Ask Amy ✔

🔪 Fifty-Eight

banner by fadedscreams

This is my last note as anonymous.

And yes, you will know who I am. And no, you will probably never see me, or know where I go from here. As you're reading this, I've already left. I've had this letter sent to St. Michael's police department. The words on this page may do nothing. You may believe me to be lying.

But lies mean nothing to those that have heard them their whole life.

This is the part where I explain everything that happened. The people I talk about in this letter are real and the things they have done are real. All the evidence I have is attached to this letter. I've kept and collected it as I've needed. And yes, the things I have done have broken the law. But I did it to catch someone who is worse than a simple broken law. This person has controlled my life for too long and if there's one thing I get to decide then it's this.

I will leave in control of everything.

My name is Tegan. You've met my father before. You were also probably part of the group that just arrested him for having underage sex with my best friend. I know you're also aware that my father shot my brother with a fatal wound.

I don't think you're aware that I watched it happen from the closet.

I guess that's the first tragedy. First, my brother is suddenly sick and he goes on a killing spree and then my father turns out to be even more ill and drowns his bullets in his own son's skull.

That was when we lived in Ohio. We moved to St. Michaels for a fresh start. It was supposed to be better.

But then mom and dad started to argue, you know, the usual American family crap. But then things got twisted. Dad didn't drown his sorrows in a beer bottle. He drowned his sorrows in my new friend. I thought it was just a mistake. I'd caught them in my parent's room, you see.

Apparently that wasn't the first time.

Turns out my father had been meeting with Lorna way before we even moved to St. Michaels. All those college reunions in North Dakota. Meeting up with old friends, getting the band back together and other shit like that. One of dad's old friends had a daughter and my dad was smitten the second he saw her.

They've been together since I was sixteen.

And they called Sam the disgusting one.

It's not like I could do anything about it. They didn't run off together until Lorna was eighteen. Everything was so perfect. He was a cop. He was God.

He left my mom broken. She's only just started to get herself back together.

During this time I met a boy online. I was head over heels. He asked for a selfie. I sent one. He asked for a topless photo. I sent one. He asked for a nude. I sent ten.

We arranged to meet up and stupidly, I went through with it. I waited for the boy that was going to tell me he loved me and that we should run off together and instead a man came over, put his hand down my pants and pinned me to the floor. For a second, I wondered if that was what Lorna felt. Then I realized the man breathing down my neck was the same as my father minus the consent.

I went home and thought about killing myself.

I didn't. I got scared. And angry. So damn angry. I started breaking things, going into fits and tantrums. When I hit my dad so hard that he left a hole in the wall, they hauled me into a psych ward.

That was the last time I saw my dad until the day he was arrested.

I got out of the ward. They saw nothing wrong with me. But my mind was a ball of fire. I was walking fury. The man who raped me is called Carlisle Jackson. I tracked him down until I reached the site AskAmy.com which Carlisle had apparently stolen from a dead girl. Coincidentally the same girl that Sam had killed and was completely obsessed with. All he wanted to do was see her face.

I wanted to show everyone who Carlisle was. But slowly. A little torment never hurt anyone.

I only got once chance to do it so I might as well have played with him for a bit. He played with me after all. I'd seen that he was getting other nudes from other girls and it wasn't hard to turn them against him, reveal answers bit by bit, waiting for the right time. Some of the girls were great help, they didn't even realize it.

A quick hint here, pretend to be the real Amy here, one email, two emails, and they were hooked.

When they finally arrested Carlisle, he was a mess.

I'd made him that mess.

My own father was the last tick to check off. A couple notes, a few hints, a healthy dose of suspicion and a good old sex tape later and my dad was shot down in his own house, just like Sammy.

Part of me is sad Sammy was the one that didn't survive.

But we're all fucked up here. And sympathy seems to get us nowhere.

You might be wondering why I didn't just kill these men if I hated them so much. What's the point in letting them die the way they are? Letting them die as vile, repulsive, sick men. Why let them die all high and mighty? Why let them die when they can rot in jail? Why do I have to be the one with blood on my hands?

You might be also wondering why I'm sending this letter to you. It's not just a final note. I want mine to go out with a bang. There's a box attached to this with screenshots of all the conversations I ever had with Carlisle Jackson, before and after he raped me as well as my phone. Please, scroll through it for a moment, there's a video on it. A video I've kept for months. Watch it. Carefully. Then watch it again. And again.

Watch the video of my brother's last few breaths.

And try and say that there's a gun in his hand when there clearly isn't.

I thought of deleting the video a million times. I didn't help Sam. I regret that every day.

If those things don't keep Carlisle and my father locked up for a long time then my life has been meaningless. I had a purpose before. A purpose every young girl has. But that didn't matter after those two men walked into that life and spat on it.

And this is me spitting back. This is my final adieu. My middle finger going up. And my purpose complete.

And their purpose shattered to pieces.

They used my life like an ash tray. Don't throw what I'm giving you out like they threw me away. If there's one thing I'll die doing, it's fighting back. And perhaps that makes me as crazy as Sam. Or as sane as Amy.

But it will never make me as inhuman as those men.

Use what I give you. Not everyone is lucky enough to get this much evidence.