I never thought I’d be telling this story since, for a long time, there seemed to be no end to this situation. However, after some recent developments with my mental well-being, I am finally able to provide the world with this information I have been keeping to myself for nearly 3 years out of fear.
For some context, my life has been hectic since I was a child. My older siblings are a set of twins, one boy and one girl, and my two younger siblings were adopted from abusive and otherwise traumatizing households. That meant that, for as long as I could remember, I was otherwise neglected by my parents since they spent all of their time with my other siblings. Jayden and Juliana, my older siblings, were always in some sort of fight which could only be solved by my parents either talking to them or making things even between them depending on the context. And then with my younger siblings, my parents spent the other half of their time making sure Kameron and Xavier felt safe, loved, and supported in our household and reassured them that no matter what, their biological parents would never regain custody of either of them. That all meant that I was responsible for my clothing, my meals, my hygiene, and all my necessities from the moment I was able to be independent. So, since I had no other option, I taught myself how to ride a bike and protect myself so that I could get to and from school or friends houses or wherever I was going.
As I got older and older, it started to feel like I was just some stranger in a families house. No photos of me on the wall, no accomplishments of mine being displayed for all to see, none of my items strewn about the house, you get my point. Hell, my bedroom was even in the attic, kind of like in Home Alone. It got so bad that my friends even pointed it out whenever they would come over. My best friend, Stephanie, commented on how my parents didn’t even greet me when I get home, wish me good luck on days when I had tests, requested I stay safe whenever I went out, the gist is obvious by now. I was basically a ghost in a house I would call my own.
As a way to get their attention, I would dip my toes in rebellion and do illegal things. I started wearing shorter and shorter clothing to expose risqué parts of my body, I started smoking either joints or vapes with some stoners around my high school, and I committed petty theft and got arrested for Class C Misdemeanor on a couple occasions. And, yet, my parents only paid me any mind when they had to get me off thanks to connections they have. This got me angry. The fact that they were so far up my siblings asses that they couldn’t even see the issues going with me pushed me to do something that would change my life. I did something I would regret until the day I die.
After some, admittedly, short decision making, I packed a small bag full of my more scandalous clothing my boyfriend at the time had gotten me and, along with said boyfriend and a couple friends, I headed off on a trip to the next state over. Our idea was that us moving to a new state would allow us to make some Porn Hub videos as a way to make money and say a big ‘screw you’ to our parents. As teenagers, the idea was the best one we could come up with. But, I’m pretty sure I don’t have to tell you this because the horror movie ‘X’ is surrounded by this concept.
So, why am I talking about this then? Well, because, the events that followed my eventual departure from this type of work have scared me.
After about 4 years of doing this, I was a 22 year old female with a job that was frowned upon and side-eyed whenever I mentioned it to people. I was someone who, after having sex with one-too-many people over the years, decided that they wanted to change and sharpen their life back up. So, after my birthday came and passed, I had finalized my choice of leaving my past and reshaping my life back to the smart young woman I had always wanted to become. And, after a long and tiring fight with my ex boyfriend and people I used to call my friends, I packed my shit and left our house faster than any of them expected. I was finally freed from my past. Or, I thought that, anyhow.
About 2 years after I started fixing up my life, I was sitting in the classroom and listening to my college professor lecture us on law and the different degrees of different crimes, hence the ‘Class C Misdemeanor’ line from earlier. After a rather lengthy discussion on whether manslaughter or murder was worse, my professor mentioned that he sent us all a link to some study method he had conjured up via email before closing the meeting up. Mr. P, short for Mr. Professor (a fake name), noted that we had about 4 minutes left of class and told us to all go and see if we could open up the website he sent us. So, following his directions, I quickly opened up my email and started looking through the recent messages I had gotten. When I had done this, I saw an email from an unknown gmail account that just said ‘Tatum Badeaux’ which immediately sent chills down my back. That was what I considered my old name.
When I ran away to do that Porn Hub job, me and the people I was with all decided to change our names legally. I hated having any sort of connection to my family since they never really acted like one, so I had decided to go from Tatum Badeaux to Tatum Quinn. That meant every legal document or document that I had written stated my last name as being Quinn since that is what I wanted it to be. But now, I was faced with someone who was either a family member reaching out or someone who knew the old me. Either way, I was hesitant to open the message since I wanted no contact with anyone from my hometown. However, I knew I couldn’t just leave it alone so I eventually read what the sender had to say. The email read as follows:
“Tatum Badeaux. That was such a pretty name you had, connecting you to your french roots that in itself was connected to historians of great power. Blanche Monnier was an ancestor of yours and yet, you jumped at the opportunity to no longer associate yourself with the people you once called Mother, Father, and brothers and sister. Why is that? Is it because the showed you no attention, no affection, no nurture? Or was it because of something horrible you had done? Was it because you did something so vile that you felt like you could no longer live in Cheshire? Who knows. Well, except someone does know. You and me.
I was there that night, watching in the shadows as you committed a crime you never got punished or convicted for. Instead, you got to walk free because no witnesses or evidence. But, what would happen if I went to the police and tell them that I, someone you have no personal connection to, saw what truly went down that night? The statute of limitations aren’t going to end for another, well, lifetime. Nevertheless, I will give you some time to think about whether you will come to your morals in turn yourself in, or if you will leave it to me to come clean. Make your choice, Tatum.”
After reading the email, I was paralyzed in my seat. All I could ask myself was what exactly this person was talking about. What crime did I commit by myself that I got away with that someone knew about? The answer? None because all the crimes I had committed were done in broad daylight and each of my crimes had been done with friends. That’s when I was hit with a realization: this person must have the wrong person, despite the coincidence of someone also being named Tatum Badeaux who lived in Cheshire being too close to be real. Regardless, I sent the person a quick email explaining that they may have the wrong person.
If only I realized how bad this whole emailing situation would become, I would’ve deleted the email and would play no mind if I got another. When I had replied to their email that day, that sent off a chain reaction where every week at the exact same time on the same day of the week, I would get emails from the unrecognizable gmail account slowly revealing details about the crime I supposedly committed or just taunted me up and down for their own enjoyment. This whole thing lasted about 6 months before the emails just stopped. Like randomly one day, I had checked my inbox at the time the messages usually came in and there was nothing. No new details, no burgeoning information, just nothing.
For the next week, I would constantly check my email and every day, it would never be full of the messages I had gotten used to getting. To fill up that space, I would read through one of the old emails again and write down one details everyday. This is how the list looked by the time I was done:
1) The crime happened at night, 2) It was a crime without a statute of limitations, 3) It was a murder, 4) The perpetrator was with a companion that night, 5) The murder weapon used was a hatchet that had been stolen from the local fire department, 6) the hatchet was never found after-the-fact, 7) The teen who died that night was a local girl named Sophia who was widely hated by other teenagers in town, 8) The unknown sender was the only witness to the murder, 9) Sophia’s body was moved from the scene and hasn’t been seen since, and 10) ‘My’ family were still blissfully unaware of my absence.
I didn’t need some anonymous person telling me to understand that no one I once loved gave a flying duck about me no longer living with them.
In spite of that tidbit and my own personal opinions on my family, I decided to check on their Facebook accounts just to see if the messenger was telling the truth. What if they were advocating for me to come home safe? What if they were having discussions about me in hopes I would see it and have a change in heart? In the moment I felt stupid asking these questions to myself and getting that excited feeling, but I still searched their profiles up.
My moms was the first one to catch my attention, so that was the first one I clicked on. I quickly took notice to the newest post of hers, celebrating different accomplishments from her children. I read through her caption, I read through the list swiftly. My older siblings were both 27, one married and pregnant with their first child and one engaged, and my younger siblings who were 18 and 17 respectively with them both either graduating high school or being elected student council president. I admit, I had a good smile when reading through the various different triumphs until I reached the bottom. There it read, “And Tatum, my beautiful angle who has opened our eyes over the years and taught us how to be better parental figures.”
What was she talking about? I hadn’t rolled back into Cheshire since I left, let alone had any contact with my family. No messages, no letters, no phone calls, no form of contact in any capacity. And I hadn’t noticed it before, but when I scrolled back up to the picture I noticed something. There in the middle of all my siblings, was someone who looked identical to me. The same long, straight brunette hair with highlights, the same piercing blue eyes I had, the same piercings I had gotten over the years, the same tattoo on the right arm, everything. Whoever was in this photo was me somehow.
I didn’t even have to try and rationalize this situation because there was no explanation. Someone out there took my identity, my looks, my tattoo, by story. Someone out there knew my body adjustments to a ‘T’ and got them on their body to add some consistency. That way if I ever went to Cheshire, my parents wouldn’t know there was a difference between me and the unknown doppelganger.
My first thought was that whoever sent me the emails was the one who became me. That would explain their aggression towards the idea of me changing my last name despite who it is connected to and why they wanted to pin a crime they committed on me. The reason they were the only witness is because they were the one to murder that girl, if they even murdered her at all.
Then I had a rather eerie thought, what if that girl that was supposedly murdered, Sophia, was the face behind the interpreter and the person who had sent me all those messages. Sure, the prospect was crazy, but just stay with me for a second. I had gone to the police’s website for my hometown and had looked up Sophia [last name] with nothing coming up. No missing report or murder report. I had searched the internet for any articles for the girl with, again, no results. And the number the emailer had given to me in case my email wasn’t working one day was a 631 number which came from a town close to Cheshire.
Either way, I knew I needed to go back home and check everything out for myself. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to fit it all in this post since Reddit has a character limit. However, I promise to update everyone with the end of this story soon. Thank you to anyone who has read it all and will stick around for the rest of the story.