Episode 4: Posted on April 8

In the spring of 2022, the 44 Division of the Toronto Police Service discovered the burnt remains of Rachel Amina Darwish, Daniel Brewer, and Mitig Biskane, in southern Ontario, Canada. The only clues offering an explanation for the three deaths were found in an anonymous blog written by an unknown individual.

The following is a reading from the blog website, www.everyoneandnoone.org, before it was seized by the police.

This episode is a reading of blog entries posted between April 8 to May 8, 2022.

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Transcript

In the spring of 2022, the 44 Division of the Toronto Police Service discovered the burnt remains of Rachel Amina Darwish, Daniel Brewer, and Mitig Biskane, in southern Ontario, Canada. The only clues offering an explanation for the three deaths were found in an anonymous blog written by an unknown individual.

The following content was taken from the blog website, everyoneandnoone.org


Posted on April 8

For weeks, she made me feel like someone—validating me with every kiss, every cuddle, every sly look. We shared food together, and dreamed up plans for the future, from exploring the caves at Lake Simcoe to driving to the Maritimes. 

I listened to the drying machine tumbling clothes in the other room, sitting at the edge of her sofa, waiting for her. The sunlight radiated through the basement windows level with the ceiling. Leah returned carrying a laundry basket filled with colored cottons.

"Scoot… over," she said. She poured out the warm clothes beside me and the smell of fabric softener struck me. She plopped herself onto the pile of clothes and laughed playfully. "You should… try it, it's so warm.”

I smiled and our eyes met. 

"Come," she gripped both my hands and pulled me on top of her. The fresh warmth of the clothes cradled us.

Suddenly, before I could think, her hand slipped into my pants. Sunrays flowed onto us through the silhouettes of leaves outside the window, and I looked at her face in the light, strangely distinct, as if it emitted a radiance of its own.

I hastily undressed. I was a hurried mess, in relation to her slow, deliberate movements.

Then we were both naked, and I felt nothing else but her legs wrapping around me and the warm laundry embracing us both.

Posted on April 20

Happy

Posted on May 6

I woke up to Leah lying beside me, rubbing my arm. A mahogany dresser guarded the foot of the bed. In the dresser mirror, that was visible over our toes, I saw the reflection of a crucifix hanging on the wall above our heads.

I lit a cigarette and used an empty coffee mug for an ashtray. I exhaled a tower of smoke that reached the ceiling and flattened out like a gray pancake. 

"What do you think about living together?" I said.

She seemed taken aback. 

"What you think?" I said. 

"I...I don't know. Do you really want to live with me?"

I dabbed my cigarette butt against the inner wall of the coffee mug.

"Leah," I said, and suddenly I felt as if I was running down a long diving board above a pool, and as the next words left my mouth, it felt like I jumped. "I've never wanted anything more in my life," I said, and then I launched, one toe away from flight, letting gravity take over.

She blinked. "Here?"

"No," I shook my head. "My place. I don't want you paying for anything."

"I can't let you…do that," she said.

"I want to," I squeezed her hand.

"But your roommate..."

"I'll give him time to find a new place," I reached over to my pants from the floor. I pulled out my set of keys from the pocket. On the coiled ring were two keys to my apartment, and a tiny key for my mailbox. I slid one of the apartment keys off the ring and handed it to Leah in a grand gesture. "It’s yours," I said.

A smile crept onto her lips, gradually. She squeezed the key in her fist and raised it to her chest. "Okay," she nodded.

We kissed, and excitement amplified my senses. I smelled her natural scent, I heard ringing in my ears, I felt her arm loop around me, dragging my body tight against hers, and I let thoughts of our future wash over me. 

Posted on May 7

Walking into my apartment, the smell seemed foreign to me, vaguely familiar. It was late at night. I didn't remember the last time I saw William. Days maybe? Weeks? I wondered if he was home, and then I heard his bed creak in his room. Sitting on the sofa, I burnt through two cigarettes thinking about how I would tell him.

"William!" I shouted.

I heard feet shuffling from behind his door. William stepped out holding the neck of a rum bottle. His hair was a mess and he looked like he hadn't showered for days. I motioned for him to sit beside me.

He sat down, reeking of liquor. His white t-shirt was stained with amber wet spots. I butted out my cigarette and exhaled the smoke through my nose.

"Well?" he slurred.

"Something’s come up," I said.

 "Really now?" William's drunken voice was drenched in sarcasm.

"Yes," I said, uncomfortable. 

"Let me guess, I need to move out."

"What?" I was taken aback. I looked at him strangely, even scared. "Yes...how did you..."

He shot back a swig. "Want some?" He pushed the bottle into my face.

"Listen, let's talk in the morning, when you're sober," I said, still baffled.

"So, it’s finally happenin’," William stopped me from getting up.

He thumped the bottle loud on the coffee table.

"Can I have a smoke?" William extended his hand to me.

I handed him a cigarette and my Zippo. He placed the cigarette backwards in his mouth, the filter pointing outwards.

"It's backwards," I said, but it was too late. He lit the filter.

He studied the ruined cigarette in his fingers, broke it in half and threw it at the ashtray, missing it. "Got another one?"

I gave him a second one, and he did the same thing.

"My mistake," he reached out his hand to me again. I hesitated. I gave him a third cigarette. He put it in his mouth upside down again.

"It's backwards," I said.

He stared me down for a long time before lighting the filter end.

"I'm going to bed," I stood up, and then he pushed me from behind. My shins hit the coffee table and I tumbled onto the carpet. I rolled over onto my back and saw William standing over me. He brought his knee down into my stomach. I struggled to sit up, but he was too strong. He pressed my head against the floor. The sound of my Zippo sparked beside my ear. 

"Get off me!" I bucked my hips and pushed at his chest.

"You want me gone?" he grunted, his breath reeking.

I felt the heat of the flame near my ear. Orange glowed in my peripheral vision. 

William's breathing quickened. Suddenly, he looked nauseous, and pressed his lips together. He gagged, and slapped his hand over his mouth. I heard the Zippo shut, and I sucked in a breath of relief as William released his knee off my stomach and rushed to the washroom.

I heard William puking. I thought about grabbing a knife from the kitchen. But instead, I didn't move, lying in shock. I wheezed, confusion swirling in my mind.

William returned, still wobbling, his eyes drowsy. "Get up," he offered his hand but I didn't take it.

I shot him a suspicious glare. 

He sat back on the sofa, shaking his head. "I don't know what came over me.”

He chugged down more rum, and suddenly, his face was different.

"I don't want to go," he said. But he wasn't looking at me. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "No. I'm not goin’." He seemed to be talking more to himself than to me. He swung back the rest of the rum and took the empty bottle with him into his room.

I lied there, staring at the whiteness of the ceiling for so long that my eyes blurred, and my mind strained to make sense of everything that just happened.

In my room, the bottle of pills lied sideways on the floor beside the mattress. Bending over, I swiped it up and headed to the bathroom. 

Standing over the sink, I dropped two pills into my palm and turned on the faucet. I paused, staring down at the pills in my hand, the sound of running water echoing off the tiled walls. I turned off the faucet and tossed the pills into the toilet. I flushed, watching the pills spin in circles before disappearing. 

Opening the medicine cabinet, I placed the bottle of pills beside a box of band-aids on the top shelf and made a promise to myself never to take the pills again.

With my hands leaning on the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror, I thought about storming into William’s room and kicking him out. I wanted him out that same night. I wanted to wake up in the morning to see him gone.    

Posted on May 8

I woke up confused—the shattered remnants of a nightmare inside my head remained. Opening my eyes, I thought I'd see Leah's purple walls, but instead I squinted through the morning dimness and saw my bare, empty walls, eggshell white.

I struggled to recall the dream that left me shaking, but the more I struggled to remember, the further it fluttered away. Last night was my first full night without the pills. Is that what caused the nightmare? Maybe quitting the pills was a mistake, I thought.

Then the memory of the night before rushed into my mind, particularly the crushing feeling of William's knee on my belly.

In the hallway, I saw his door closed. I checked the living room but he wasn't there. Thank God, I thought. He was still asleep in his room.

In the washroom, I snatched the lighter fluid from the medicine cabinet and filled my Zippo. Some of the liquid spilled onto my fingers. I stared at the bottle of pills and then closed the cabinet door.

The silence in the apartment grew eerie.

"William?" I called out.

An earsplitting squeal startled me. The squeal stopped then blared again, stopping then blaring, over and over in rhythm. It was the building's fire alarm. Adrenaline coursed through me with each loud blare. I hurried to the window and looked down but there was no smoke. I stuck my head out and looked up—still no smoke. Another false alarm.

How could William sleep through this, I wondered. I knocked on his door—no answer.

I turned the knob and pushed the door slowly.

Bewilderment slammed into my brain like a swift kick—the room was empty—it was exactly how I left it before William moved in. The bed was neatly dressed in the sheets I let William borrow.

The alarm squealed.

I saw that the closet was empty.

Squeal.

There was nothing on the nightstand beside the bed.

Squeal.

William, and everything he owned, had just disappeared.

Squeal.

Posted on May 8
 (second post)

The pub was practically empty. A candle burned on every table. David Bowie played in the background and the scent of air freshener crept from the washrooms near my booth where Leah found me.

"Hello," Leah sat down and leaned over the table to kiss me. "What are...we drinking?" 

The server snuck up beside us. "What can I get you?"

"Two black coffees please, with milk on the side," I said.

"Would that be all?"

"Yes, thank you.”

The server scurried away as silently as she appeared.

"I'm so…sleepy today," Leah rolled up her sleeves. I pretended to read the menu, my mind still on William.

"So, what's that thing?" Leah said.

"What?"

"That...that thing you had to tell me."

"Yeah," I said. The server returned with a ceramic milk pourer. "The weirdest thing happened." My eyes squinted.

"What happened?" Leah said.

"Last night, I told William he had to move out," I paused, unsure how to say the next part.

"Okay.”

"He was drunk. And got violent," I shook my head.

"What?" Leah said, shocked.

"I told him he had to move out, and then he got angry, and pushed me," I said.

"Oh my God," Leah's eyes widened.

I ripped my napkin into long strips. "He didn't hurt me—I mean, he was really drunk. But that's not the weirdest thing." I paused again.

Leah leaned in.

"This morning, I looked into William's room, and everything was gone."

"What do you mean?" Leah said.

"All his stuff—clothes, stuff—they were all gone," I said.

She furrowed her brows. "Everything?" she said.

"Yeah," I shrugged.

"He didn’t…leave a note?”

"Nope. Nothing."

"He's...I don't know. What are you going to do?" Leah said. The server returned and put our coffees in front of us. I looked down into my coffee as if an answer was there, floating.

"I don't know," I held the corner of a new napkin close to the flame of the candle at our table, teasing it. "He was paying me month to month. He wouldn't just leave without giving my key back, would he? I don't know. I just want to forget about him."

"Did you…try calling him?"

"I emailed him, but nothing," I took a sip from my coffee and held my eyes on Leah from over the rim of the cup.

"So strange," she said.

I held the napkin closer to the flame.

"My cousin disappeared back in high school," Leah said. "She was gone for like a…a whole summer, then one day she just came home. We were all pissed at her."

I noticed that Leah was speaking comfortably and keeping eye contact. She was changing from the timid girl I had met. Her face was glowing, and I felt good knowing it was because of us. 

"So does this mean I get...get to move in early?" she joked.

"What?" I said, "Oh, yes—no problem. But I'm a little worried, you know. What if he comes back?"

The corner of the napkin caught fire. As I tried to blow it out, the napkin unraveled from its folds and the flames spread.

"Oh my God!" Leah yelped.

I dropped the flaming napkin on the ground and it drifted against the wall. I jumped up and stomped out the flame—little embers rose into the air. The server rushed in.

"Sorry, it was the candle," I said, guilty.

The server eyed the half burnt napkin, making sure all the embers were doused. "I'll clean that up," she gave me a look and left. The smell of burnt paper hung in the air.

Posted on May 8
 (third post)

I laid awake in my bed, the rhythm of passing cars outside on loop. I couldn't sleep without the pills. Leah was working night shift. I shifted around trying to find that comfortable spot on my bed where sleep would take over, but it was nowhere to be found. I threw the covers off myself and slipped on a pair of boxers.

My footsteps thudded heavy in the hallway and I stopped in front of William's room. I shoved his door open as if expecting to catch him there by surprise. But the room was empty. The street lights from outside traced the shape of the window frame on the opposite wall.

In the living room I looked down at my laptop on the coffee table. I stationed myself on the sofa and flipped open the screen. As the computer loaded, I ran my fingertips lightly over the keyboard. The laptop chimed, and I opened my email. I drafted a new message.

To: 12bookofi@gmail.com

Subject: (None)

Where are you?

I opened Google and wished I knew his last name, unsure if he ever even told me it. I typed out his email address in the search bar and pressed enter. No results. I tried searching the first part of his address in quotation marks, “12 Book of I”. None of the results were relevant. 

I remembered how William talked about creating on crypto, so I searched “Book of I” on OpenSea and hesitated before clicking enter.

My heart skipped a beat. There was one result—a collection—Book of I

The collection was filled with jpegs of black text on white pages. I hastily scrolled down and watched more jpegs load up. Further down, more jpegs, dozens of them. I clicked on the last one and saw it was numbered like a bible verse. Something fluttered in my chest. In the darkness of my living room, with only the street lights from the window illuminating the space, I read the words on the jpeg. 

7:1

I’m sitting two tables away from him. His eyes are as deep as I imagined. I challenge him to remember a phrase. Let’s see if he does.

My hands trembled. I filtered my search to oldest items first and started reading from the beginning. 

1:1

This is the commandment. If ever you read that something is true, then know that it is always and inevitably untrue. But in this case, however, everything you read here is true.  

The next one read:

1:2

I am backstage, looking at my reflection in the makeup mirror. Behind my eyes is something fleeting. A woman with a headset is talking to me, you're up in five, she says. I follow her to the side of the stage, and wait to fulfill my habit of simulating that I'm someone so no one would notice my condition of being no one. I stand in the shadow, eager to play someone else in front of an audience who play at taking me for someone else. I hear my cue, I step into the light, and I let myself be conquered by Iago.

The next one read:

1:3

We gather on stage, taking our bows, and as the applause dies, the curtains don't close as they always do, but instead, the director walks out to face the audience. This ends another wonderful season, he says, I just want to thank you all for keeping the spirit of Shakespeare alive. The crowd applauds again. The curtains close, and we all flow to the left of the stage, through the props room and into the rehearsal space. I'm following Desdemona. Tables are set up with red wines, champagne, cheeses and prosciutto. We are still in costume, and Emilia hands me a glass of wine. Congratulations on a great season, she says.

On my forth glass, the room goes quiet and Othello speaks over everyone. He must be saying something funny because everyone is laughing. Someone calls him Jay, and I wonder why.

I bump into a table, and Emilia asks how many glasses I've had. I'm dizzy, and I don't understand what Brabanito is telling me. Call up her father, rouse him, make after him, poison his delight, proclaim him in the streets, incense her kinsmen, I say.

Brabanito laughs and walks away, leaving me alone in the crowd, and I whisper Iago's words for the final time, I am not what I am.

My eyes stopped at the period. I felt weightless, as if my body would rise up from the sofa. I glanced at the wall beside me and saw my shadow casting from the streetlight outside—my shadow, an outline of a person—a silhouette with no face.

My phone chimed—it was a text from Leah. I ignored it. I read more, and became consumed with the joy of understanding.

This ends Episode 4 of Everyone and No One, a true crime podcast, hosted by Ian Tuason. To be continued next Tuesday in Episode 5, anywhere you get your podcasts. This has been a DimensionGate production.