Annihilation, Odessa McNiel [best big ereader .TXT] 📗

been sent on a mission with three others a week earlier and had yet to return.  The Association, having neither heard nor spoken to the group, had assumed the worst had happened.

The days following the terrible news were filled with tears and people coming to clean out her trainer’s belongings.  The knives were the only thing she had left of her only familial figure.  The rest had been taken wherever The Association kept the belongings of the dead, and that was that. There had never been a ceremony, and the names of the four that had been presumed dead weren’t spoken of again.

“Well,” said a voice from the doorway, startling her. “Are you going to throw the stupid thing or just stare at it?”  Melanie turned towards the voice, not at all surprised at who it belonged to. “I can show you how to throw it if you need any help.” He offered smugly.

She chuckled. “I know what I’m doing, Kyle.  I don’t need any encouragement.”  She said, then added, “Or a crowd.”  Slowly, her eyes took in the casual way he leaned against the open-door frame with his arms crossed over his broad, tan chest.  He was barefoot, sporting blue pajama pants and no shirt.  His black hair looked slightly disheveled but still managed to look amazing.  The moonlight pouring through the window made his emerald eyes sparkle like water.  

She looked away from him, suddenly embarrassed. “I’ll throw it when I’m ready, okay.  I just…”  She said, trailing off.  “I-’’

“I get it.” Kyle interjected. “But you’ve got to pick it up again sometime soon.  We’re not the same without you.” She would’ve taken it as a compliment had she not known that he was just being blatantly honest.  Their hunting group was one of the best The Association had ever had.  However, after the incident with her trainer, she wasn’t as enthusiastic about it as she had once been. The knives no longer called to her like a drug, and without her group, The Association was taking some heavy losses.

She glanced up at him again as he padded softly closer, taking her knife in his hands.  Melanie watched as he cocked his arm- roped with muscles- and threw the knife at the target.  It hit the center with a thud, sending the target swaying back and forth slightly.  He turned to her, a smirk lining his face.

It faded fast. “I’m sorry about Kelly,” Melanie winced at the recollection of her trainer’s name.  Kyle continued, “But that was two years ago.” He sighed, crossing his arms again. “I lost my sister in that mission, and I miss her every second since I found out she died.  But, I’ve moved on, and so should you.”  He brought a hand to her face and brushed her cheek gently. “We need you back.” He said, kissing her wild curls.

They smiled together as Kyle pulled away, picking up another knife out of her box.  He twirled it a couple times between his fingers.  “So, what are you doing awake at three in the morning anyway?” He asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Melanie cleared her throat, looking at her bare feet.

“It’s not the dreams again; is it?” He threw the second knife.  It hit the center again.

She rubbed her neck.  “There are different scenarios, but it always ends the same way.  The same person always dies, and it’s always the same man who kills her.” She’d told Kyle about the dreams before, but she avoided the subject as much as possible.   

A look of concern passed over his face suddenly, “Do you know them?”  He asked urgently.

“Who?” She was confused.

“The man and the woman in the dreams, do you know them?” He was no longer interested in the knife set.  All of his attention was on her.

She felt slightly uncomfortable as she answered.  “I don’t think so.  Their names seem familiar, but I don’t know anyone by those names.” Kyle gave her a questioning look. “George, I think, and Francis are their names.”  A look between excitement and nervousness crossed his face, but it disappeared as he composed himself.

“Are you sure that you don’t know them?” He looked at her as if she were lying.

“Yes, Kyle,” she assured. “I have no idea who those people are.”

He leaned against the table.  “Good,” he said.  

There was a tone to his voice that sent chills down her spine.  “Should I know them?”

He knotted his hands together, staring at them.  “No,” he sighed. “ No, it’s best if you didn’t.” Kyle looked up at her shyly, which was so uncharacteristic of him. Kyle was never shy. He had always been cool and confident and slick with a sharp edging. There was nothing soft about his personality at all. Something was wrong, something that he wasn’t saying to her.

“What is it, Kyle?” She said, finally, almost fearing the answer.

“I need to talk to you about something.” He said, putting away the knives he’d thrown. “Come on.” He offered his hand to her, and she took it.

2

 Present Day

 

A soft, feather-like object brushed up against Melanie’s face, making her nose tickle.  She rubbed her nose, and the object swatted at her with warm fingers.  She chuckled, “Charlie, what is it now boy?”  Melanie opened her eyes to the bright orange tabby sitting on her lap, staring at her.  It seemed to grin slightly as if he knew he had caught her in the middle of dozing off with an open book in her hands.  

She closed the book and set it on the couch cushion beside her.  Charlie pawed at her again.  “Are you hungry?”  He pounced onto the floor in response, already heading for the kitchen.  Melanie pushed off the couch and followed him.  Sure enough, he sat next to his metal food bowl by the doorway, meowing at her to hurry.  

She went to her walk-in pantry, grabbed the plastic cup out of the bag, and poured a small scoop into his bowl.  He purred and rubbed against her leg before diving into it.  Melanie crossed her arms, leaning against the marble countertop and shaking her head.  

Faintly, she remembered the day she found the now chubby cat.  It had been raining that day in October four years ago.  Melanie had just started living in the small bookstore and apartment combo.  She was coming from her car up the walkway to the apartment with a bag of groceries in her arms when she’d heard the soft meowing.  At first, she thought she’d imagined the sound, but when it came again, she knew it was real.

She’d set the groceries on the top step, she recollected, under the awning where they wouldn’t get wet and turned towards the alley to the left of the bookstore.  A very heavy, acidic scent wafted her way as she entered the grungy alley.  Blue and green dumpsters filled to the brim skirted either edges of the alley, and piles of trash decorated the ground at random intervals.

Beside one of the rusty dumpsters sat a cardboard box soaked through with water and partly covered by a thin looking, tan blanket.  As she approached the box, the meowing sounded again but much quieter than the first two cries.  Slowly, she peeled back the dingy, wet blanket and peered inside the box.

Her stomach had roiled slightly at the sight.  The animals inside were obviously cats but ones that had been reduced to skeletons.  Their coats were matted knots, hanging limply off their emaciated bodies.  Every bone seemed to press on their thin skin, ready to burst through if you so much as poked it.  But what sickened her the most was the realization that out of the five tiny bodies in the box, only one was moving.

The poor creature was sitting in a corner of the box, using the last bit of its energy to cry miserably for help.  He was bright orange and the smallest of the bunch, the runt, and yet, he was the strongest, the most courageous.  She remembered he’d hissed at her slightly when she’d reached for him.  At first, she was afraid to even touch him, fearing she would break him with the slightest touch.  But as she carried him against her chest into her home, Melanie could feel him snuggle against her, nudging her chest slightly with his tiny head.

After cleaning him up and feeding him, he was jovial in a way she’d never seen.  Looking at him today, though, she thought, you’d have never thought it was the same cat.  She smiled at him.

Melanie glanced at the clock on the stove, glowing with green numbers. “Damn it!” She exclaimed, realizing it was ten minutes past eight.  The store had technically been open for twenty-five minutes with its doors locked.  She dashed back into the living room, grabbing her book from the couch, and rushed to the door that separated her apartment from the bookstore.

She turned, “Charlie, are you coming?”  The cat raised his head and glared at her for interrupting his meal before marching over obediently.  “Sorry, boy,” she said, turning the deadbolt.  Melanie let Charlie through first, and then followed, closing the door.

The stairs creaked as she descended hurriedly.  A buzz sounded through the store before she’d gotten to the bottom of the staircase.  “I’m coming!” She shouted, praying the person outside could hear her.  She wove through the filled bookcases and found her way to the door.

The person outside, bundled in a black winter coat, jeans, and loafers, was a man. His golden hair blew across his face in a whirlwind of curls.  He hunched his shoulders against the wind and dug further into the crevice under the awning. He rang again.

Melanie waved at him through the door as she unlocked it. The man opened the door, ushering in a cold, coarse breeze. He shut the door behind him, turned to her, and smiled.

“It’s a cold morning out there today; isn’t it Miss?” He said in the local New York accent. “Name’s Fred,” he held out his right hand, which was slightly scarred.

Melanie shook it briefly. “What can I help you find, sir?” she questioned the man in the New York accent she’d adopted perfectly.

“Eh!” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just gonna look around. That okay?”

“Sure! I’m gonna start some coffee,” she gestured toward the coffee pot on the front desk. “You’re welcome to some if you’d like. It’s free.”

Fred nodded his head and proceeded down one of the aisles. She watched him for a second before setting her book on the desk and starting the coffee pot. He was friendly, she thought, or he was at least nicer and had carried on a longer conversation with her than most of the people who had walked through the door of her small bookstore. The majority of the normal crowd were college students in search of books for their literature classes, and very few of them were really interested in anything else book related at all. They had no intention of spending more time than necessary in the store. Occasionally, an avid reader would happen across the store and spend an hour or so looking around and buy two, maybe, three books. However, it was usually another slow day in the