004: The Killer

I sat on the bus, feeling the heaviest weight settle in my chest. My heart ached as I watched them through the window—Grandma Louisa and her daughters, all lined up outside the village entrance, their smiles bright despite the early morning chill. Their hands moved frantically as they waved, sending me off with warmth I didn't deserve. No one was missing; every single one of them was there, and the sight of their united farewell made my eyes burn with unshed tears.

I had risen before dawn, preparing for my return to Cantana. Yet, I never told her where I was going. I couldn't. The disappointment in her eyes would have shattered me. In just one week, I had come to respect her deeply, and leaving felt like a betrayal. But I had to do it—for them. The mafia was hunting me. For days, they had been scouring small villages, searching for me and the other girl who had escaped. Suroyo had been spared due to an ancient treaty protecting its land from male intrusion. Even Grandma Louisa's husband and sons lived elsewhere, visiting only on rare occasions.

I knew I was safe here—for now. But the mafia was relentless, and treaties meant nothing when power was at stake. If they discovered me here, they would not hesitate to tear this place apart. I refused to be the reason these women suffered.

As I sat there, waiting for the bus to depart, I held onto every second with them. I kept looking at Grandma Louisa, mouthing the words, "I'll be fine," though I knew it wasn't true.

"Promise me you will," she pleaded, her voice trembling even in silence.

I nodded.

But my stomach churned, my heart thundered in my chest. I wouldn't be fine. And I knew she could see the truth in my eyes. She knew I was walking toward my death.

The engine roared to life, signaling the finality of my decision. My lips moved one last time.

"Thank you."

A single tear escaped before I turned away. When I looked back one last time, their hands had lowered, their smiles replaced with solemn acceptance. I etched their faces into my memory—every line, every expression, every ounce of love they had shown me. The bus pulled away, picking up speed, and I faced forward. It was time.

Maria awaited me.

---

The journey was silent. The bus, half-full, was cloaked in darkness. It was barely 4 AM, and everyone wore black. Some had scarves wrapped tightly around their heads like me, while others opted for face caps. No one sat together. The empty spaces between passengers felt deliberate—a silent understanding among those who knew danger lurked beyond the road.

Antonio, the driver, had been recommended by Grandma Louisa. He was known for transporting people who needed to evade the mafia.

"Why 4 AM?" I had asked her.

"It's the only time their presence thins. They're still there, but your chances are better."

It was a gamble, but one I was willing to take. I clutched my jacket tightly, fingers brushing over the small zipper pocket where my true mission lay. The letters from my parents, written every year until my eighteenth birthday. The only proof I had left of them, the only thing I needed to retrieve.

As the bus neared Cantana, my heartbeat quickened. There had been no mafia presence at the checkpoints, a rare stroke of luck. As the vehicle slowed to a stop, I adjusted my scarf, ensuring it covered my face just enough.

The doors hissed open. I stepped out, landing softly on my feet before breaking into a sprint. The bus roared past me, its taillights disappearing into the distance. I was alone.

Navigating the streets came naturally. Left at the first turn, straight down until the second-to-last house. The darkness here was a blessing. No lights, no prying eyes. Only silence.

Maria's house stood before me. I took a deep breath, scanning the shadows before slipping to the side, where the living room window remained cracked open. Just as I had expected.

Slipping inside was effortless. The fall onto my bruised arm? Less so. A hiss escaped my lips, but I pushed through, my body screaming in protest.

I knew this house like the back of my hand. Moving in the dark was second nature. The kitchen, the hallway, the basement door—unlocked, just as I had hoped.

Once inside my old room, I rummaged through my things, fingers trembling until they closed around the letters. My parents' words, their love, their presence preserved in ink. Securing them in my jacket, I exhaled.

It was time for unfinished business.

---

Maria's room was close. I moved with purpose, pressing forward until I stood before it.

One swift kick.

The door slammed open, the force rattling the walls. A shriek pierced the silence.

"Ay Dios Mio!"

There she was. Alone.

I reached for the light switch, flooding the room with harsh illumination. Maria stood, disoriented, then snapped awake as she recognized me.

"What are you doing here?!" she demanded, stepping forward as if to intimidate me.

I smiled. "Is that any way to greet family?"

Her scowl deepened. "You shouldn't be here. If you had any sense, you'd go back and beg for forgiveness. Maybe they'd spare you for—" she caught herself, but it was too late.

I laughed. "For what? Leaving?"

She flinched.

"I know they've been here," I continued, my voice cold. "I know they're close. I know they've seen me. But don't worry, Aunt Maria. I came prepared."

Her face paled, fear flickering in her eyes. She backed away, and I stepped forward.

"You're scared," I whispered.

"They'll kill you," she rasped. "The mafia will—"

"And you let them," I spat.

Maria had been my mother's sister. They had shared the same beauty, the same striking features. But while my mother had been revered, Maria had simmered in resentment.

"You let your husband violate me. You let him break me. Because you were jealous." My voice shook, rage coursing through me.

Her lips parted, but I didn't let her speak as I jumped on to her.

The first slap echoed through the room.

Then another.

And another.

Years of pain surged through my fists, years of torment spilling into each strike and blows. I screamed, the words tumbling out between gasping sobs.

"I fucking hate you!" I screamed, expecting a reaction. But none came.

I turned back to my aunt, my breath catching as I saw her slumped on the rug, her face bruised and bloody. My gaze dropped to my hands—slick with crimson. My heart plummeted.

Panic surged through me as I scrambled to her side, my fingers shaking as I reached for her.

"Aunt! Aunt Maria!" I tugged at her, desperate, but her body remained stiff and unyielding.

Tears blurred my vision, hot and unchecked. My chest tightened as the weight of what I had done pressed down on me, suffocating.

Then—chaos.

Footsteps thundered closer. Voices, muffled and frantic. And then—a sharp sting at my neck. A sudden, searing pain that spread like wildfire, draining the strength from my limbs.

I collapsed, my body betraying me. My vision swam, tilting until I was staring into Maria's open eyes.

Onyx. Just like my mother's.

And in them, I no longer saw my tormentor—I saw a younger sister, lost in resentment, longing for the woman she had once loved.

As the paralysis took hold, a cold realization settled deep in my bones.

I was no longer a victim.

I was a killer.