Listen to me kid,” he said, clearly exhausted. “There are people willing to do anything for what they want. I happen to have what they want.” I remained silent. “Promise me one thing Jonathan.” As if on queue, I saw the moon reflect off the ground so clear and vividly. “Don’t allow anyone to come across this lake including yourself. It’s an anomaly to this world and shouldn’t be in man’s possession.”
I had so many questions, but could only get out, “if they want what you got, then why are they after me?”
“They’re not, nor did they see you thankfully.”
“They said Bates!” I exclaimed in a panicking effort to speak.
“My last name happens to be Bates as well, kid.” …. Those very words multiplied my inquiries tenfold.
Before I could confirm my thoughts, he spoke while pulling what appeared to be a gun from his waist. “After I take care of these two, you and I will be the only people who know of this lake. Keep it that way.” It wasn’t until his nose bled, that I realized we were making eye contact this whole time. My vision began to fade, and my ears went dead, yet no pain. It was clear that I was starting to blackout and could barely make out his face. My eyes locked on his lips as he mouths the words, “forgive me, it was all for us”.
I can’t exactly say when, but I woke in the ambiance of crickets, and the running creek water gaining its independence from the lake. I ran along and eventually made it home to mother sitting on the back porch. “Rare sight,” I thought, considering she hates that part of the house more than anything. I called out to her, and her head jolted up.
“Jonathan?” I could tell she was worried by her tone. She appeared to have been sobbing. When I made it onto the porch, she just held me and cried. She was never this worried about me. All I could do was hug her back and apologize. “Jonathan,” she said while wiping her tears, “Your father…. he’s.” I stopped her there, “I know mom.” I suppose we didn’t share a mutual sentiment on the matter, given that her face opposed my smile. I thought to myself, “I must have really messed up this time”. Disrupting the awkward silence, she mentioned that everyone had left by now and that I should eat. I agreed. As we walked in the house, I couldn’t help but think about the way she looked at me. As… as if I committed a horrible crime and was admitting to it.
After eating, I watched a bit of tv as I always do before bed. I can’t remember the name of the show, but it got interrupted by a live news broadcast. “We sadly interrupt your program to deliver this unfortunate breaking news.” Not able to find the remote, I moved closer to the television and upped the volume manually. The anchor continued, “today, the first-ever murder in this town happened just…”, The tv went blank. I turned around in confusion and there was mom… with the remote shaking in her hand. “Is everything ok, mom? What was that about?”, I asked. She just stared with a disappointed look on her face.
“Give me your clothes. They’re a mess…and go shower.”
I didn’t even notice the dirt and blood on my clothes until she mentioned it. After a hot shower, I readied for bed. The question, “Is he ok? ‘’, plagued my mind for an hour until I convinced myself that he wasn’t the person being mentioned on the news. The news anchor and cops would be outside our house otherwise.
That’s all I remember from that day. Throughout time, I continued to visit the creek religiously, but never the lake, as promised. Until today at least. God, why today? Over the years, Mother and I had grown apart. For what reason, I don’t know. She passed when I was 23. It wasn’t until then, that I found out she had lung cancer. This led me to feel lonely, at times. When I had enough of that feeling, I decided to be more social, and get to know people in town. That’s when I met my wife who gifted me with my son, Jonathan Jr., at the age of 26. Today is his 4th birthday. Kids tend to become very impressionable by that age, so I wanted to share a bit of my childhood with him.
We visited my no longer occupied home. I took him through the woods to the creek, and told him how this was my secret getaway when I was a kid. We were there for about 30 minutes, then I thought about the lake. I thought to myself, “it’s been 15 years, hasn’t it?” “Let daddy show you something cool,” I said as his face was already in awe from the scenery so far. My face mimicked his once we made it to the lake. This was my first time being able to appreciate it for what it really was in the daytime. After an hour or so of sightseeing, I decided it was time to go
home. That’s when I noticed the pile of rocks stacked neatly in a cone shape. It was clearly stacked in a way that only man could configure. I took a closer look to observe them. My eyes were drawn to something under them… reflecting back sunlight that seeped through the cracks. I began moving the rocks to unveil a chest with a lock on the front. My son broke my concentration on it, as he was voicing to me that he misses his mother. I grunted as I picked him up, “Let’s go, bud. I’m sure mommy misses us as well.”
We went home to my wife right on time; dinner was out on the table waiting for us. She greeted us with, “The cake isn’t finished yet, but did my two favorite men enjoy their day?” Before I could answer, she continued, “What’s that in your hand Jonathan?”
Placing it on the counter, I replied, “Oh this? I’m not sure, but I’m going to find out later.”
She lifted it up and said, “In the garage, not the kitchen,” handing it back to me. I complied and sat at the table eating anxiously. It was obvious I had things in mind other than savoring her food. I guess I was eating too fast, because I tasted not a single bite; and don’t get me wrong, my wife is a great cook. When I finally got to the garage, I took the crate and shook it a bit. It felt light, so I assumed I could be forceful when opening it. I was…maybe a bit too forceful.
The lock broke off with ease, and there were newspapers. They looked to be incredibly old, but well persevered in their metal tomb. There were a collection of Polaroids face down that I disregarded at first glance. I focused more on the newspaper title. “Man kills Former Wife and Mutilated Child.”
“Why would someone hide a news article in a box,” I mumbled out of curiosity. I continue reading. I really wished I hadn’t. I would have been happy never going back to that lake; hell, even that creek if I knew it would come to this. The article reads “Joseph Bates (30), former husband of Jessica Stanfield (30) and father of Jonathan Bates (15), is charged with 1st-degree murder along with attempted murder of another. The wife was found brutally stabbed 72 times in the torso and decapitated. As for the child, his conditions are unknown, and officials are not releasing any new information.”
My… my head started spinning and I started to feel nauseous. “This… has to be a coincidence or a sick joke. Who in the hell would make this? Why is my name and my mother’s name in this?”, I thought to myself.
The rest of the article was faded, and all that remained was a familiar, but unfamiliar face. It was a mugshot of an older-looking man that resembled me. I’ve never seen, nor heard of this man in my life. I looked to the left and there it was, “Sunset, Mississippi”, right under a picture of my old house. “This can’t be an article about us. My mother died from cancer and I’m clearly still alive. Nothing is adding up. My father had a scar on his head, yes, John… John Bates. He has no siblings, so this can’t be an unknown uncle.” I was in a sea of denial. What I read next finally pulled me under. 6/19/2006…that was my birthday, my 15th birthday.
I ran upstairs urgently to my computer and typed the exact title and name of the newspaper, but nothing showed outside the name of the publishing companies; which did confirm that it was legit and local. This pushed me to look further, so I searched, “Jessica Stanfield and Jonathan Bates murder”, but to no avail did I unveil anything new. I took one last try, “Joseph Bates murder case”. My heart dropped when I got the resulting link: “Sunset, MS murder 2006”. Oddly enough, it was the only link available; as if it were meant for me to find.
I tried to work myself up to click it then…I had a moment of clarity. “That’s it! This got to be a coincidence. This must be another Jessica and Jonathan. This must be that murder that mom stopped me from hearing about on the news that day. The date lines up exact and it didn’t state my address.” Not that I could confirm, being that the rest of the article is unreadable. “The picture taken of our house must’ve been by some novice photographer that mistook the location and the company wanted to be the first to publish this story. That’s known to be common in the earlier days. Not everyone is perfect at their job. Right?” That’s what I concluded…in order to dull my confusion at least. In retrospect, I was far less prepared than I thought I could ever be.
I clicked on the site and there he was, Joseph Bates, but this narrative is unparallel to the one in the paper. Nothing made sense. Joseph Bates was in fact real. His picture was clearly on the screen. This… This picture was different though. There wasn’t a mug shot of a suspected murder, but instead a non-censored crime scene photo of a victim. That victim was undoubtedly joseph. I could tell by a few distinct features after comparing the two references I had to work with. His face was barely readable on-screen. I can’t imagine what he did to deserve such a gory makeover. His eyes …they were … they were gouged out seemingly by hand. His lips were no longer on his jaw. Oh my God, his jaw. It was hanging off his face with his tongue and his body had too many stabs to count. Who could ever conjure such hate for one being?
I read the article provided “Former Sunset weekly employee, Joseph Bates, murdered at age 30 in his own home, 06/19/2006. Bates was stabbed 142 times. When asked for any more comments, officials declined to further speak. officials say there were no suspects as of now. Future updates on the case will be provided”, Published 06/20/2006. The case must have gone cold because there weren’t any updates.
“Jonathan?” someone called out to me. “Is everything ok?”, It was my wife.
“Yes, why?” I relayed while frantically closing the tabs.
“Honey you look so pale. are you ok?” she followed up full of concern.
“Yea I think I just ate too much. You know how I get ha-ha,” I said trying to fake a convincing smile. “Anyway, what do you need?”
She looked at me as if I said something off-putting and answered with, “I heard you shouting. I thought something was wrong.” I gave her the same look that she had given me.
“Shouting? I don’t remember shouting. Are you sure it wasn’t the kid?”
I seriously didn’t remember but she assured me in a very irritating manner, “Yes, I’m sure! I was downstairs with our son when you shouted. You know, you’ve been acting weird ever since you’ve gotten that box. It’s your son’s birthday and yours as well. You can fool with that later. this moment only comes once a year.”
“Yea you’re right,” I replied not wanting to argue. “Hey, honey. Do you know about the 2006 murder that happened in this town?”
She intuitively knew what I meant, “Of course, everyone in town that’s old enough knows about Mr. Joseph. He was that photographer for Sunset Weekly. He was a good person. He would always give my sisters and I jellybeans when we saw him, and he always seemed to carry that antic camera. It’s sad what happened to him,” She prolonged, “They said he was stabbed so many times that no further details were released because of the nature of the scene. It was the first and only murder in this town.”
I felt compelled to ask, “Did they even find the person who did it?”
“No, The case went cold after 10 years. There are only rumors as to what may have occurred, but none of them stuck. except for the one my father told me. He worked inside the same building and his job was processing the photos and publishing papers. He said Mr. Joseph was a great man and had a passion that only a true photographer possesses. He was a bit too passionate and tended to take irrelevant photos that my father couldn’t produce a story with. After a while, he lost that drive and was considering hanging it up despite being young. The town and Sunset didn’t want to see him go, so they gave him an opportunity to publish his own pictures along with the stories behind them in a section of the weekly. They were so good. My sisters and I couldn’t wait to see the beautiful sites he captured. His camera was so old. You could find his page of the newsletter easily because it stood out so much. The town loved it too but after a while, it just wasn’t the same and people lost interest.
I think he would notice when people spoke about him in the diners. Father said he grew weary of that and started to make fake stories. No one in the office spoke about it until he made a fake story that ruined someone’s marriage. He fed into the word of others I guess and the company got sued. When my father was forced to address him, he saw that Mr. Joseph was not in his office but in the copy room. Only publishers were allowed in there. I was told he was fired on the spot for publishing a paper on his own. The picture was of a random house in town and had murder in the title. Safe to say, the 2 copies he made didn’t get published. He took them with him on the way out. My father thinks his death may have been the result of his lies. That’s not too far-fetched if you asked me.”
I felt bad for Mr. Joseph but relieved at the same time. My head connected the dots and thought he must have made that paper. Someone else somehow got that copy. “Does it happen to be this paper?” I asked while handing it to my wife.
She had a disgusted look on her face. “How could he depict such a horrible lie?” She asked.
I replied, “I don’t know, but I never seen this man before now. why does it look so convincing and professional? I can’t even fathom how he knew of me and mom.”
“My dad was right. I didn’t know he would stoop so low. I guess you really don’t know a person behind closed doors.” My anxiety left my body. “Not too professional with all these faded markings,” she jokingly said to lighten the mood. The laughter was short-lived when she said, “My dad must be right about those cops too.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He said the sheriff at the time and his deputy were first on the scene. He went on about how those two felt that they saw the killer and chased him into the woods.”
I interrupted nervously, “How does your father know this information?”
“The one who told him happened to be a dispatcher and a longtime friend of his. Neither cop returned nor were they found despite searching the whole town.”
I egged her on, “the whole town? Couldn’t be, I never seen them come on my property let alone my doorstep.”
She rebutted, “Well yea maybe because your property is the only private property in town and your mom denied them access or something.”
We walked downstairs and there was Jonathan with the box in his hands. “Give me that little guy. I must have left the garage door open,” I thought to myself. My wife gave me a “Get rid of that now!” look. I went back to the garage and placed the box on the table, that’s when I remembered the photos from earlier. There were five faced down photos, 2 of which were conjoined. I went to show them to my wife. She was rinsing something at the sink. It was the lid to the metal box. I didn’t think to check to see if my son took it as well.
“John look at this.” John, she only calls me that when she wants me to do something. She held the freshly washed lid to my face. The inside had a name engraved on it. Joseph Bates. She picked up the pictures while I stood baffled.
“Oh my God, John, these are some of his pictures that he published back then! The originals are better than I imagined!” she exclaimed with glee. “I never thought I would see any of his old photos. The town museum was supposed to keep his camera on display. Only his camera could produce photos this way, but it wasn’t in his house when it was searched for. He always kept up with it and was highly organized. It’s as if someone took it for themselves.” I found that to be shameful but enjoyed the detail in color and vintage look. It was easier than wondering how his possessions got to the lake. “These two seem to be stuck. allow me.”
She took a wet cloth and guided it between the edges of the paper frames revealing a picture of her sister and herself alongside Mr. Joseph with what appeared to be jellybeans. Similar to the rest, the date was illegible. But she was in tears and voiced that she remembers that day. I found the moment bittersweet because it was touching for her, but for me, not so much considering the false news article. I developed a new taste seconds later as I looked at the last picture. I wish I could take that back.
“Honey, are you ok?” my wife questioned. I proceeded to rush to the sink and puke up all my food violently. I didn’t have particularly good accuracy with that one. “Stay right there I’ll go get some towels!” She rushed upstairs with our son. I recovered myself just to break down again after a second look. It was a picture dated 1991. A picture clear as day of young Mr. Joseph Bates and a very much pregnant Jessica Stanfield. There is no way that Joseph could be my father, right? I don’t want to believe it.
“My father is John,” I repeated, drilling the line into my head. “My father is john! My father is john! My father is…”
”John?”, my wife called out clearly perturbed. I burst into the garage digging through the layers of blank paper in hopes of finding more pictures. That’s when I felt something. It was a polaroid photo box with 239 pictures. That’s a number I’ll never forget. The photos were so forced inside and tight-fitted, but I managed to pull out eight. They were all of my mother and Joseph, appearing to go on various dates, and were all in the same year… 1991. I took the other 229 out one by one. Like I said I’ll never forget. I’ll never forget because each was labeled in counting. A set of 72, 15, and 144. Each set had the same date,06/19/2006, and Each gave set gave life to both articles. Life was maybe the worst word to use. Context is more suitable.
This destroyed the concept of reality and humanity for me. How could someone be dead, yet alive? Why Each picture despite the set got more morbid on every count upward as if there were multiple levels of fucked up. I wasn’t even prepared for level one. I broke down crying as I saw a picture of my mother, staring with a face of fear and pain. She appears to have a stab wound in her right leg. The second picture was labeled, “Wife #2”, again it was with my mother but another wound in her opposite leg. The agony displayed was hard to take in, but my mind kept telling me to go on and this can’t be real. My mother passed of cancer; I saw it with my own eyes. I would rather watch her die two times over than believe what I’m seeing.
Every new photo came with a new gash. When I reached 71 it looked like someone to my mom and threw her into a life-size blender.
Under her seat was a cup filled with blood. Previously it was only filled with what appeared to be piss. I didn’t want to mention such grisly things but 72… 72 was a man alongside her lifeless, headless, mutilated… I… I can’t even call that a body. Joseph appeared to be drinking the liquid while staring at the visceral sculpture he so violently but meticulously carved out. I instantly finished emptying out my stomach. Not knowing if I could continue, I refilled it with a bottle of jack. The whole! Damn! Thing! It was the only way I felt I could go on. I had to know of the sick thing this boxed held for 15 years. The next 15 appear to be a boy. They were marked, “Biggest Mistake”, 1-10. 10 of which Joseph presents himself in each frame with a hammer.
The boy was unrecognizable. It was clear he was beaten by a man who knew no mercy. His face was berated with red and purple. His arms laid lipped. His knees seemed to be inverted. Each photo was evidence of a new broken bone. Photo #10 was a selfie of the boy close-up. Looking to be clinging to life the boy was masked with a swollen face. Joseph was holding him by the head literally. I question how he was even alive as I observed the back end of the hammer gripping the flesh from his head that had been partially torn off. If it weren’t for this, I wouldn’t even think the worst man would be capable of such. It was beyond the most inhumane display a serial killer could conjure. Joseph had the boy at the end of his hammer like a puppet wishing to never have been made. Photo 11 was a mugshot. The very same mugshot of Joseph that was printed in the papers. I should have expected that much, given that the picture fits the information of the case, but with far more detail.
The finishing photos of the set were named, “Rebirth”, 1-3 of 4. Photo #1 was a person taking a selfie in what I could only make out to be bandages all over and a hospital bed in the background. not a sliver of skin was to show. I forgot to mention, these 4 photos are the only to break the dating trend of 06/19/2006. This set looked to be in a 14-year span. Photo #2 was on 12/12/08 and of a man with barely healed wounds on his legs standing straight. I could only see the lower half but assumed it was a man due to the amount of hair on it. Photo # 3 had a displayed date of 03/07/20… featured along with it was a rusted hammer. So many questions went through my head,” Was Joseph free? How could that box rust so much in one year? didn’t the site say he was dead? is the person really joseph? Who mangled legs were in photo #2?” Those questions all immediately vanished when I saw photo #4.
My heart skipped a beat for the 16th time. 06/19/2021, that’s today… on my birthday. How could this even be possible? The photo… the photo was of a clear lake that seemingly knew not of man’s existence. There’s only one lake in the world with that scenery. It was the one behind my house. I found out the hard way that if you puke profusely enough, you can sober up within seconds. The picture was title #4 “rebirth complete”. “Who in the hell was able to get past the gates of our house and was bold enough to walk 2 miles into the woods on foot?” That like the rest, I couldn’t fathom. I could only imagine what the remaining photos were. Imagine is all I wish I could do but I would be left with questions and trauma if I didn’t. The remaining 142 broke me. It contradicted the first set, similar to the articles contradicting one another. It also
justified the site published article and was on par with its counterpart. I guess I’m not making sense. It’s best if I explain.
04/06/2006 photo #1“Retribution”. It’s joseph. He looks to be in that room again, but there’s a huge difference. He’s tied up in a very beat-down-looking chair. His right eye dangled from the socket, and he had a kitchen knife in his right leg. I can’t afford to puke anymore as I type this. Let’s just say there is a very niche process to taking photos within this album.
By #140, Joseph was dressed in knives from his legs to his back. He looked like a human porcupine. Both eyes were completely gone. I didn’t know what I was watching at this point. Photo #141 looked to eclipse all the dark images embedded in my mind thus far. Soon after seeing it, Mr. Joseph’s depiction of cruelty became more of something that a black and white horror film would show. 140 knives counted while on his knees appearing to pray. I previously thought he was beyond deceased. It became obvious that I presumed falsely and was only hoping he was for his sake. But there he lay, lips quivering while his weight further deepens the blades into the entire perimeter of his leg. I didn’t catch onto how bad the pain must be until I thought of how much of his leg is actually pure shin and bone. I shed tears at the view and his eye socket mimicked with blood pouring out. The back end of a rusted hammer hung from the inside of his cheek.
The final photo was familiar in multiple ways. As displayed on the site, Joseph’s jaw swung from his face, lifeless, but with a suit of blades. He wasn’t alone in this photo. I saw a man that looked relatively close to joseph. matter of fact I know this man. I was in disbelief; it was the kid from the previous photos. He seemed to be much older. But that wouldn’t make sense. Take into account that both the photos of the kid and the man are the exact same. But they look identical. Sure, the kid barely looks like a person, but every scar stands out, especially on the forehead. “Where have I seen this scar before?”
the question beckoned in my head. I took a closer look at the man and noticed he had a nosebleed. In an instant I was ambushed with memories of that face, this was the first time I surveyed it without the loss of my vision. It was John with new details. He looked like the boy in the picture, but he also looked like me. not 15-year-old me as I vaguely remember thinking back when I first met him despite poor vision, but exactly like me now at age 30. All I’m missing is the scars. 06/19/2006 #142- “Dies Iræ. “Like I said , this one broke me. #142 felt to be denser than the other photos. So previous thought until I did what my wife showed me and split the picture in two. I don’t know what any of the dates mean anymore nor what’s real or not. I just want this nightmare to end, but I need to tell someone this. Someone other than my wife. I need someone to just trust me. The final photo didn’t have a number on it and the day was illegible, but I know what the day is without a trace of doubt. It was the only thing I could be sure of out of all of this. It was an image of a full moon reflecting perfectly off the ground. This photo carried a message that will stick with me harder than the burned graphics in my head.
“You broke a promise you made to yourself…now you bear the burden of retribution.”