Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - From Fugitive to Finance Student How a Parole Error Changed the Course of My Whole Life #38

Episode Date: September 2, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #truecrimehorror #identitycrisis #escapedconvict #paroleerror #secondlife  One clerical mistake set me free. I was a fugitive, a convicted criminal who should’ve been behind bars. But a botched parole decision let me walk—without a hitch. I didn’t run. I reinvented. I changed my name, enrolled in college, and became a finance student with a clean slate. But the past doesn’t forget, and the horror isn’t always supernatural. Sometimes, it’s the quiet dread of knowing that your whole life is built on a glitch… and it could all come crashing down in one knock on the door.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truecrime, paroleerror, fugitivehorror, secondchancesgonewrong, identityswitch, legalhorrors, lifebuiltonlies, huntedpast, darkredemption, nearcapture, criminalrebirth, glitchinthesystem, justicefailed, hiddencriminal

Okay, so first off, I don't even know why I'm posting this here. Like, I never use Reddit. This was one of those, middle of the night, can't sleep, moments where I'm scrolling aimlessly, and then something in me went, you know what, screw it, tell your story. I've kept this bottled up for so long that I honestly thought I'd take it to the grave. But maybe, just maybe, it'll feel good to let it out. So here we go. I'm 27 now, a completely different man than I was back then, but when I think about how close I came to throwing my entire life away, it still makes my stomach flip.

When I was younger, I made choices that were, well, let's just call them catastrophic. If I had to sum it up, I was a rebellious kid from a chaotic environment who ran with the wrong crowd and numbed his pain in all the worst ways. And because of that, I ended up getting arrested in Illinois when I was still a teenager. Now, these weren't violent charges. No, I wasn't out here hurting people physically, but let's not sugarcoat it, I was in deep. I was charged with nonviolent felonies tied to the drug scene I was entrenched in. Back then, I was high all the time, making idiotic decisions like there'd never be any consequences. And when the hammer came down, I couldn't face it.

Instead of dealing with my bail like a grown adult, I skipped out and fled to another state like a scared little kid. For years, I lived like that, constantly looking over my shoulder, moving from couch to couch, ducking and dodging anything that smelled like law enforcement. I thought I was slick. Spoiler alert, I wasn't. Eventually, they caught up to me. I got arrested out of state and extradited back to Illinois to finally face all the charges I had been running from. Let me give you even more context because I don't want this to sound like. some romanticized outlaw story. Back then, I wasn't some cool anti-hero. I was a mess. My life revolved around drugs, chaos, and the false sense of brotherhood I got from toxic people who were

just as lost as I was. I hurt my family, burned every bridge I had, and didn't care if I lived or died. When I finally stood in front of that judge, I felt numb. For years in the Illinois Department of Corrections, that's what they gave me. But then they tossed me a lifeline I didn't expect, a boot camp alternative. If I agreed to do 120 days in their boot camp program, they'd let me walk after that. It felt like a miracle. Like maybe this was my chance to rewrite the script. I took the deal.

Boot camp wasn't easy, but it wasn't prison either. It was intense, structured, and soul-crushing at times, but I pushed through. Somehow, I made it to the other side and got released on parole. Two years of parole plus 60 days of house arrest, that was the agreement. At the time, I moved in with my grandmother. God rest her soul. That woman was my rock. She wasn't perfect, nobody is, but she opened her doors to me when nobody else would.

She cooked for me, nagged me, prayed for me. And honestly, Without her, I might not have made it as far as I did. But here's the thing, staying clean in that neighborhood was like trying to stay dry in a hurricane. The streets kept calling. The same faces, the same temptations, the same pain that had driven me to drugs in the first place. It didn't take long for me to fall back in. I started using again. And to make things worse, my oldest sister, let's call her, Lisa, was no help. Lisa grew up differently than me. Silver spoon in her mouth, never wanted for anything, and yet she had this streak of cruelty in her. She was a narcissist in

every sense of the word. Instead of helping me, she tried to sabotage me. She would call my parole officer and make up stories, claiming I was breaking my conditions. The walls were closing in. I was required to come in person to drug test at the parole office. I knew I'd fail. I knew if they saw me, they'd throw me back inside, and I couldn't handle the thought of losing my freedom again. So, I ran. Yeah, I know. Dumb move number 437 in the saga of my young life. But that's what I did. I packed a bag, fled the state, and started checking in via telephone for as long as they let me. Eventually, they caught on and slapped a hold on me. By the end of that year, my status officially changed to abscondor. That's a fancy word for, this guy's on the run. Translation. I had a warrant out for my

arrest again. At first, I was anxious all the time. Couldn't sleep, couldn't relax. Every knock on the door made my heart race. But over time, I stopped caring. It's crazy how fast you can normally normalize insanity. I carried on with my life like nothing was wrong. And then came 2020. The year COVID turned the whole world upside down. Everything shut down. Streets were empty, businesses closed, parole offices probably in chaos. I didn't check my parole status for months because why would I? I assumed I was still a wanted man. Until one random night, I decided to check. Just, just curiosity, I guess. And what I saw blew my mind. My status? Current. Wait, what? I thought it had to be a clerical error. Or maybe my parole officer got switched. Or maybe, just maybe, the system had forgotten

about me. Either way, I wasn't about to go knocking on their door to clarify. I still wasn't checking in like I was supposed to, mind you. I stayed quiet, kept my head down. Then came the day my two-year parole period was supposed to end. I didn't expect anything. In my head, I figured they'd come for me eventually. But that morning, I woke up to a notification that changed everything. You have been discharged from idiosi. I swear to you, my heart stopped. I read it over and over, trying to make sure I wasn't imagining things. I wasn't. It was real. I cried that day. Like full-on ugly sobs, tears streaming, snot running. I hadn't cried like that in years, but something about knowing I was free, really, truly free, broke me open. The only people who ever knew this

story were my now wife and my brother, who passed away not long after. Fast forward four years. I'm not that same reckless kid anymore. I got clean. I stayed clean. I met the love of my life and married her two years ago. She's my anchor, my best friend, the one person who sees all my scars and loves me anyway. I sealed those charges off my record in Illinois. Got myself a great job. Moved us into a peaceful neighborhood where I don't have to worry about gunshots at night or sirens screaming down the block.

It's quiet here. Safe. I went back to school, too. Finished my business degrees at community college and now I'm at a university studying finance. Who would have thought? Me, a guy who once thought his future was behind bars, walking around campus, books in hand, making plans for a career. Some days, I wonder if God threw me a bone. If he reached down and said, all right, kid. You screwed up plenty, but here's your shot. Don't waste it. I don't know if anyone reading this has ever been where I was, lost, broken, addicted, convinced you're beyond saving.

But if you have, let me tell you something. There's always a door open somewhere. Don't waste it. Don't think you're too far gone. If I can climb out of that pit, anybody can. Because at the end of the day, all will be is history. What kind of story do you want them to tell about you? The end.