My Auntie Was An Assassin

In the year 2043 my Aunt Coa passed away, leaving me all of her possessions. My name was the only one in her will. She never married, never had children, and lived alone in a house on the outskirts of Chicago. My Auntie was the nicest woman you would ever meet. Cookies and bottomless hot coco greeted us every time Leslie and Lila, my two younger siblings, would visit. She never let any of us down when we needed her. One year after Lila was born and Leslie was four, I ran away from home. I walked to the east side of town with two jackets and a twenty dollar bill to my name. A couple of older kids found me, a small and defenseless child, stole my wallet and beat me to a pulp. I remember crying in the alley for a bit and  through teary eyes, looking up and seeing Aunt Coa in front of me. She threw me on her back, took me to her house, and patched me up. She had hot cocoa and cookies ready before we even got there, and in the back of my mind I always wondered how she found me so quickly, in the middle of Chicago when she lived all the way north of Lincolnwood. I brushed it off as one of those 'adult super powers.' I stayed with her for two weeks, she forced me to go to school and had me make dinner a few times, but never asked me to go back home. She waited until I was ready and that's when I came to idolize my Aunt. Not only the fact that she had the newest gadgets and had the most fun personality, but also that she seemed to do whatever she wanted all the time. She never worked or made so much as a business call. When I was ready to go back, she told me one thing 'You can do as you please, but never stop looking over your shoulder.' It was odd and as a ten year old I didn't really get it, but she made sure I repeated it back to her. I heard from my grandma that Aunt Coa had always had a bit of a screw loose and it became more apparent as she got older.

About a month ago, I had finished up classes for the day when I got a call that Aunt Coa had collapsed and was in the hospital for an unspecified lung condition. They never figured out what lung disease it was, some speculated it was the late stages of lung cancer, but no one knew the real cause of her death. Two days ago, September 2nd, she handed me an envelope with 'Will' written on it and told me, 'It's all yours, do what you want with it, but never stop looking over your shoulder.' Thirteen years later, and a college student, I still don't understand what she means by that. Not long after, at the age of forty-three, she took her last breath. She touched many people's lives, not only was she constantly donating to the local charities, she helped at homeless shelters, buying winter jackets for everyone each year. The soup kitchen staff proposed to name the new shelter after her, but she refused the offer on multiple occasions. Though I never knew what she actually did for work. The first few times I asked where she worked, all she said was 'Here and there.' The most recent time I asked, she just shook her head at me and left the house, with a depressed air about her. It felt shady, but I didn't push the issue any more, she used her money for good, that's all that mattered to me.

Today's the day I planned to go through Aunt Coa's belongings. The will she gave me said everything is mine to do what I want with, exactly what she told me before she died. My mother isn't entirely happy that Coa gave me everything to deal with, and my brother and sister were a little disappointed. I told them that Auntie always gave me her busy work. I decided that all the money that I get from selling her things will go to homeless shelters and her favorite charity. The will also specifies that I do not dedicate any buildings or park benches in her name. The aggression toward this issue is a little concerning, why wouldn't you want a building named after you, Auntie?

Starting with the kitchen and the mass amounts of decorative dish sets Aunt Coa collected, all to be sold in the auction, there was no end in sight. The people I hired to move the stuff that will be sold won't come until next week. My favorite room was her bedroom because we would stay up late, eat snacks in bed, and have long chats about everything and anything. I sifted through the drawers and the closet with a keep pile and donate pile. I loved her style, the clothes she would up cycle and thrift were all seemingly high quality. She would be so happy that I'm using her clothes for myself. After the last few boxes and storage drawers were sorted, a little door with three padlocks and a deadbolt revealed itself in the back of the huge closet.