I (26M) am horrified of what will happen if my past catches up with me.
For some backstory, around 15-16 years ago, I lived alone with my father. My mother was killed in a terrible car crash when I was 4. Ever since, my father abused me nearly every day because my face and personality reminded him of my mom. He was a cruel, drunken man who didn’t like his life so he took it out on me.
One day, after I got home from school, I prepared for the worst as I entered my apartment. As I opened the door, I was hit with a wave of smells. Mostly sweat and booze, also whatever takeout he ordered last night was in a pile on the couch. My dad, in his usual spot on the recliner yelled to me. “Get me a beer. Now.” he said. “Okay.” I said quietly, not trying to provoke him. As I walked over to the fridge, which had probably been open for a good 4 hours, I heard loud, booming footsteps behind me.
As I braced myself, he grabbed me by the arm and hit me with a coat hanger. “I said now, dammit! Not later!” he screamed in my ear as I tried to hide the pain. “Okay, okay!” I said, trying to rid the shakiness of my voice. He let me go and I ran to the kitchen as fast as I could, hoping not to get hurt again. When I walked in, a glint of metal shimmered in my eye. I looked over at the shine, and my mind blossomed an idea to an object on the counter.
A large butcher’s knife sat on a plate on the counter. As I grabbed the beer, I managed to quietly swipe the knife and slip it into my bag. The beer, just barely cold, almost slipped through my hand. I handed him the beer from the behind, as he said “Now go to your room. I’m watching Duck Dynasty.”
I ran to my room, making sure to put a little wooden chair in front of the door. I opened my bag to see my journal and my weapon. “Later.” I thought.
I watched the clock carefully, checking outside every so-often. At 11:32, I slowly creaked open my door, looking down the hallway to find my dad in his usual spot. sleeping in an unwashed tank top and stained sweatpants. I took out the knife, internally debating to go through. I made up my mind.
I walked up to him and slashed. Again and again. About halfway through, he woke up screaming. I stabbed mercilessly, blood everywhere. I will never forget his last words as the life drained out of his eyes. “You..bitch.”
I looked at my clothes in shock and terror of what I did. As expected, they were spattered with blood. I had an idea. I tried to dry it up as much as I could, then I grabbed my fathers lighter and some spray deodorant. I walked outside in fresh new clothes, ran behind the apartment and set the clothes ablaze.
I grabbed most of my important belongings, including a photo of my mom, my father’s pistol in a gun safe that remained unlocked. I gave him one last cold shoulder and set out.
I live in Iowa now, with a family. I have a fake identity and a fake life. If one day, the police department decide to reopen the case and they find me, everything will fall apart. Not only that, but my father’s family set out to find his killer. I’m marked for death if I make one tiny slip up, one small mistake. A few weeks ago, someone with a strong New York accent called my place of work and asked if a Kevin Riley worked there.
My name is Michael Richardson. My former name? Kevin Riley. In short words..
I’m doomed.