Black Girl Gone: A Twisty Psychological Thriller

by N'Dia Rae

I nod faintly, grateful for the way her voice cuts through the tension in the air. But Chalene doesn’t seem to hear her. “You’re sure you’re okay?” Chalene presses, her voice trembling. “I just need to know… I just need to understand how you survived all this time.” Taylor snorts, the sound sharp and biting. “She just said she’s fine, Mom. Maybe let her breathe before you make her relive every detail.” “Taylor,” Chalene snaps, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t need your attitude right now.” “No, what you need is some self-awareness,” Taylor shoots back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve been here for five minutes, and you’re already smothering her.” “Of course I’m smothering her! She’s been out of our lives for twenty years! I have to know who took my baby. What did they do to you?” Chalene fires at me causing me to jump. “Enough.” Chauncey’s voice cuts through like a blade, quiet but firm. He steps forward, glancing between them with a look that says he’s had to play referee more times than he cares to count. “This isn’t about either of you. Let’s focus on Charmaine and what she’s willing to share at this time.”

“Symptoms of CPTSD include intrusive memories, nightmares, emotional dysregulation, feelings of worthlessness, and hypervigilance. Charmaine may struggle to feel safe, even in environments where she is no longer in danger. These responses are her nervous system’s way of protecting her after years of living in survival mode.” I swallow hard, my chest tight. That’s me she’s describing, but it doesn’t feel like me. It feels like someone else. Like I’m not even in this room right now.

Taylor finally pipes up, her arms still crossed. “So, what? We’re just supposed to wait and hope she feels like talking one day?” Dr. Green’s tone doesn’t change, even when Taylor’s sarcasm cuts through the air. “Yes. And while you wait, you provide her with patience and understanding. Trauma healing isn’t linear. There will be moments of progress and moments of setback. Your role is to be consistent and supportive, not to push for answers.”

Dr. Green’s voice softens, but it doesn’t lose its steadiness. “What matters most now is what happens going forward. Charmaine has already shown extraordinary resilience by surviving and by coming back to her family. Healing is a process, and she’s already taken the first step. The rest will take time.” I keep my eyes down as Mom leans closer, brushing a hand over my shoulder. “You’re safe now, baby,” she says softly. “You’re safe.” Safe. Everyone keeps saying that word like it means something. Like it can undo everything that’s already been done. I nod, but inside, all I feel is the weight of everything I’m not telling them. And maybe never will.

“She’s back,” Taylor announces to her phone, her voice filled with theatrical awe. “Y’all, my baby sister Charmaine is finally back with us. Twenty years. Can you believe it? God is so good.” Her phone camera flashes toward me, and I flinch, trying to duck out of the frame. “Taylor, put that damn phone down!” Chalene snaps, twisting in her seat to glare at her. “Can we have one day? Just one day where you aren’t broadcasting every little thing to your followers?” “It’s not just ‘every little thing,’ Mom,” Taylor shoots back, her tone sharp. “This is Charmaine’s story. People want to know.” “Well, they can wait,” Chalene says firmly. “This is a family matter. We need to focus on her, not on your followers.” Taylor huffs, rolling her eyes but reluctantly lowering her phone. “Fine. But they’re gonna want an update soon.”

“I’m just saying,” Chalene replies, holding up her hands as if in surrender, though her tone carries no hint of it. “She needs to eat. We’ll get her right. No daughter of mine will be running around looking uncared for. You’ll see. We gotta get that hair done too.” She was referring to the wild freeform locs that have been growing since I was a little girl. Baba preferred my hair like this. Said that combs were a tool of white supremacy or something. I stopped trying to make sense of his rules long ago. I sink further into the booth, the heat of her words brushing against my already frayed nerves. The truth claws at the back of my throat, desperate to surface, but I shove it down, burying it beneath layers of silence and compliance. I must play my role. I belong with them now. Taylor leans back in her seat, her menu already abandoned. “Vegan, huh?” she muses, her voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and something sharper. “Did he have some kind of twisted philosophy about food?” I nod, my eyes fixed on the glossy photo of a cheeseburger on the menu. “He said meat was impure. That it… corrupted the body.” That it corrupted the body and the soul, drawing us further from the path of righteousness. Baba had been a follower of the Hebrew Israelites, a fringe religious sect that preached a twisted gospel of black supremacy and strict adherence to Old Testament laws.

“Your father,” Chalene begins, her voice catching. “He… he passed away. A year after you went missing.” My stomach twists, the weight of her words slamming into me. I feel Taylor stiffen beside me, though her response is quieter, more measured. My father. How could I forget to ask about him when they all showed up at the police station? I was so fixated on Chalene, Chauncey, and Taylor that I forgot that he wasn’t there. However, I was somewhat relieved that there was one less man. “He was a coward anyway,” Taylor mutters, her voice low but audible enough to cut through the silence like a knife. “Taylor!” Chalene snaps, her grief twisting into something sharp and defensive. “How dare you!” Taylor shrugs, her expression as unreadable as her voice is nonchalant. “I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking. He took his life. He gave up on her. On all of us.” “Enough,” Chauncey says firmly, his voice cutting through the rising tension is a lifeline. I stare at the table, the cracks in their perfect façade widening with every word. The glow of the diner lights feels too bright, the weight of their stares too heavy. This was supposed to be a celebration. A homecoming. Instead, it feels like the beginning of a new prison.

“And where were you during this time, Mr. Tillman?” Jackson hesitated, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I… I had left the fair.” Harris and Morales exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable. “Left?” Harris prompted. “Why?” Jackson shifted in his seat, the weight of the room pressing down on him. “Chalene and I had an argument. It wasn’t anything major, just… stress from the day.” “What was the argument about?” Morales asked, her tone neutral but probing. Jackson rubbed the back of his neck. “She thought I wasn’t doing enough. Said I should’ve been more hands-on with the volunteers. I told her I was doing my best, but she… she has high standards. I was tired. I’d been working all week and…” His voice faltered, the words hanging in the air like a confession. “So, you left,” Harris said, his pen moving again. “Where did you go?” “To a bar,” Jackson admitted, his voice low. “I needed to unwind. Just one drink. I didn’t want to escalate things with Chalene.”

He had told them the truth—or most of it—but the doubt in their eyes followed him out the door, gnawing at the edges of his guilt.

Home. That word hangs in the air, thick and heavy. I’ve thought about this moment for so long, imagined it in a thousand different ways, but now that it’s here, all I can feel is this gnawing weight in my chest. I’m going home. But it doesn’t feel like home. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Taylor doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Wait till everyone sees you,” she says, her voice dripping with excitement. Her thumbs fly across the screen, typing furiously. “This is gonna blow up. I’m already getting hundreds of likes just from the last post.”

Taylor picks up her phone again, snapping a quick selfie with me in the background. “Sorry, Mom,” she says without looking up. “But people want to see this. It’s part of the process. We’re Tillmans. The world watches us.” “Do not post that!” Chalene fusses. “Fine…” Taylor replies. “That’s enough for right now. No more exposing Charmaine to social media until she’s ready.”

Baba’s words echo in my mind as I stare out the window, my reflection ghostly and fragmented in the glass. “Social media is a tool of the devil,” he would say, his voice booming with righteous fury. “It’s a sickness, a plague upon the minds of our young women. It turns them into whores, into jezebels, flaunting their bodies for the world to see.” He would often tell me that it was God’s divine will that he save me from that world.

social media is like… a way to share your life with the world. Pictures, videos, stories—anything you want. It’s how people stay in touch, keep up with trends, or even make a living. It’s how I started my little media empire. Honestly, I don’t know how people survived without it. I would never want to go back to those times.”

Social media is power. It’s how I’ve kept your story alive all these years. I’ve got thousands of followers who know your name, who care about what happened to you. And now that you’re back?” She smiles, her teeth white and dazzling. “Oh, this is going to be huge.” I force a weak smile, but inside, my stomach churns. Baba’s voice echoes in my mind, sharp and unyielding. “They’ll tempt you with their shiny toys and promises of connection, but it’s all a lie. A trap. Once they have you, they’ll own you.” Taylor tilts her head, studying me. “We’ll get you set up when we’re back in town. First thing, I’m getting you an iPhone. You can’t live without one.” An iPhone. The word feels foreign, heavy with meaning I can’t quite grasp. “I… I don’t know,” I say softly. “I’ve never had one before.” “Exactly why you need one,” Taylor insists, her tone bubbling with enthusiasm. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you everything. You’ll have your own profiles, your own followers. It’ll be amazing.”

“It’s poison, Charmaine. They’ll feed it to you until it rots your soul.”