By Chance

Prologue: Two Years EarlierFebruary's thick snow silences Boston's Back Bay area and heightens frightful screams inside seven-hundred-eighty Boylston Street. Annoyed tenants, arriving home from work, hasten inside and swiftly close their apartment doors. Several minutes later, shuffling and whispering evolve in front of apartment 20A. Tom, worried neighbors reported the noise, looks through the peephole, finding an attractive brunette and several men staring back. He takes a deep breath, clears his throat, and opens the door a c***k. “Yes. May I help you?” He asked, tempering remnants of anger in his voice. As the door opens wider, Ellen, his wife, joins his side. Immediately, aware of the camera crew, and their disheveled appearance, they both step back. Ellen brushes her hair in place and rolls a crinkled sleeve over newly formed bruises. Tom conceals a contused fist with his left hand and forces a grin. Unaware of the rampage moments ago, the television host and camera crew believe they're witnessing a couple surprised and nervous from unexpected events. “Congratulations! You're the new winners of the AHD Dream Home Sweepstakes,” the woman squealed, waiting for a response, only receiving wide-eyed silence. Now, curious neighbors spy through slit doors. Unprepared for the fortuitous moment, Tom flinches when the lively Alcott Home and Design's (AHD) TV host places the intrusive microphone at his mouth. She steps aside, directing the cameraman to move in and capture the winner's excitement. With a curious glance, she gestures her hand to induce some emotion from the straight-faced couple. “Are you excited?” “What? Is this for real or some hoax?” Tom asked. Shock, embarrassment, disbelief, and a mixture of emotions swell through their minds. “This is real,” the animated brunette said. “You and your family are the winners!” Only entering his name twice in the sweepstake, and never taking it seriously, Tom can't believe his name was chosen out of millions of people. “You're kidding … Right?” Moments later, realizing their reality is about to change, elation replaces incredulity. * * * A week later, they're chauffeured from their two-bedroom apartment in Boston to their new million-dollar home in Vermont. For a weekend, AHD's Dream Team treats them like royalty and proclaims, “Your life just changed for the better.” When the magical weekend concludes, they're given three sets of keys attached to a geometric keychain—a bronze triangular home inside a gilded circle and square—the keys to their beautiful Mountain Home. Boxes packed, old items discarded, they leave their two-bedroom apartment and never look back. Although Tom realizes the Dream Home might be too expensive to maintain, he vows to make their new life work. December 10, 2014, Vermont Two years later, remembering the Sweepstake Dream Team's promise of a new and better life, Tom stares at the elusive dream crumbling around him. “All lies, lies, lies …What do they think; they can give us this dream then take it away? No, they won't, not from me,” he mumbles with anger burning in his eyes. Reeling from the loss of his high-powered career, and pondering the uncertainties of his life, disillusionment soon turns to anger, vengeance, and now madness as he paces back and forth in his office. A sudden dizzy spell claims his balance. He holds his head and rubs his temples to contain swelling pain. For a moment, he pauses, takes a deep breath, and turns his attention to the layout in front of him, wondering if he can pull off his plan. Uncertain of the outcome, he merely understands the need to strike their hearts with fear. They must know what they've done, he affirms while staring at the circular trail of photos surrounding a picture of AHD's headquarter. His desk resembles a small-scale FBI crime lab. Photos of three females and one male are numbered one to four in executable form. Internet printouts from Google maps and other miscellaneous information are strategically placed beside each picture. Given the sweepstake team's celebrity, he's amazed he'd found all the information needed on the Internet. With a little cunning, he'd pretended to be the new architect for the 2016 Dream Home, acquiring the team's cell phone numbers from the ill-advised receptionist, Rebecca. As a gatekeeper, he couldn't believe how gullible she was, making no effort to confirm the real name of the architect. She will be useful as my plan unfolds. Magazine clips from personal interviews provide more intimate details about AHD's team. Tom scrutinizes the layout on the table and reassesses each picture and item of significance. Several photographs surround an image of AHD's headquarters. The first photo displays an attractive, African-American woman with massive waves of brown hair and almond-shaped hazel eyes. Below her picture lay two printouts from the web—a townhouse surrounded by cobblestone sidewalks and gas lanterns, adjoined to a photo of the Bakehouse Bakery Cafe with the caption Morning Coffee Stop. The second picture of a striking strawberry blonde with mesmerizing bluish-green eyes is stapled to a blue velvet ribbon. Underneath the photo, lays a printout with a red bullseye in the middle of a sprawling home labeled Alcott Estate. The third photo of an enchanting raven-haired female with piercing green eyes is surrounded by letters copied from AHD's blog site. Similarly, an image of a modern townhouse with massive oak trees sits under her photo. Tom ponders the picture of the only male, an African-American with hazel eyes, a strong jawline, and closely cropped brown hair. He wonders why he couldn't find personal information on AHD's Producer and Home Planner. His image sits alone with a bold red question mark he'll undoubtedly answer with time. On the table sits four silver gifts wrapped with blue velvet bows. He wonders if they'll understand the message the gifts contains. One last time, he scans the large graph paper and wonders if the information is enough to carry out his plan. It has to be, he affirms. With meticulous hands, he rolls the paper like an architectural blueprint and places it inside a black satchel with the silver packages. Tom sweeps his office from corner-to-corner, to confirm clues aren't left behind. Sadly, he glances around his home, wondering how life spun out of control so quickly. This is not my life, and won't be my children's, he maintains firmly. His vision blurs. Tom reels forward and clutches the desk's corner before black spots claim his sight. With a tight grip, he holds the desk's edge until dizziness elapses. A veil rolls over his eyes, like shades enclosing him in darkness. And with the same alacrity, his sight returns—spotty globs dissipate to light. With the return of sight comes another bout of anxiousness. The permanent dweller in his head taunts relentlessly. You can't handle this, Tom. How can you live with the pain you'll cause your family? Look at you; you can't even pay your bills. How do you expect to feed your family and keep this house? You can't! What sort of man are you! You're just like your father. He glares at stacks of bills hidden from his wife and snaps at the voice in his head. “You'll never understand what I'm capable of. I'm not my father!” A guttural sound escapes his mouth. Clenching his teeth, he tries to silence the noise rattling inside his head. Momentarily, the voice subsides, but anger reappears with the elusive dream fading around him. A delusional sense of entitlement and paranoia invades his mind. Sickness clouds his logic. No longer comprehending his personal difficulties, he blames others, not his illness for his troubles. A sudden surge of nausea overcomes him. Quickly, he runs to the master bath and dry heaves over the toilet bowl, but the bitter liquid refuses to surface. For several minutes, he sits on the floor, fearing another bout of nausea. Slowly rising to his feet, he heads to the medicine cabinet, rummages through multiple prescription bottles, and finds the mind-altering pill. Inadvertently, he catches a shocking, gaunt image staring back in the mirror. He's never been this thin. Unwilling to tolerate another listless moment, he disgustedly spits the tablet into the sink. “No more … I have to feel like myself again,” he affirms. Willfully, he empties the entire bottle into the toilet. With quiet steps, he exits the bathroom, pauses, and stares at his wife fast asleep under the down comforter. Backing toward the door, he makes his way to the children's room, standing over his four and five-year-old nestled fast asleep in the bunk bed. A lump forms in his throat as he fathoms the fragile security of their world. A few minutes pass before he snaps out of his reverie and he leans over and kisses them on the forehead. “I won't let them take this away from us.” With brevity, he hurries to the dining room and writes a note to his wife. Ellen There's an opportunity for work that involves travel. If I'd told you I'm going away for a while, you would have protested and I don't want to fight about this. Sorry for sneaking out. I'll call you when I reach my destination. Please give the kids my love. See you soon. Tom Tom envisions Ellen's morning routine as she proceeds to the fridge for a glass of water. He's certain she will see the note pinned to the refrigerator door. He takes his five-year-olds' favorite black and white spotted dog magnet and posts the note for Ellen's eyes. One last time, he heads to the master suite and watches Ellen's peaceful slumber. He remembers her joy when they moved into the home, and can't bear the thought of her pain and loss to come. With a heavy heart, he leaves his family in tenuous comfort. Steering the car out of the driveway, he glances back at the home's deceptive beauty and the mountain's perpetual grandeur. Determined to reach South Carolina, Tom exits Vermont and heads onto I-95 South, realizing he may never see his family again. PART 1