Everyone and No One, a true crime podcast, hosted by Ian Tuason. Episode 3.
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 March 19
I met with Le 25, or "Leah", at this quiet little steakhouse soaked in dim light. Her protruding ears framed her elongated but pretty face. Her makeup looked like it was applied by a six year old girl. She wore a blazer over a cocktail dress—an outfit I had once seen on a character in a nineties sitcom. But despite her contrived attempts at fashion, I found her attractive. There was a tenderness about her frail, petite body and long arching neck, and I imagined there was a natural beauty under all the gook and tacky clothes.
I chewed the final bite of my steak and looked over to her. She looked down at her plate, hardly having touched it at all.
"How's your food?"
Her gaze was blank, as if staring through me. She had not looked directly into my eyes all night, which comforted me in a way. Her nervousness made me feel like I was in control. "Yes?" she squeaked.
"How do you like it?" I looked at her plate.
"It's...it's fine," she poked at her fish with her fork. Leah was cuter in person than on her profile. Le 25 seemed dull in her profile, nothing original, but Leah was very strange and fidgety.
“Did you know the singer Mitch Lucker tweeted ‘the dead are living’ right before he died in a motorcycle accident?” I said.
“No…I didn’t...know,” she stammered, shaking her head. A gold crucifix hung from a chain on her neck.
“I like your necklace.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you religious?”
“Very.”
“You know, you’re the second religious person I met this week? Christian, too.”
“That’s a divine…sign. Don’t you…think?” she stammered again.
A server passed us cradling a bottle of wine.
"Would you like wine or anything?"
"I can't. I'm on...on medication."
"Really?" My head perked up slightly.
"Generalized anxiety," she said.
"Oh no," I said. She nodded, grateful for my concern. "When did it start?"
"I was twenty one," she said. "Just a few...few years ago."
"Do you mind talking about it?" I said. Her eyes softened.
"Not at…all," she said, concentrating. "I had a panic attack that…kept on going. Maybe it was because I...I just graduated university and was thrown into a high pressure job. Maybe...maybe it was a chemical imbalance. I have a psychiatrist, but he doesn't know. I thought...the medicine was just going to cure me instantly. Make it go…away. But they don't work that way."
I breathed deeper, and a strange but pleasant tingling feeling simmered in my chest—something I've never felt before.
"Do...do you have experience with this sort of thing?" she said.
"With medication? No, never," I said.
"You're…lucky," Leah visibly relaxed.
"So, what happened after?" I said.
"I had to resign from my job. That was...years ago. I went on workers comp for more than a year until I got this low stress job I have now. I can't even..."
A server interrupted her. "Do you want to take that home?" He motioned to her plate.
"What? Oh, no...no thank you," she said, looking at my eyes for the first time.
"Please, I'll take it," I said to the server.
"Would you like any coffee or dessert?" the server said.
"I'd like some dessert. What do you think, Leah? Want to share a piece of cake?"
Leah smiled.
Outside the restaurant I studied Leah touching her hair.
"You're taking the Dupont subway?" I asked. She nodded. "Let's go, I'll walk you."
Strolling down the narrow sidewalk, I cleared my throat, thinking of what to say, but as my lips parted, my mind drew a blank. Our hands accidentally touched and she flinched. We walked, neither of us talking.
Our hands touched again, and an instinct moved me to reach out and take hold of hers, but I stopped myself. I threw a sideways glance, and saw her looking down at her feet. I should hold her hand, I repeated to myself. But something was stopping me.
The attraction that stirred in my gut was real, but so was the fear of her pulling away. We walked the next few blocks in silence. I hesitated to look at her, but when I did, I saw her arms crossed over her chest, and I wondered what she was feeling. Online, when catfishing, rejections were meaningless, they were never rejecting me, but a fictional identity.
We arrived at the station. "Thanks for...the dinner. Sorry I didn't finish it," she said.
"No problem. I'll be having a good breakfast tomorrow," I lifted the plastic bag hanging in my hand.
"Where are you…heading after this?" she said.
"Queen West."
"Gosh, that's so close to where we came from. You...you didn't have to walk me."
"It's no problem," I peered down the street.
"Okay then," our eyes connected. A thought entered my mind like a moment in a movie—that I should kiss her—and I wanted to kiss her. But instead, I reached my arms around her for a hug.
She hugged me lightly, barely touching me, as if I was a formation of ash in danger of crumbling.
"Bye," I whispered. I thought I heard her say bye, too, but I wasn't certain.
I turned and walked back in the direction we came from, defeated, my palms moist. I focused on the emptiness ahead, and it welcomed me.
Posted on March 20
In the elevator, William's luggage leaned up against my leg. William carried a gym bag at his side. The elevator doors opened and the sound of the rolling luggage fell silent on carpeted hallway.
In my apartment, we headed straight to the spare room. I laid his luggage on the bed and dug out a brass key from my pocket.
William's face looked different. His eyes spaced out and he was sniffling, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
"Allergies?" I asked.
"Huh?" William jumped, almost startled. His stoic frame was bent now, leaning over and unsteady, as if I could tip him over with a gentle shove. This wasn't the William I had met two nights before, and for a moment, I wondered if I had made a mistake—inviting this stranger to room with me.
"No. Just a bit hungover," he said.
"Here," I handed him the key. "Your key to the place."
"Thanks," he bent over and reached into the side pocket of his gym bag and took out a wad of folded cash. We had agreed to keep the rent under the table.
"I'll unpack later. You got a beer?" he said.
"Sorry. I got some vodka, though. And Coke, if you want," I said.
"Yeah, sure."
In the kitchen, I mixed him a drink and he insisted I made one for myself, too. William faced my bookshelf, eyeing my row of novels. I handed him his glass and the ice clinked as he swirled it around.
"These any good?" said William. With each sip of his drink, his back straightened. He began to resemble the William I had first met.
"Pretty good," I slurped my drink with a sharp inhale and coughed. I added more ice.
William grabbed a paperback novel and flipped open the back cover.
"He threw his arms wide, and the feelin’ of freedom made him almost giddy," he said.
"What's that?" I said.
"It's the last line of this book," he showed me the cover and I saw it was one I hadn't read yet. "I love skippin’ to the last line. It's like cheatin’."
"You read a lot?" I said.
"All the time," William placed the book back on the shelf upside down, but didn't notice. "I write, too."
William chugged the rest of his drink. Ice clinked in the glass. He poured a triple shot of vodka this time, and didn't add any Coke.
"The other night was fun, eh?" said William.
“It was.”
"You get that girl’s number?"
I shook my head.
"Too bad, she was cute," William flopped on the sofa. “You seein’ anyone?”
"I went on a date last night," I rubbed the back of my neck.
"She hot?"
"She's all right," I shrugged.
"Did you get lucky?"
"What? No, we just met," I said.
“Yeah, so?” William looked at me, amazed. "What’s stoppin’ you? Did she like you?"
"I don’t know,” I said.
"Only one way to find out, right? When you seein’ her again?"
"I don't know if I want to."
“You don’t like her?”
“I do, it’s just…”
"Call her then," William stopped me short. His drink tilted dangerously, threatening the cushions. “Ask her to go bowlin' or somethin'."
"I don't know how to bowl."
William swiped his hand through the air. "You roll a ball down a lane. Just ask her."
"Okay," I sat next to him and he stared at me. "What?" I said.
"Now, man. Call her now," William poked at me repeatedly, some of his drink spilled onto his pants.
"Get out of here," I laughed.
"I'm not gonna stop until you call her."
Sighing, I snatched my phone from the coffee table and typed a message. William leaned over my shoulder, rattling the ice in his glass.
"Here," I showed him my text to Leah, not yet sent.
"Tomorrow," he said.
"What?"
"You wrote 'some time'. Ask her for tomorrow."
I shook my head and edited the message. "There, can I send it now?"
"Yep," said William, satisfied. He raised his glass up for a toast. “Here’s to gettin’ lucky.”
Posted on March 21
The semi-detached townhouses that lined the street were all the same brownish color. I surveyed the numbers on the mail boxes of each house; 245, 247, 249. My nervousness escalated with each increasing number.
In front of Leah’s address, a balding man was hosing down oil stains on his driveway. Water ran down onto the side walk. I approached him, my feet slapping on the wet cement.
"Hi, is this where Leah lives?" I said.
The man pointed around to the side of the house. A big dog in the window next door barked as I passed between the houses. I reached a side door and knocked twice, butterflies stirring in my stomach. Leah answered the door in a gray sweatshirt, her forehead wet with sweat.
"You’re...you're early," she wiped her forehead with her sleeve.
"You said five."
"I did? I'm...I'm so sorry. I thought I said six," she motioned for me to come in. Leah lived in a basement apartment. I followed her down carpeted steps. The lights were off, and her living room glowed blue from a TV facing an elliptical machine.
"Sorry, I was exercising. It really helps...with my anxiety," she turns on the overhead light and starts tidying up the cushions on her sofa. "Have a seat."
"That's okay, I've been sitting all day," I crept around her small apartment surveying the items on the wall—a statue of Jesus on the cross, a framed needlework of a bible quote, a hanging shelf with the books "How to Control Your Nerves" and "The Buddhist Guide to Christianity" and a few others. Two golden elephant bookends held the row of books in place.
"Nice Elephants."
"Thank you," Leah said.
"Where'd you get them? India?" I said.
"They're just…something I found at a flea market. You've been to India?"
"Sure," I boasted. "I love traveling. Do you travel?"
"I...I wish," she said. "Flying is really hard on my nerves."
The cross on the wall showed Jesus drenched in so much agony that his eyes rolled up, his mouth hung open, and I thought that no one deserved to die that way.
"Would you…like some juice?" Leah asked from the kitchen. She lit an incense stick beside a figurine of the Virgin Mary on the counter. I thought of William and then forced myself to sneak up behind her, and when she turned around I took her by the elbows and pulled her close. For a moment, I was entirely disoriented by the feeling of being so close to the kind of girl I wanted to be close to. Her face tilted up, and then our mouths pressed together. I heard a tiny gasp come from her nose. My head dizzied, not really knowing what I was doing. Her lips were soft, and she parted them perfectly. I found her waist with my fingers, touching the strip of bare skin on her lower back. She flinched, then relaxed.
Then our lips broke free and she looked down at her feet. I couldn't tell what she was thinking.
"I…look like crap," she stuttered, her ears blushing.
"No way, you're as cute as a cupcake," I said.
"I should get ready," her face glowed.
I pulled her in again and kissed her with everything I had.
I came home after midnight. I tossed my keys onto the coffee table and they slid off onto the floor.
"William, you in there?" I knocked on his door.
I heard shuffling inside his bedroom. Footsteps clomped and the door opened, William behind it, scratching the back of his neck, his eyes closed.
"Jesus, what time is it?" he said.
"I got lucky."
"What?"
"I kissed her."
He walked passed me to the fridge. He pushed aside the milk carton, looking desperately for something. "You got vodka somewhere? Wine?"
"All out," I shook my head.
"Fuckin' shit," he said. "Got a smoke?" William moved with half his normal energy. He plopped himself onto the sofa and I tossed my pack and Zippo onto the cushion beside him.
"We went bowling," I said.
"Okay, details," he said, lighting a cigarette.
"It was amazing," I said, sitting down next to him. William's eyes were closed and I wasn't sure if he was listening. "We held hands."
"Good for you, fam," his eyes rolled half open.
He took out his phone and ran his fingers across its edges. On his lock screen was the image of his Psychedelics Anonymous Genesis #2787—faceless, like mine. But his wore a hard mask, jagged, as if protecting himself from something impending. The image was his own, but not really his own.
At that moment, I caught a certain look on his face that made me feel sorry for him. I wasn't sure what it was exactly, but I saw it. He stared down at his phone in an affectionate way that made me feel strange.
A car alarm wailed from the open window. When it subsided, we heard the distant screams of the homeless man that terrorized the area. He cursed outside in the street, shouting cunt and cock in broken sentences.
"Sometimes the city gets to me," William said. He was sleepy, docile, and sober. "Home was quiet."
"Where’s that?" I said.
"A small town you wouldn't have heard of," William shook his head as if shaking out memories that were invading his brain. And then it seemed like his mind was not with me anymore. His mouth hung open. "There were some moments, though, that you wouldn't believe. I saw things that I'm not sure human beings were meant to see. Sometimes I just couldn't take it—how beautiful it was."
I shifted in my seat. William closed his eyes.
"At night, the lake was like a black mirror, and the northern lights danced over it," he murmured. "Green and purple spun and waved in the sky and on the water. I've seen lightenin' crash out, settin' treetops on fire, only to watch the rain wash it away. Alone out there in the bush, I had no one else to share that shit with. And when I die, so will all those memories. The longer I stayed there, the more all those beautiful fuckin' things were slippin' away forever.”
William’s voice trailed off. And then a thought haunted me, like a growing seed in my mind—that maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe he was the lonely one all along, and it was William who was seeking someone.
The sky outside began to lighten into a violet haze.
"The sun's almost up," I said. I stood up and stretched my shoulders back.
William's arms fell limp at his side. His head drooped down, his chin rested on his chest, and he let out a soft snore.
In my bedroom, stripping to my boxers, I almost forgot to take my pill. I swallowed one before falling face first onto my mattress on the floor. I only wanted to think of one thing—Leah. And so I did. I lied there, focusing on who I was, and I knew myself for the first time in a very, very long time. I was Leah's boyfriend. I was William's roommate. I was hugging my pillow, rubbing my feet together for warmth, and I was someone.
This ends Episode 3 of Everyone and No One, a true crime podcast, hosted by Ian Tuason. To be continued next Tuesday in Episode 4, anywhere you get your podcasts. This has been a DimensionGate production.
