Simple Man

- THREE -

   Iyana Carter was thankful. Thankful she and Kyra saw yet another day. Even if the little girl barely talked to her about any topic beyond surface level. She couldn't blame her, trust was a rare commodity these days. She was thankful she had connections in high and low places—especially the low places. Without them she and Kyra wouldn't have been able to successfully hide in Juniper these past few months without detection. Perhaps it wasn't a permanent plan but it was good enough to afford them one hundred and sixteen days of semi-normalcy.

What she wasn't thankful for was having to apply skin make-up every other day to cover up the extensive tattoo work of her sleeves. She loved her tattoos but she usually has to cover them up on assignment if she wasn't wearing long sleeves. Iyana had a rebellious streak that never fully went away but it truly kicked off at sixteen. Iyana forged her mama's signature to get her first tattoo. Her mama would never allowed her to get a tattoo at such an age—Mrs. Carter didn't much care for them anyway. Iyana couldn't afford anything grand at the time but that was no matter, all she wanted was three little words right over her heart—Stand By Me.

It was the song her daddy would sing to her when she was little. And, oh boy, could he sing. Even singing in a hushed tone he could make angels weep. Mr. Carter actually sang the Yellow Pages once as a joke and Iyana still danced to it with him in their cozy living room in Woonsocket. Her tiny feet keeping in time to the same rhythm and the deep step of her daddy's steel toe work boots.

Just like the song, Mr. Carter always stood by his girl. He was the best daddy and he loved her mama very much. It was especially hard on mama when he passed so sudden like that. Another three words. Blizzard. Car. Crash. The phone fell right through mama's hand that stormy evening. Mrs. Carter dropped to her knees begging God that it wasn't true. Iyana hadn't yet turned eight and that's all her mama could think about as she cried against the wall, phone hanging from its cord behind her as her little girl got up from her homework and came over to comfort her.

She knew something was wrong but her mama wouldn't say what it was for the longest. All those milestones that lay ahead and he wouldn't be there for any of it. She couldn't bare the thought of breaking her daughter's heart like that but she knew she had to tell her and eventually through her many tears, she did. But Iyana didn't lose just her daddy that night, a part of her mama died too. She was never the same.

Iyana wondered as she sat in a beat up El Camino waiting on Kyra in the school car loop if her daddy would be proud of her. She looked at herself in the rear view, at twenty-eight she had a lot more than three words tattooed on her body and her hair as natural as it was close-cropped. Not even long enough to put into bantu knots. She hit the mirror away from herself, disgusted with the situation that put her here more than her own reflection.

Kyra was a lot to handle. She was an angry little girl who resented the control WITSEC imposed on her. She was only nine and Iyana knew Kyra would prefer to be safe, she knew Kyra's outbursts was just the hurt over her mother's death expressing itself in sometime ineffective ways. She understood the distrust the girl felt toward Iyana, the U.S. Marshals and the whole process. She knew what it was like to lose a parent that young. It was confusing and infuriating, and most of all agonizing.

Iyana knew how it felt just barely being old enough to grasp the concept of something so permanent as death. As a U.S. Marshal she couldn't get attached, Kyra's safety was her job. Kyra wasn't her first assignment nor would she be her last. But she wasn't completely heartless and unbeknownst to the little girl every night as she lay asleep with her ocean night light Iyana would sing the song her daddy sang to her. She never woke her, her voice low and soft as fishes floated along the wall and over her small face, innocent with the peace of sleep. That is, until the nightmares came and every night without fail they came.

To Kyra the boogeyman was real because the boogeyman was her father and his name was Isaac Wolfe. In a rare moment of vulnerability Kyra admonished herself about having to have a night light at nine-years-old. She said she felt like such a baby and that she had never needed one before but now she wanted to see where she was when she woke up screaming from those nightmares. She would know she was awake and safe. Without it her mind would play on the darkness and the shadows within. The same places she overheard her father saying he worked in. Of course Iyana knew her father probably meant that metaphorically but to a nine-year-old that was as literal as it got.

Now they were both hiding from a man who could make people disappear—permanently and without trace. Kyra was sure her father was after her, sure he knew she had seen things she shouldn't have and sure he was capable of hurting her like he had hurt her mother if he thought Kyra would talk.

Iyana barely knew Kyra. She had read up on, her mother, her father and all his known associates. That didn't mean she knew her. She didn't really speak unless she was saying something smart-mouthed, raging against being handled or talking to anyone who would listen about comic books. None of these past times were in her file.

This was the reality of the WITSEC program, it was a stressful job because there was no such thing as an easy witness. Constant vigilance was integral part of survival and it was easy to be lax in a town like Juniper. It was quiet and small, a town where you might not know everyone's business but you knew everyone's name and they knew yours. Hence the necessity to completely change their identities. Iyana Carter wasn't Iyana Carter in Juniper—as far as the residents of this one stop town were concerned she was Meghan Breault. Most importantly the witness under her protection was no longer Kyra Wolfe but Olivia Breault. She preferred to go by Liv in public.

The original plan was to pose as Kyra's mother, a single parent and widow. A backstory that would disarm any who heard it. But Kyra refused to go along with that cover because that meant calling a stranger mom and Iyana understood why that was not going to fly. So the program had to improvise a little and maintained a sad story of Kyra's single father passing suddenly of a heart attack. Iyana being his younger sister, Kyra's aunt and the only family the little girl had left she took her in and they moved to the secluded town of Juniper, Louisiana so Iyana could raise her niece away from big city life.

A knock on the driver side window broke through to Iyana, she slowly rolled down the window and squinted at the lady outside her car, "Yes ma'am?"

The lady looked tired and hot, "Miss Breault?"

Iyana nodded mutely.

   The woman sighed, "I'm sorry to inform you like this miss but Kyra took off, apparently there was a verbal altercation with her and Mrs. Tripp."

"What!? When did this happen? Why wasn't I called?" Iyana yelled.

"Miss Breault, please calm down, it was right before the last bell and we tried calling but it said that number had —BEEN DISCONNECTED!" the car loop attendant had quickly backed up as she shouted the last bit to Iyana who quickly put her car in reverse and whipped around the other cars behind her to get out of the parking lot, mindful to avoid hitting the kids that were slowly starting to trickle out. Iyana was pretty sure she knew where Kyra went and it sure wasn't home.

"Swear to God, one of these is days she's going to get us killed," Iyana muttered to herself as she peeled down Montgomery Street, "But that's only if I don't kill her first."