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Speaker 1: This happened when I was thirteen years old. The Internet

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wasn't just a distraction, It was my world. School was

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a nightmare and home wasn't much better. But online I

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was someone, and that's where I met Christine. She said

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she was a fourteen year old, red haired girl, living

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the same life like every teenager. We chatted for months,

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then one night she asked to meet I didn't even

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think twice. That night, I slipped out into the cold,

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my breath clouding the air as I waited alone in

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the empty streets. Just when I was thinking Mom's gonna

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be so mad, I saw a car coming my way.

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Isn't Christine too young to drive? Damn, she must be

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a battie, I thought. But once the car pulled over

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near me, I saw a grown up man behind the

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stirring wheel. He had a smile on his face. He

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said Christine is his niece, and he came to take

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me to her. I was only thirteen. Of course, I

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didn't doubt his words, and I went with him. He

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took me to a house close by the woods. Where

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is Christine, I asked, Entering the silent house, Suddenly he

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gripped my arm and started dragging me downstairs.

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Speaker 2: What's happening? What are you doing?

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Speaker 1: I screamed. He didn't answer, and dragged me down the basement.

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The basement was like stepping into a nightmare. Chains hanging

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from the ceiling, the walls smeared with stains that looked

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like blood. He shoved me onto the floor, then locked

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a heavy chain around my ankle. Your mind now, he said,

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crouching in front of me, his grin stretched too wide,

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his teeth yellow and jagged.

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Speaker 2: No running, no hiding, just us.

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Speaker 1: The first night I sat trembling in the cold, damp basement.

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By that time I knew there was never a girl

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named Christine. This man had lied to me, and now

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I'm his prisoner. Next day I was made to sit

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on a chair facing a camera. The sixth Psycho held

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a knife to my throat and whispered, smile.

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Speaker 2: They all want to see you smile. I didn't. He

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screamed in my ear.

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Speaker 1: I said, smile. He pressed the blade to my lips.

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Blood dripped as it pierced my skin. Tears rolled down

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my eyes.

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Speaker 2: I cried, Why are you doing this to me so

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you won't listen? Huh?

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Speaker 1: He took out a duct tape and started taping my

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mouth and no shut. My chest tightened as I struggled

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to breathe.

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Speaker 2: My heart raised. His panic set in. He lit a cigarette,

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the tip blowing as he leaned in close. Do you

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want to air?

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Speaker 1: He asked, his tone light, almost playful, and behave. The

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cigarette came closer, the smoke stinging my eyes. Tears streamed

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down my face as he held the burning tip near

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my eyeball. My muffled sobbing echoed in the basement. He

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pressed it to my neck first, the pain searing, unbearable.

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My body trembled, but the chain held me in place.

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I just gave you a tattoo, he laughed in sick joy.

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When he finally ripped the tape off, I gasped for air,

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sobbing so hard I thought I'd choke, He smiled, patting

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my cheek like I was a child.

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Speaker 2: Good girl, you're learning.

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Speaker 1: The second day, he tied my hands behind my back,

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forcing me to kneel in front of the camera. Stay still,

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he whispered. He then took out a scissor and chopped

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some of my hair. Stop squirming, he barked, grabbing my

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shoulder and forcing me still.

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Speaker 2: You ruin my masterpiece.

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Speaker 1: I bit down on my lips so hard it bled,

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trying not to scream. When he finished, he stepped back,

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admiring his work. A beautiful he said, angling the case

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to show every inch of what he'd done.

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Speaker 2: They're gonna love this.

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Speaker 1: The fact that this man is not only torturing me

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but also filming this, and there are people who'll enjoy

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watching a thirteen year old in such a condition made

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me realize what a sick world we live in. After

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finishing recording me like that, he picked up a chainsaw

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from the floor. It's time to take this to the

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next level, he said, turning it on. I tried to

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crawl away, but the chain yanked me back. He grabbed

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my leg, pinning me in place, the chainsaw hovering inches.

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Speaker 2: From my skin.

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Speaker 1: You won't mind using a crush, right, he smiled, ear

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to ear, holding the chainsaw up. I thrashed, screaming, begging,

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but he just leaned closer, the blade inching toward my thigh.

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The metal teeth grazed my skin and I thought this

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is it. I Am going to die. Then the door

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burst open, shouts flashlights. The roar of the chainsaw cut

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off as men in uniforms stormed the room. He didn't fight,

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He just stood there smiling as they cuffed him. I

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don't remember much after that. The chains were gone and

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someone carried me into the light. But part of me

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is still in that basement. Even now. When I close

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my eyes, I hear the hum of the chainsaw, I

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feel the blade on my skin, and I wonder how

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close I came to never leaving. On New Year's Day

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two thousand and two, thirteen year old Alisha Kozakevich got

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kidnapped by thirty eight year old computer programmer Scott Tyree,

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who befriended her pretending to be a fourteen year old

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girl online. Over the course of four days, Alicia was

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held captive, shackled, abused, and tortured in Tyree's basement dungeon.

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Tyree filmed the abuse and also broadcasted it on the

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dark web. A viewer in Florida recognized Alicia from news

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stories and a missing person's flyer. He contacted the FBI

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anonymously and via a payphone because he feared being charged

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as an accessory to the crime. Tracking Tyree's IP address,

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the FBI arrested him on January fourth, two thousand and two.

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In September two thousand and three, Tyree was sentenced to

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nineteen years and seven months in federal prison. I'm twenty

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seven years old, a mother to a beautiful little boy,

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and I work hard to give.

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Speaker 2: Him a better life. I lived with my.

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Speaker 1: Fiance Marsine, in West Yorkshire, England. Things weren't perfect between us,

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far from it. Marsne had a temper, quick to anger

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over the smallest things. His harsh words and cruel remarks

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cut deep, but I stayed for the sake of our child.

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Speaker 2: I thought things could get better.

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Speaker 1: One Thursday, I was doing household chores take a leave

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from work. Marcine was usually quiet, sitting in the living

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room barely looking at me. Later in that evening, he

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told me his friend Patrick was coming for dinner. Patrick

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was always unsettling to me, with a sneering demeanor that

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mirrored the actor from shining, but I didn't say anything

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to avoid another fight. Around nine, three of us sat

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down to eat. Marsne and Patrick shared some private jokes,

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laughing loudly while I ate in silence. Attention in the

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room felt suffocating, but I stayed calm, thinking about my

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son and how this was just another moment to endure.

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I excused myself after dinner to clear the dishes, hoping

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to find some quiet. Then as I turned to leave

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the room, I felt a sharp, cold pressure.

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Speaker 2: Against the back of my neck.

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Speaker 1: Before I could react, an electric jolt surged through my body.

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My knees buckled, the world spun, and everything went black.

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Sound of digging and dirt hitting a hard surface woke

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me up. Opening my eyes, all I could see was

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pitch black darkness. My wrists were bound tightly in front

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of me with tape, and my legs felt like they

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were pinned together. I tried to move, but the confined

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space pressed back against me. Panics started to set in

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as I realized I was inside something, something small and tight,

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maybe a box.

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Speaker 2: I screamed for help, my voice trembling with fear. Martin Marson,

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what's going on?

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Speaker 1: Muffled voices answered their tones chillingly casual. She's awake, Patrick said,

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his voice almost amused.

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Speaker 2: Good.

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Speaker 1: Marcne replied, let her scream, it doesn't matter now.

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Speaker 2: My heart raced. What did he mean?

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Speaker 1: I screamed to hear more, but the sound of dirt

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hitting the box drowned out their words.

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Speaker 2: My breath hitched as the reality hit me. They were

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burying me alive. Please, please, don't do this.

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Speaker 1: I screamed, kicking and thrashing against the walls of the box.

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My pleas grew more desperate as the dirt piled on,

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muffling the sounds of the outside world. And then a

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few minutes later I heard a Marsiene's car drive away.

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Oh God, they left me to die inside the box.

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The air grew hotter and thinner. The darkness pressed in

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on me, choking me with fear. My mind raced, trying

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to understand how the man I once loved could do this.

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Why the dirt continued to fall, sealing me away from

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the world. My body shook with sobs as I clawed

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at the tape binding my wrists. Then I felt it,

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the sharp edge of my engagement ring.

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Speaker 2: My breath caught in my throat. Could I use it? It

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was small, but it was something.

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Speaker 1: I twisted the ring against the tape, grinding it back

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and forth until my fingers throbbed with pain. Time seemed

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to stretch endlessly, the weight of the earth above pressing

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down on the box and on me. Finally, the tape snapped.

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My hands were free, but the battle was far from over.

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Using my hands, I pushed at the cardboard walls. It

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was weak, but reinforced by the weight of the dirt.

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I clawed at it with everything I had, tearing through

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it piece by piece. My nails broke and my fingers bled,

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but I didn't stop. Finally, the box gave way and

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dirt cascaded around me. I pushed through, inch by agonizing

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inch until my hand broke the surface. I gasped for

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air as I dragged myself out of the shallow grave.

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The cold night air hit my skin, sharp and stinging,

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but it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever felt.

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I stumbled toward the road, my legs trembling with exhaustion.

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My clothes were tattered, my hair matted with dirt, and

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every part of me ached. When I saw the faint

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glow of headlights in the distance, I screamed for help,

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waving my arms frantically. The car slowed, its driver staring

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at me with wide, terrified eyes. At first they hesitated,

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but when I collapsed onto the ground, they rushed to help.

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My voice was hoarse, barely a whisper as I told

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them what happened.

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Speaker 2: Please help me. They tried to kill me.

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Speaker 1: The cops eventually arrested my crazy ex and his friend

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for attempted murder. I fought my way out of the grave,

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and I will keep fighting for my son, for myself,

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for the life they tried to take from me. In

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two thy eleven, Michelina Lewandowska, a young Polish woman, survived

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a horrifying ordeal when her fiance, Marcine Casprac and his

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friend Patrick Bloris attacked her with a stun gun. They

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bound her and buried her alive in a cardboard box

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at the local cemetery. Motivated by a desire to end

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their relationship and gain custody of their child, Casprac buried

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her in a shallow grave, covering it with soil and

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a heavy tree branch. Using her engagement ring to cut

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through the box, Michelina clawed her way to freedom. She

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alerted authorities, and Casprac and Boris was arrested and later

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sentenced to twenty years in prison for attempted murder. No

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one saw it coming, neither did I. But one thing

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led to another, and here I am remembering every detail

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of that night at Buffalo wild wings. It was just

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another Saturday, and my plans were simple, a few drinks,

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a little distraction. That things rarely go according to plan

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when emotions are simmering just below the surface. I arrived

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around ten pm. The night was in full swing. The

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constant murmur of conversation mixed with laughter, the sound of

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clinking glasses, the smell of hot sauce in the air.

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At first, everything seemed fine. I just wanted to get

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lost in the crowd. One more face in Columbia, a

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shadow that would disappear unnoticed. But then he should, a

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guy I knew from before, someone I didn't exactly get

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along with. Seeing him there, laughing care free, I felt

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the cold metal in my pocket, its weight giving me

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a false sense of control. I took a few steps determined.

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When a waiter walked in front of me. He looked

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at me with curiosity and a hint of annoyance. Can

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I help you with something, buddy, he asked, noticing that

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I wasn't about to sit down. I shook my head,

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trying to remain calm. No thanks, I replied, as if

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everything was normal. My eyes returned to the guy in

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the corner, and her eyes met triggering a series of

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cold remarks that were hurled like darts. The tension between

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us was palpable, and before I knew it, my hand

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moved on its own and reached for the gun in

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my pocket. I aimed, and with a single shot, the

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night shattered into a thousand pieces.

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Speaker 2: Run run, I.

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Speaker 1: Heard someone yell as panics spread like wildfire. People stumbled

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over chairs, some threw themselves to the ground, and the

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waiter from earlier looked at me pale. One of the

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wounded man's friends yelled at me from across the restaurant.

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Speaker 2: You crazy bastard, What the hell is wrong with you?

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I didn't answer.

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Speaker 1: I knew that nothing I could say would explain the inexplicable.

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I slipped through the crowd and managed to get out

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before the officers arrived, but I wasn't fast enough. The

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sirens were already wailing in the distance, and red and

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blue lights were flashing down the street. I stopped on

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the sidewalk, breathing heavily, and within minutes the officers surrounded me.

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Speaker 2: One of them stepped out, gun drawn and yelled, heads up,

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don't move. I put my hands up and looked him

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straight in the eye. Officer. Calm down, I'm not gonna resist.

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Speaker 1: As they cuffed me, the officer murmured, still incredulous.

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Speaker 2: Why why ruin your life like this?

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Speaker 1: I sighed, knowing no one would understand because they only,

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for a moment, everyone knew I existed.

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Speaker 2: I replied quietly.

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Speaker 1: Later in the cell, I heard the murmurs of officers

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talking about how Buffalo Wild Wings closed the next day

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and how the employees were too afraid to return to work.

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I realized how that moment of chaos had shattered the

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normalcy of so many lives, and the weight of my

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actions hit me hard. I thought about how Columbia was

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caught in a cycle of violence. The news said that

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the crime rate had dropped sixteen point eight percent in

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the last year, which made me laugh. Ironically, a number

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on a piece of paper doesn't capture the pain behind

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every story, like the guy who died at Walmart in

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March or the shooting in May. Maybe the city'll move on,

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hoping for change, but I know I can never escape

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who I've become, the guy who fired a shop in

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a Buffalo Wild Wings on an ordinary Saturday night. This

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incident occurred on the night of Saturday August seventh, twenty

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twenty four, when a man was taken to the hospital

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following a shooting in South Columbia. Columbia Police Department officers

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found an adult male with a gunshot wound at the

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Buffalo Wild Wings restaurant on East Nifong just before midnight.

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A police spokesman confirmed the suspect, Alexis Gonzalez, was arrested

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on charges of first degree assault, armed criminal action, and

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unlawful use of a weapon. Police say there was no

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further threat to the community.

