The Dark Diaries (2026)

19/09/2026

My name is Destiny Dunn and I was taken away at only 37 years old. I am sharing my story today.

My name was Destiny Bryanne Marie Hollon Dunn. I was born on July 6, 1989, in Marshall, Missouri, to my parents, John Wesley Hollon and Michelle Lee Hayes Hollon. Marshall was home for much of my life. It was where I grew up, where my family knew me as a little girl, and where I eventually became the woman they would remember long after I was gone. I lived 37 years, and although my life ended in a h**rific way, the story of my life began decades before anyone would ever hear my name in connection with a h**icide. I attended Marshall High School, and in 2008 I graduated. Like many young women entering adulthood, I was beginning to figure out what I wanted my future to look like. Eventually, I found work that allowed me to do something I genuinely loved: care for children. My love for kids inspired me to work as a daycare provider, and later reporting says I also worked for the Marshall school district as a paraprofessional with elementary and preschool students. Caring for children wasn't simply a job for me. It was something that reflected the kind of person my family remembered me as.

I became a mother myself. I had a son, Blazen, and my family remembered me as a loving and nurturing mother. I was also a stepmother to four children—Lillian, Bryan, Lathan and Davien. My world wasn't only about me anymore. There were children whose lives were connected to mine, children who knew me as someone who loved and cared for them. My sister later described me as loving, nurturing and incredibly sweet, and my death left my children facing a future without their mother. I also had a husband. I was married to Mike Dunn, who survived me. My family extended beyond my immediate household to my parents, my sister Marinah Hollon, my grandparents, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles and cousins. I wasn't alone in this world. There were many people who had known me for years, watched me grow up and loved me through the different stages of my life.

My life eventually took me away from Marshall, and I was living in the Kansas City area. But I remained connected to the people and places that had shaped me. I had spent years building a life around family and caring for others. At 37, I wasn't finished becoming who I was going to be. I still had years ahead of me that I expected to live. Then came August 2026. Somewhere during that month, I traveled to Columbia, Missouri, where I would spend my final days at the By The Way Motel on Range Line Street. The circumstances surrounding those final days are now at the center of a criminal investigation, and many of the details come from a probable-cause statement filed against Nicholas Ayres, the man prosecutors have charged in connection with my passing.

According to the allegations in that document, Ayres and I were together at the motel beginning around August 10. Investigators later recovered photographs and videos from his cellphone that they say documented repeated physical ass*ults against me during the days leading up to my passing. Those allegations are part of the prosecution's case and have not been adjudicated at trial. The videos described by investigators are disturbing. According to the probable-cause statement, one recording from August 10 allegedly showed me without br*ising on my face. Later recordings allegedly showed Ayres repeatedly str*king me. Investigators said another video captured him grabbing me by the hair and p*nching me in the face. These allegations form part of the evidence prosecutors say they have against him. As the days passed, investigators allege that the v*olence continued.

By August 12 2026, the day I died, the evidence described by police painted an increasingly disturbing picture. Investigators said a photograph taken around midday showed me lying in a bathtub, and a video recorded around the same time allegedly showed me barely moving. Another recording allegedly captured Ayres moving between the motel room and bathroom while I could be heard making sounds of d*stress. At approximately 12:21 p.m. on August 12, Ayres allegedly contacted 911 but then told dispatchers the call had been accidental. He provided his identifying information and the location before disconnecting. According to the court documents reported by multiple news organizations, officers did not arrive at the motel at that point. Then, approximately three hours later, another emergency call was made. At about 3:22 p.m., Columbia police were dispatched to the 1300 block of Range Line Street after receiving what was initially described as a cardiac-arrest call. When officers arrived, they found me gone inside the motel. What initially appeared to be a medical emergency quickly became something much more serious. Investigators observed injuries and circumstances that caused them to suspect foul play.

Police later identified me publicly as Destiny Dunn of Kansas City, Missouri. My family had been notified, and the investigation immediately began focusing on what had happened inside that motel room. According to the probable-cause statement, investigators documented extensive br*ising and inj*ries to my body. The medical and forensic evidence became part of the investigation into how I passed away. Police concluded that my passing was not an accident or natural. It was a h*micide and investigators soon focused on the man who had been with me. Nicholas Ayres, 35, of Crane, Missouri, was arrested and charged with second-degree m**der and first-degree domestic a**ault. He has been held in the Boone County Jail without bond. According to prosecutors, the evidence includes cellphone videos that investigators say show Ayres repeatedly a**aulting me before my passing. Prosecutors also allege that he a**aulted me to the point that I passed away from my injuries. Ayres has reportedly acknowledged physical alter*ations with me but characterized them differently and denied intentionally be*ting me to d**th.

My sister Marinah later remembered me as someone who was loving, nurturing and incredibly sweet. Those words tell a different story than the crime scene does. They remind people that before I became the victim in an investigation, I was someone who made other people feel cared for… My family now has to remember me through photographs, stories and memories.

I am so sorry that this happened to you Destiny, may you rest peacefully 🕊️.

19/09/2026

I am Michael Faison Jr and I was taken away at 24 years old. I am sharing my story today.

My name was Michael Faison Jr. My family and friends called me Mikey and I was from Newport News, Virginia. At 24, I was still figuring out exactly what I wanted my future to look like. I was working, making friends, spending time around people and trying to build a life for myself. People who knew me remembered me as someone who was outgoing… I wasn't afraid to talk to people. I could walk into a room and make a friend… I had energy… I had a personality. And according to my mother, I was the kind of person who made friends wherever I went. I attended Riverside Elementary School, Crittenden Middle School and Menchville High School. I was also working at an auto repair shop around the time I passed away. But there was another interest I had that I was beginning to take seriously… Tattoos. I had an interest in tattoo artistry, and I was hoping to develop that side of myself. I even had a tattoo of a smiley face on my arm.

I was interested in becoming a tattoo artist, and that passion would tragically become part of the story of how my life ended… But my story wasn't supposed to end at a convenience store. It wasn't supposed to end at 24… I still had things I wanted to do… I still had people I wanted to see… I still had a future. And on July 8, 2022, I had no reason to believe that a simple conversation would become my final conversation. It was a Friday afternoon… I went to a 7-Eleven on Warwick Boulevard in Newport News. It was the kind of place where people stopped for drinks, gas, snacks and everyday things. I walked inside, I bought a Big Gulp, Then I went back outside. I was talking with people around the store, something that wasn't unusual for me. I was friendly, I talked to people, I noticed people, and that afternoon, I noticed a woman who walked by… She had tattoos. I was interested in tattoos, so I started talking to her about them. The woman stopped, turned around and spoke with me about her tattoos. She learned that I was interested in tattoo work… Eventually, she gave me her phone number. To me, it was a conversation, a normal interaction.

Something that could have ended with two people saying goodbye and going on with their day. But there was someone else watching… Her boyfriend was nearby… His name was Divine Rahim Jackson. He was across the area getting gas, and according to investigators, he saw me talking to his girlfriend. Something about the interaction upset him, And suddenly, what had been a completely ordinary conversation became something much more serious. Jackson approached me and he asked why I was talking to his girlfriend… Then he slapped me twice. I was standing outside the 7-Eleven… There were people around… There were cameras. There was no reason for anyone to expect that a conversation about tattoos was about to become a tragedy… But Jackson pulled out a handg*n and he pointed it at me. I stepped backward and raised my hands in a non-threatening manner.

I wasn't standing there with a g*n… I wasn't att*cking him… I was trying to deal with a man who had suddenly approached me… The situation escalated… And then a g*nsh*t rang out… I was sh*t… The b*llet str*ck me in the face and I collapsed. The entire thing happened outside a place where people were simply going about their day… A place where I had walked in expecting to buy a drink… A place where I had walked back outside expecting to continue my afternoon. Instead, I was fighting for my life. I was taken to Riverside Regional Medical Center but my inj*ries were too severe and I passed away. My family was left trying to understand how a conversation about tattoos had ended with me being gone. My friend Rob Gordon later struggled to put the loss into words. He had worked with me and knew me as somebody who was bubbly and wanted to make people happy… That was the me that people knew.

After I was taken away, Jackson and his girlfriend left the scene in a black BMW and investigators began working to identify the vehicle… They eventually found it later that night. Jackson was arrested at a home in Newport News. He was initially charged with second-degree m*rder and using a fir**rm in the commission of a felony. But the case didn't end with the arrest… There would be court hearings… There would be evidence… There would be testimony… And eventually, there would be a trial. Jackson's defense presented a different version of what happened. He testified that he felt thr**tened… He claimed that I had thr**tened to take the fir**rm from him and hurt him.He said he feared for his life and he also later said he had been drinking but prosecutors argued that the evidence did not support a claim of self-defense. Surveillance video became an important part of the case. The footage showed Jackson approaching me with the firearm and showed that I had my hands raised before the shooting.

The prosecution argued that there was no justification for what happened… A jury ultimately agreed with the prosecution. In July 2023, the jury found Divine Jackson guilty of first-degree m*rder and using a fir**rm in the commission of a felony. My family still had to wait for sentencing. Then, on May 10, 2024, a Newport News judge sentenced Jackson to life in prison for my passing, followed by an additional three years for the fir**rm conviction. The sentence brought a form of relief to my family but relief isn't the same thing as getting me back. My mother, Melany Faison, spoke about what my passing meant for our family. She said she was finally relieved that the case was over but she also talked about everything I would never get to experience.

I would never get married… I would never have children of my own… I would never walk my sisters down the aisle… I will never grow old… I would never get to see where life took me… Those were the things my family had to mourn… They had to mourn the future Michael.

I am so sorry that this happened to you Michael, may you continue to rest peacefully 🕊️.

17/09/2026

I am Mikquale Cooper and I was taken away at only 22 years old. I am sharing my story today.

If I could sit down and tell you my story from the beginning, I would probably start by telling you that the person you saw on the internet wasn't the whole me.

My name is Mikquale Cooper. A lot of people knew me as BloodHound Q50. I was born and raised between Chicago and Northwest Indiana, and like a lot of young people growing up around me, I learned about life through the things I saw happening around me. I was primarily raised by my grandmother, and even when I was young, I was already getting myself into trouble. I wasn't the perfect kid. I got disciplined in sixth grade after bringing a BB g*n to school and injuring a girl. Looking back, those moments were signs of the environment I was growing up in and the person I was still becoming.

As I got older, g*ns, violence and the streets became things I couldn't simply separate myself from. But one of the hardest things about that life wasn't even what happened to me. It was watching people I loved get taken away. In March 2023, I lost my cousin, BloodHound ZMoney, to g*n violence. That was the first time somebody really close to me was taken because of the streets. I remember describing it as my first heartbreak. Losing somebody you're close to changes something inside you. It makes you realize that the things happening around you aren't just stories you hear about. They can reach your own family. Then came another loss… BloodHound Lil Jeff was somebody I was close to, and when he was taken in 2024, it hit me differently. Lil Scoom89 was also taken that summer. I was watching people around me disappear one after another, and somehow I was still here. That's when music started becoming more than something I did.

I had started releasing music around 2023, and songs like "Big 3" and "Coffin" helped people start recognizing my name. But after losing the people around me, I started taking music more seriously. I wanted to create something bigger. I wanted to give myself and the people I loved the life I felt like we deserved. But while my music career was growing, I was still dealing with the reality of the life I came from. In 2024, I was sh*t in the leg in Chicago. While police were responding to the incident, they found a g*n in my backpack. I eventually pleaded guilty to a g*n charge and received a one-year sentence, with credit for time I had already served. I had already seen what could happen to people around me, and now I had personally experienced getting sh*t… But I kept going… Music kept moving… My name kept getting bigger.

I eventually signed with Signal Records, and the music I was making started reaching people far beyond Chicago. I went from recording songs and building my name locally to performing on bigger stages. In May 2026, I performed at Rolling Loud. I was averaging more than a million monthly listeners on Spotify… For somebody who had already experienced so much, that had to mean something. I had made it further than the people I had lost… But success doesn't erase where you came from… It doesn't erase the enemies… It doesn't erase the losses… And it doesn't make the danger disappear…. I knew that.

In an interview with DJ Akademiks shortly before my passing, I talked about the reality of the life I was living. I acknowledged that I understood the risks. I wasn't saying I wanted to pass away. I was saying that I understood that the life I was living came with consequences… And those words would become much more haunting after I was gone. In August 2026, I released my latest project, "Get Back or D*e Trying."... That title would end up sounding like a prediction.

Then came September 13, 2026. It was around 4 in the morning when I pulled into a BP gas station at 4248 South Wentworth Avenue in Chicago's Fuller Park neighborhood in a white Tesla. According to the police, two vehicles eventually pulled alongside my car. Multiple masked men got out, and when I returned to my Tesla, they opened f*re. A witness reported hearing more than 100 sh*ts… My vehicle was riddled. Nearby businesses were damaged and I was hit in the chest and shoulder. I was taken to the University of Chicago Medical Center where I passed away… I was pronounced gone at 4:35 in the morning.

And just like that, everything stopped… The music stopped… The plans stopped… The next album stopped… The next performance stopped… The future stopped. People who had been listening to my music were suddenly listening to it differently. People who had watched me come up were now watching videos of the place where I took my final breaths… And my name went from being attached to new music to being attached to a headline.

As of now, police have not publicly announced an arrest or established a motive for my passing.

Maybe that's the hardest part for everybody left behind… There are questions… There are theories… There are videos… There are memories… But there aren't any answers yet.

I am so sorry that this happened to you Mikquale, may you rest peacefully 🕊️.

16/09/2026

I am Brittany Matthews and I was taken away at only 31 years old. I am sharing my story today.

My name was Brittany Matthews, but the people who knew and loved me called me Bee. My mother called me Lady Bee. It was something my family had called me for years. It was part of who I was long before my name ever appeared in a homicide investigation. I was born on July 8, 1989. I grew up in Jacksonville, Florida, surrounded by family and people who knew me as more than just a name. I was a daughter… I was a mother… I was a sister… I was a friend… And I was a woman who loved making people feel beautiful. I became a hairstylist, and my work wasn't just something I did. It was part of my personality. I had a passion for hair and beauty, and according to my mother, I dreamed about becoming a celebrity hairstylist someday. I had ambition… I had plans… I had a future I was still building… And I had a little boy who needed his mother.

My son was still young when my life was taken. He was supposed to grow up with me. He was supposed to watch me work toward my dreams. He was supposed to see what his mother could accomplish. Instead, he would eventually have to grow up with photographs and memories of me. The people around me remembered my personality. My mother said I was the life of the party. She described me as jolly and said I loved going out and having fun… And then there was my smile. That was one of the things people remembered most. My mother said she could never forget my smile. I wasn't just somebody who existed quietly in the background. I had a presence… When I walked into a room, people noticed me. When I was around the people I loved, I knew how to have a good time… That was Bee. That was the woman my family knew… But behind the laughter and the beauty was also a mother. My son was part of the life I was building… Everything I did wasn't just about myself. I had another reason to keep going… Another reason to dream… Another reason to come home… Then came August 3, 2020.

It was a Monday morning in Jacksonville. I was traveling along Edgewood Avenue, and at some point I stopped at a Shell gas station near Edgewood Avenue West and Avenue B. I was sitting inside my vehicle… It should have been an ordinary stop. Instead, someone was coming toward me… a silver Nissan Rogue pulled up near my vehicle. A man got out… He approached my car… Then he opened f*re… Multiple sh*ts were f*red into my vehicle… I was str*ck five times. Someone who witnessed the incident later described hearing several sh*ts. The surveillance footage captured the suspect's vehicle and showed the gunman approaching my car before fleeing. Police believed from the beginning that I may have been targeted but they did not publicly establish a motive. And that question became one of the biggest mysteries surrounding my death… Why me?

Why would somebody drive up to my car in broad daylight? Why would someone want me gone? What happened before I arrived at that gas station? And who knew enough about my movements to find me there? … My family wanted answers. Investigators eventually located the silver Nissan Rogue believed to have been used in the incident. But finding the vehicle wasn't the same thing as finding the person who did this. Police also released photographs of a man and woman they believed might have information about the incident. Before my passing, I had reportedly told my sister that I was being har*ssed. But who was har*ssing me?... Why?... And was that har*ssment connected to what happened at the gas station? Those questions have remained unanswered publicly. They are questions that my family has had to live with for years. There is no courtroom ending… No conviction… No sentence… No definitive explanation of why their loved one was taken… There is just the waiting. For my mother, memories became incredibly painful. She said that nothing had been the same since I left.

She kept a bumblebee necklace and a picture of me in her home… A little reminder of Lady Bee… A little reminder that I existed. My mother also had to watch my son grow up without me… That may have been one of the hardest parts. Because children don't understand why their mothers don't come home….They don't understand why photographs have replaced hugs. They don't understand why other children get to call their mothers while theirs can only be remembered.

Almost three years after my passing, my family was still asking for answers… There had been no arrests… No one had been held accountable… The case remained open. My mother continued asking people who knew something to speak up. She wanted someone to finally tell her what happened to her child. She wanted someone to stop being afraid. She wanted somebody to tell the truth… And that is one of the cruelest things about an unsolved case.

I am so sorry that this happened to you Brittany, may you rest peacefully 🕊️.

13/09/2026

I am Antonio Thornton Jr and I was taken away at only 17 years old. I am sharing my story today.

My name was Antonio Thornton Jr., but almost everyone who loved me called me TJ. I was 17 years old, and I was supposed to be preparing for one of the biggest moments of my young life: graduation. I was a senior at Archer High School in Gwinnett County, Georgia. I had made it through almost all of high school. The finish line was right there. My mother had already paid for my cap and gown. My family was looking forward to watching me walk across that stage. I was supposed to graduate… I was supposed to celebrate… I was supposed to start the next chapter. Instead, my family would eventually hold a graduation ceremony without me. I wasn't just a student… I was an honor student. I took challenging classes, including calculus, because I was already thinking about my future. I had plans to go to college and become an engineer. I had a career in mind before I had even finished high school. I loved basketball, and I played the sport. I was also active in my church. My faith was an important part of my life, and my mother and I had even been baptized together about a year before I passed away.

My mother, Tyesha Abdullah, didn't just see me as her son. She called me her firstborn, her only son and her best friend… That was the relationship we had. I helped my mother with her business, too. I wasn't just waiting around for adulthood to begin. I was already learning about responsibility and helping the woman who had raised me. I had a little sister… I had cousins… I had friends… I had classmates who expected to see me walking across the graduation stage… I had teachers who knew me… I had a mother who was excited about my future… I had a life… And I had plans.

Then came December 2025. I traveled from the Loganville area down to the Savannah area to visit family. I was there for a family member's birthday celebration, and nobody could have known that the trip would end with my life being taken. On Sunday, December 14, 2025, I was in Bloomingdale, Georgia, near the Magnolia Lane Apartments. It was early in the morning, At approximately 7:43–7:45 a.m., authorities received a 911 call reporting that a young man had been found outside the apartment complex. When investigators arrived, they found me… I had been sh*t. The Georgia Bureau of Investigation took over the investigation, and I passed away at the scene. My mother was hours away when she received the news that no parent ever wants to receive. She drove toward Savannah knowing that she might never hear my voice again… No more phone calls… No more texts… No more asking me how my day went… No more watching me play basketball… No more helping me prepare for college… No more graduation. My mother later spoke publicly about the pain of knowing that I had an entire future ahead of me… Instead, she eventually had to organize a graduation-themed homegoing ceremony for me. My picture was placed on a graduation cake… My cap and gown represented something that should have happened in my lifetime… Instead, they became symbols of everything I would never get to experience.

The investigation continued and Authorities eventually arrested Franklin Leonard James Jr., who was 16 at the time of his arrest, in connection with my death. He was charged as an adult. The charges initially included felony m*rder, aggravated ass*ult, a*med r*bbery and fire*rm offenses. A second teenager, Terrance Devon Green Jr., was arrested later in December 2025 in connection with the case, facing the same charges. According to the indictment, prosecutors allege that I was r*bbed of my phone and sh*t during the incident. In April 2026, both defendants appeared in court and pleaded not guilty to the charges. They requested jury trials, and the case remains part of the criminal court process. That means there are still legal questions to be answered but there is no legal question about what my family lost.

Archer High School remembered me as one of its seniors and honored me as graduation approached. My classmates were preparing to walk across the stage, but one seat would always be missing… Mine.

TJ’s mother Tyesha honors him daily and focuses on letting the world know just how amazing her young man was.

I am so sorry that this happened to you Antonio, may you rest peacefully 🕊️.

10/09/2026

I am Gabrielle Forman and I was taken away at only 30 years old. I am sharing my story today.

My name was Gabrielle Forman, although the people who loved me knew me as Gabby. I was 30 years old, a daughter, a sister, a wife, and a woman who had dedicated her life to caring for other people. I was a nurse, and my career was something I took seriously. Helping people wasn't simply something I did for a paycheck. It was part of who I was. I was also continuing my education because I wanted to become a nurse practitioner. I wasn't finished learning, and I wasn't finished dreaming. I had plans for my career and a future I was still working toward. My family described me as loving, caring, intelligent and ambitious. My father, Owen Sterling, remembered me as a beautiful soul. I had a family that loved me deeply. My mother lived in Georgia, and I remained close to her. In August 2026, I traveled to Georgia to celebrate my mother's birthday with my family. I also had another reason to celebrate, my sister was beginning an important new chapter of her own as she prepared for college. Those family moments were important to me. I came back to New York on August 18, 2026… I didn't know that I would never get the chance to see my family again.

I lived in Cohoes, New York, at the Lofts at Harmony Mills. My husband, Jadet Forman, was 37. We had lived together for several years and had married in October 2024. From the outside, we were a married couple living our lives in an apartment community near Albany… But there was something happening inside our marriage that the people around us didn't necessarily see… We were headed toward divorce. Although we were not in the best place at this time, there had not been any domestic dispute calls involving us at our apartments or no fights heard by neighbors…until this day. That is one of the painful realities about what happened to me. On the morning of Tuesday, August 18, I was back home after my trip to Georgia. At some point that morning, I was talking to my mother through FaceTime when an argument began inside the apartment. My mother heard what was happening… Then the call suddenly ended. My mother became worried… She couldn't reach me… She didn't know what was happening inside my home… So she contacted my brother and asked him to check on me.

My brother went to the apartment, He wasn't walking into an ordinary family visit… He was walking toward a situation that was already becoming dangerous. My brother called out Jadet's name as he approached the apartment… Then he heard g*nsh*ts. Police received multiple reports of sh*ts fired at the Harmony Mills complex at approximately 11 a.m. Officers arrived but they didn't immediately enter the apartment because they couldn't determine whether there was still an armed person inside or whether anyone else might be in danger and the situation had to be secured. Unbeknownst to them inside that apartment, my life had already been taken. According to Cohoes Police Chief Todd Waldin, the subsequent investigation and autopsy determined that Jadet had took me and then took himself.

The weapon authorities said was used was an unregistered 9mm privately manufactured, commonly referred to as a "ghost g*n." Police said it had no serial number and that they were still investigating how he obtained it. My life was over and my family was left trying to understand how a woman with such a beautiful soul who had just returned from celebrating her mother could be gone only hours later. The patients and coworkers who knew me as a nurse lost someone who had dedicated herself to helping others and the woman who was studying to become a nurse practitioner never got to reach that goal… That part of my story hurts because I was still building.

I am so sorry that this happened to you Gabrielle, may you rest peacefully 🕊️.

The Dark Diaries

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