As Kiara gazed upon Aunt Charlotte for the final time, her heart was heavy with an overwhelming mix of sorrow and gratitude. Aunt Charlotte was the woman who loved her unconditionally and was there for her every time she needed her. When the world was bent on taking everyone who loved her away, Aunt Charlotte had stayed…until now.
Sixteen years of life had brought Kiara unimaginable losses, each one chipping away at her heart. Fourteen years ago, her mother disappeared and nine months ago, Grandma Sarah was laid to rest, the mystery of her death still haunting Kiara. Especially since Aunt Charlotte said it wouldn't have been safe for either of them to attend her funeral.
Now, Aunt Charlotte's passing left an unbearable ache, a void that pierced her soul with an intensity she could hardly bear.
In the solemn ambience of the church, shafts of sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic hues upon the interior of the church. The scent of lilies, cascading from every available surface, a vibrant tapestry of colour among the sea of black attire, filled the air. It was Aunt Charlotte's favourite flower. Mingled with the faint aroma of burning candles, created an atmosphere that felt both sacred and melancholic. The pews were filled with sombre faces, each one a testament to the impact Aunt Charlotte had on those around her.
Kiara leaned down and pressed a tender kiss upon her aunt's cold forehead, the touch a bittersweet farewell.
"Goodbye, Aunt Charlotte," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the solemn hymns. "Thank you for everything. I'll carry your love with me always."
As she pulled away, tears glistened in her eyes, reflecting the flickering light of the candles like shimmering pearls.
A few days before her death, Aunt Charlotte revealed a long-held secret: the identity and whereabouts of Kiara's father. With a heavy heart, Aunt Charlotte uttered the name "Dwayne Jackson" before retreating to her favourite floral armchair. Along with the revelation, she handed Kiara a photograph of him and disclosed his workplace.
Aunt Charlotte had hinted that Dwayne might be unaware of Kiara's existence, as her mother had made no attempt to reach out to Dwayne after she was born for reasons known only to her. Kiara had never felt the need to seek out her father before, as she received all the love and care she needed from her devoted aunt. But now, with Aunt Charlotte gone, Kiara felt compelled to connect with him, the only remaining relative she had.
She was still deep in thought as the church service drew to a close, and a whirlwind of people descended upon her, offering their condolences with solemn nods and firm handshakes. Among the blur of sympathetic faces, Kiara's expression remained blank, her thoughts consumed by the absence of Aunt Charlotte and the longing for their familiar routine of cosy evenings together.
Outside the church, the atmosphere buzzed with a muted energy, the sun beat down relentlessly, casting harsh shadows across the pavement. Despite the sweltering heat, Kiara couldn't shake the chill that gripped her from within, a hollow emptiness that seemed to seep into her bones.
Miss Agnes, her neighbour and temporary guardian, appeared at her side, accompanied by her husband, Jim. His hand landed heavily on Kiara's shoulder, a gesture of false comfort that only served to make her feel more trapped. Each squeeze of his fingers intensified her discomfort, a physical reminder of her own vulnerability.
"Kiara, dear," Miss Agnes's voice broke through the haze, tinged with sympathy. "Let's head home. Everything will be okay."
Kiara nodded mechanically, her gaze fixed on the ground as they made their way to the waiting car. As they pulled out of the church parking lot, Kiara thought about how she planned on explaining her plans to Miss Agnes tomorrow and hoped she'd understand her desire to connect with her father. A small part of her hoped her father would be able fill the void that Aunt Charlotte left.
Upon arriving at the house, several mourners from the church were already parked along the street. As Kiara, Jim, and Miss Agnes exited the car and made their way toward the house, the mourners also disembarked from their vehicles, following them inside.
Six hours later, as the final mourner bid their farewell Miss Agnes departed abruptly saying that one of the church members, sixty-seven year old Mrs. Jones' car had shut down along the road. She was going to take her home and then call a tow truck. She assured Kiara she would return soon.
As was her nightly routine, Kiara showered and then slid beneath her bed covers.
Her sense of unease deepened with each minute that passed. The quiet of the room closed in around her, her heart pounded in her chest, as every creak of the floorboards amplified her fear.
In the stillness, she awaited Jim's inevitable intrusion, never before had Miss Agnes left her alone with him. With each passing moment, her pulse quickened, a knot tightening in her stomach.
When the door finally creaked open, she braced herself, the sound sending shivers down her spine. The sound of footsteps entering then the door closing signaled his presence in the room.
Kiara's breath caught in her throat as she lay there, unmoving, her back turned to the door. In the darkness, she heard it, the telltale sound of his movements, the unzipping of his pants, accompanied by hushed moans that sent a wave of repulsion through her.
This nightly ritual had become all too familiar over the past five days, but tonight was different. Tonight, the threat felt more tangible, more immediate. As the bed sank beside her and a cold, clammy hand landed on her thigh, Kiara's entire body tensed with disgust.
With a swift movement, Kiara withdrew the knife concealed beneath the blanket and plunged it forcefully into Jim's chest. She observed as his eyes widened in shock, his mouth agape in a futile attempt to scream, reduced to desperate gasps for breath. In that moment of peril, Kiara made a decisive choice: herself over Jim.
Memories of Aunt Charlotte flooded Kiara's thoughts. Aunt Charlotte, whose heart had shattered when Kiara's mother vanished without a trace after heading out for a job interview, was determined to protect Kiara from the same fate. At a young age, Kiara was trained to defend herself from anyone and anything who put its way in her path.
Aunt Charlotte always quoted, "It is better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war."
Cold and unyielding as steel, Kiara spat on Jim and then rose from the bed. She quickly washed away the blood from her hands and her knife and dressed in dark clothing: a hoodie, jeans and sneakers. In her knapsack, she held her phone, a few pictures, some clothing, her switchblade and food. The day that Aunt Charlotte passed away, Kiara took her aunt's ATM card and withdrew the daily limit of ten thousand dollars which was also tucked away in her bag.
As she made her way to the back door, she held no remorse for her actions. Men like Jim were hidden predators masquerading as pillars of society, their true colours obscured by a facade of respectability at their office job or in the church.
With Jim's life extinguished, a sense of grim satisfaction washed over her. She knew his demise would bring a measure of safety to other children, finally tasting freedom from his predatory grasp. She found solace in the knowledge that her actions had struck a blow against the darkness that threatened to consume the innocent.
Under the cloak of darkness, Kiara hastened toward the bus stop. Her destination: Los Angeles.