I believe that everyone’s story is meant to be told.  Although, when people commit horrific acts, such as, say murder, they might be forced to hide their stories forever.  I’m not guilty of killing anyone, except for perhaps myself.  But, I’ve hidden my story for far too long and I hope you won’t judge me too harshly by my poor decisions and indiscretions.  I’m not proud of some of the things I’ve done.  With that said, I feel the need to finally tell my story,  even though I can never tell anyone my real name.  That’s something I can’t ever do…  unfortunately, never!

It all began in 1980, in the city of Atlanta, GA.  That was the year I went to work for a large accounting firm.  Five years later, I met a beautiful young school teacher named Jenna.  Not long afterwards, we married and had two children; a son we named Connor and a daughter, Danelle.  In the mid 1990’s there was talk at our firm about opening another office, in New York City, to work more closely with our East coast customers.

In 1996, a very beautiful young lady named Britney came to work at our firm.  I was immediately attracted to her and before long, she was drawn to me as well.  Britney and I began seeing each other every chance we got.  As I think back to that time, everyone in the office most likely knew about Britney and I.  We tried hard to be discreet, though, in hopes that Jenna would never find out.

***

In 1999, our firm finally opened a new office high up in the North Tower of the World Trade Center.  I was offered a promotion and a chance to move to the New York office.  Jenna, the kids and I found a small, but affordable apartment within a reasonable commute to my new job.  Brittney quit the firm and moved to a small community on Long Island to take a job at a well established advertising company.  We continued seeing each other every chance we could.

My best friend Joey Spencer and I worked together at the firm.  He had also come from the Atlanta office and knew all about me and Britney.  Sometimes I would leave home early and make the short trip to Long Island to spend a little time with Britney.  I would always call Joey and he would sign me in on time.  Since we were both managers, that was never a problem.

***

On Tuesday 9/11/2001, I headed out early to take Britney a special bottle of wine I had bought for her.  I had already made the call to Joey, and he signed me in at the office.  I pulled into the parking lot on Cedar Street, where I always parked, then walked up the alley to Oak Street where Britney lived.  Part way through the alley, I happened to see a dirty looking, old, wallet discarded near the base of a dumpster, so I picked it up.  Inside there were several forms of ID, drivers license, SS card, etc.  There wasn’t any money, but that didn’t surprise me.  I wondered if it had simply been dropped or if it had been stolen.  I recognized the address on the drivers license as being just a couple blocks down from the house where Britney lived.  I put the wallet in my briefcase so I could take it to its rightful owner.  The wallet belonged to a man named “Walter Tanner.”

When I was almost at Briney’s, I got a call from Joey, telling me there had been an explosion several floors below our office and that they were preparing to evacuate.  I told Joey to stay safe and I would call him later.  Not long after that, my phone rang again, it was Jenna.  As usual, however, I didn’t answer and let it go to voicemail.  She said she saw on TV that a small plane had flown into the North Tower of the World Trade Center.  When I reached Britney’s, I picked up the paper from the front porch and quickly went inside.

Britney had already received a text from a friend and was watching TV.  Shortly, as we watched, a second plane flew into the South Tower and our lives, along thousands of others, were changed forever.  I immediately tried calling Joey, but didn’t get an answer.  I later found out that no one from our office had survived that day.  For the next few hours, I sat quietly, lost in confusion and overwhelmed with guilt.  I knew I should have been there with the rest of them.  And then, as if to make matters worse, Britney read me an article from the newspaper, saying that two nights before, a man named Walter Tanner had been attacked and killed in an apparent robbery attempt; there were no leads in the case. 

With my life now in turmoil, a million thoughts raced through my mind and I struggled to figure out what I should do.  If not for my strong-willed dear Britney, I would never have made it through that difficult time.  She convinced me that it was our chance to finally be together and that we could make a fresh start.  Britney was without a doubt the love of my life, so we devised a plan to change my identity.  I became “Raymond Bradbury” a Corporate Financial Adviser.  A couple of years later, Britney and I were married. 

 ***

For the first few years, things went well.  Occasionally, I would disguise myself, so that I could attend my kids’ events; sports, plays, etc.  I would sit far back in the crowd and carefully watch out for people who could possibly recognize me.  One time I let my emotions get the best of me and I cheered for my son Connor when he made the winning championship basketball shot.  Everyone was chanting “King Con”, for Connor, as he and his teammates circled the floor.  Then all of a sudden Connor paused slightly, staring right up my way with a look on his face like he had just seen (or heard) a ghost!  I knew from that point on I’d have to stay away from their events in the future.  I was already feeling like I had stabbed myself, but this was the proverbial twisting of the knife.  

As the years passed, my fear of being found out began to rule my life.  Every year when I watched the 9-11 memorials, I would shudder in guilt and embarrassment when I heard my name being read.  Each time I’d see someone I thought I knew, I would try to hide.  After a while I was confused about when and where I had met various people; was it before or after.  I tried on several occasions to convince Britney that we should move somewhere far away from there. 

Once, we were harassed by a crazy man named “Samuel Evers” who claimed Britney owed him money.  He wanted an additional $200 for the lawn work he had done.  Britney said he was wrong and she had paid him what he had quoted.  I remember in Atlanta, Jenna had hired a lawn guy named “Sam” who did some shoddy work and I gave him a bad review.  I hoped this wasn’t the same guy, he’s not someone you want to have in your life.

After arguing with the guy for an hour or so, I told him I would give him half, $100, and that was all!  But, he kept calling nearly every day, making threats and leaving messages saying:  “Sammy wants his money, Bradbury… Sammy wants his money”!  Once he even said:  “Ask your neighbor what happens when you don’t pay up!”  We had no idea who he was talking about and just laughed about the guy.  Britney and I would joke around with each other, saying:  “Sammy wants his money, Bradbury… Sammy wants his money”!  Although I never actually met this nutcase, we were relieved when he stopped calling. 

I also learned of another man named “Jamal Ammara”, who was apparently the Cyber Security Officer for the accounting firm where I had worked.  He had survived the 9-11 attack by being off work that day.  I wouldn’t find out until some years later that this guy had alerted management that there had been activity on my cell phone in the days following 9-11.  My attempts to contact Joey, my wife’s phone messages to me and a 45 minute call from Britney to her sister, as well as other calls were all made on my phone.  Somehow management wasn’t interested!  A couple of months later, Jamal, whom I never actually met, left the company to take a job in forensics with the NYC Police Department.  One of the cases he worked on was the robbery and killing of “Walter Tanner”, until it finally became a “Cold Case”.  

Despite my growing paranoia, life with my precious Britney was wonderful.  One day that all ended, however, when Britney was diagnosed with a rare and mysterious disease which led to her subsequent death in 2012.  The doctors called it a “Toxic Infection” that somehow started in her digestive track and moved to her bloodstream, etc..  They asked about her use of insecticides or weed killers like “Round-up” or others, but Bridney never used any of those things herself.

I immediately realized that Brittney’s funeral could cause me irrefutable problems, when I had spotted a group of our old friends from Georgia, who came to her showing.  I quietly slipped out the back to keep from being seen and went straight home.  Somewhat distraught and panicked, I hastily packed up what I could and left town that very same night.

***

I remember driving all night and finally pulling into a small town in south central Ohio.  I was heading for Colorado or perhaps Montana; as far away as I could get.  I decided to stay here for a few days, however, at a shady looking little motel called the “StopOn Inn”.  I had a good feeling about that town and felt I could fit in there.  Across from the small diner, where I enjoyed my morning coffee, was a small garage looking to hire another mechanic.  I used to tinker with cars a lot as I grew up, so it seemed kinda right.  I applied for the job and ended up getting it.  When they asked my name, however, I gave them “Walter Tanners” identification.  I was now “Walt”!  As time went on, everyone got to know me and trusted “Walt” to keep their cars running well.  I felt I had finally found my place.

This little town was the kind where everyone got along and stuck together.  It was actually like a big happy family and I soon became a part of it.  Everyone was very kind and friendly.  One day, for no apparent reason, though, a strange guy by the name of Sam blew into town.  He never said what his last name was, but everyone referred to him as “Sam the Sham”, but not to his face.  He was a big, angry looking guy, with a chip on his shoulder and seemed to enjoy irritating everyone with his odd comments.  He never spoke to me directly, but sometimes stared at me irrilly and then turned away if I looked back.  He hung around the diner for a few days and slept in his truck every night, rather than renting a room.  He began talking about staying, but everyone hoped that he wouldn’t.  Then thankfully, one day old “Sam the Sham” was gone, pick-up truck and all.  He must have somehow got the hint!

For several years things went well.  I had made a lot of new friends and settled into a comfortable new life.  But like an engine running out of gas, everything began to stall.  One day a traveler with a flat tire, was referred to our Garage where he bought a set of new tires.  Someone at the diner told him to ask for Walter Tanner.  I wasn’t there when he came that first time, however, I later mounted the tires on his car and was at the garage when he came to pick it up.  I happened to see the name on the bill… It was “Jamal Ammara”!  In my mind I questioned what he was doing here?  I wondered, does he still work for the NYPD?  

The day Ammara came to pick up his car, he entered the shop asking for Walter Tanner.  With some apprehension, I foolishly replied: “I’m not Walter Tanner.”  I told him my name was “Raymond Bradbury” and that Walter Tanner was off again that day.  He said it was a shame and that he really wanted to meet Mr. Tanner.  He said he once knew a “Walter Tanner”, then concluded that it was probably a different Walter Tanner.  I said I agreed with him.  Then, he said that I looked familiar and he wondered if we had ever met before.  I told him I was pretty sure we hadn’t and said that I’d never been as far east as New York City before.  I was extremely relieved when he finally got in his car and drove off.

Then, about a week or so later, I saw his car around town again.  I was told that he had rented an Airbnb just down the street from my apartment building.  I soon found out he was talking to everyone I knew, asking questions about Walter Tanner.  Suddenly, I once again felt that same uneasy guilt I had felt in the days following 9-11.

A couple of days later, two FBI agents stopped at the Garage to ask me a few questions.  They wanted to know if I had ever lived in New York City or visited there before.  They were referring to me as “Bradbury” and since I had no idea what they might already know, I went along with that.  Soon, they began asking about “Walter Tanner”.  They wanted to know how long I had known him and where they might find him.  Immediately after they left, I made the difficult decision to pack up what I could and leave that nice little Ohio town I had learned to love.  Although it kinda felt like deja vu, it felt a lot more like hell!    

*** 

That evening I gathered my belongings and drove back across town to the Garage where I worked.  I parked my car in the back and transferred everything I had brought into a car we’d been storing inside for a customer who was temporarily out of the country.  It had been kept covered and I felt that I would be harder to track in this car.  I then took all the money from the safe in the back and the pistol we kept in case of a robbery.  Now, I was finally ready to leave, and so I opened the large garage door to exit.  That was when the other shoe dropped!  There were at least a half dozen police cars, all their lights flashing.  I stood there frozen as they placed the handcuffs on me and announced:  “Mr. Bradbury, you are under arrest for the murder of Walter Tanner”.  It seems my lies and deceptions had finally caught up with me. 

***

I was returned to New York, prosecuted and convicted of murdering Walter Tanner; a crime I did not commit.  I had never met nor did I kill Walter Tanner, but that seemed inconsequential now.  I had somehow managed to ruin my life and the lives of almost everyone I had ever known.  With the help of my lawyers, I finally told the court my entire story.  For the first time, I revealed my true identity and was hoping to prove that I was neither Raymond Bradbury nor Walter Tanner.  But the only person in the courtroom who could actually verify my story was NYPD Sergeant Jamal Ammara, who remained silent and never testified.  My lawyers requested that I be given a DNA test.  The judge denied the request, ruling that it could only prove me to be someone, who according to the State of New York, officially “no longer exists!” 

During my trial Walter Tanner’s sister would testify to seeing me often on Oak Street in Long Island.  Britney’s sister Abbey also testified, telling the court that I mysteriously left before her sister’s funeral, taking everything of value.  But on the day I was sentenced, came the biggest shock of all!   I would see my wife Jenna sitting in the back of the courtroom next to Jamal.  That’s how I was sure Jamal knew I was telling the truth!  By the time I was led out of the courtroom, they were both gone… I would never see either one of them again.

***

Now I’m serving a life sentence in a prison for the criminally insane.  I guess it’s where I belong.  Although I never actually killed anyone, I am surely guilty of ruining many lives.  I used to believe that people who had committed murder and got away with it, hid their stories forever… that’s not true here, though.  Most of these guys brag about how they did it and tell the gruesome details to the other deralicks.  When you haven’t done anything, however, you don’t have as much to tell.  Nobody wants to hear or believe tales of innocence, anyway.   Honestly, most of the time, I think I might be the only sane one here.

***

You may be wondering what pushed me to finally want to tell my story.  Well, one day when we were all watching a tribute to the victims of 9-11 and they got to my name, someone in the back of the room spoke-up loudly and said: “hey, isn’t that you?”  I quickly turned around and was amazed to see a new inmate!  It was the guy from the Ohio diner!  The one we referred to as “Sam the Sham”.  I couldn’t believe it!  If anyone was insane, it was this guy!  Then, later on that same day, he  approached me from behind and whispered in my ear:  “Sammy wants his money… Sammy wants his money, Bradbury”…  “maybe you need to learn what happens when you don’t pay up…  the same way Walter Tanner and your precious Britney did!” 

I’ve heard them say: “It’s a small world”.  Well, mine had just got a whole lot smaller.  “I’m not Walter Tanner” nor am I Raymond Bradbury, I’m just a man whose soul died from his own transgressions many, many years ago .  I may still be alive… but I “no longer exist!”▢