1196 words (4 minute read)

Melody

The thing about Melody was adventure didn’t agree with her like she’d thought it would. The actual act of hunting monsters down was fantastic. Her partners, however, were not.

Mel had been traveling with Nick and William for years now. While her older brothers insisted that they were hunters, she always replaced the word with “predators” in her head. It sounded much more menacing, which was fitting for the two of them. They didn’t track, they stalked. They didn’t kill, they slaughtered. They weren’t teaching her a lesson, they were beating one into her.

Those bruises weren’t consequences, they were punishments.

And it went this way for seven years. Always the same cycle: track, hunt, kill, find the mistake she’d made, punishment. It always hurt and it always left a mark the next day, but not on her face. Never on her face. Those injuries showed, after all. The rest could be covered up, hidden away from the rest of the world.

Today would be different, though. Today was the day, she was sure of it. Of course, she’d been telling herself the exact same thing for weeks and months and years now and still nothing. The one time she had tried to escape, Nick had caught her. She wasn’t able to walk without wincing every time she took a step for days.

But tonight she was surprised to find herself staring at her brother’s unconscious forms from the darkened doorway of the hotel room, shaking head to toe. They were snoring heavily, probably from the sleeping pills she’d crushed up and put in their water. How long would they last? Could she get away fast enough without a car? Without a phone? With only the clothes on her back, the few possessions in her duffel bag, and a couple of crumpled bills in her pocket?

Melody had to try.

The night air was cool, but not overly so. It wasn’t thick and heavy like the previous nights had been, but it had a slight breeze and an almost autumn like quality about it, even though it was June. Despite the pleasant temperature, Mel was sweating through her long-sleeved shirt. She sprinted down the street for what felt like forever, before realizing that she should probably avoid drawing attention to herself and slowed to a brisk walk, keeping her head down.

The sun was rising when her thudding heart made it even harder to breathe. How many miles had she walked? Not enough, she knew that much. But she didn’t have anyone to call even if she did have her phone, no resources except for those around her. Relying on her surroundings would have to be a habit to get into now. It was the only option.

So by the side of the road she stood, thumb sticking out at the dozens of cars that passed by her on the busy street. Finally a middle-aged man with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, bushy beard and faded baseball cap clouded in a haze of smoke, drove up in a red pickup truck covered in mud.

“Goin’ somewhere, darlin’?” He asked, not unkindly, and unlocked the doors.

Mel nodded, but didn’t make any move to get in the car just yet. “Where are you going?”

He shrugged. “Headed toward Sterlin’, just a couple hours out. I can make a stop along the way if you want.”

She nodded again and got in the passenger’s side, fidgeting with the straps of her duffel bag in her lap. She knew even if he couldn’t see the scrapes and bruises under her clothes, the pale skin, dark bags under her tired eyes, and frizzy hair would give something away. At least make him suspect something was up. “I’m going to Sterling, too. You can just drop me off at a motel there.”

The man didn’t say anything for a couple seconds, just staring at her like he was trying to make out small text from a long distance. But then he nodded and drove off down the highway without so much as offering his name. That’s okay, it was better like this, two strangers sitting in total silence for a bit before going their separate ways. That would be easier.

No connections, no attachments, and definitely no names. Names meant you’d be remembered, that you could put a face to your memories. Names meant you could be tracked. Melody wasn’t planning on giving hers out anytime soon if she could avoid it. Even aliases were risky. Her brothers knew her patterns, her personality. They knew how to find her if she wasn’t careful.

The only words he spoke the entire drive was when they got to the motel and Melody slid out of the car onto the hot pavement. “You take care now,” he said with a small nod, looking at her seriously, but gently.

Melody nodded back. “Thank you.”

And he drove away.

Motel rooms were a common occurrence when you were on the road as much as Melody was. It was second nature to check a place out for fleas or bedbugs, or just to make sure there weren’t any too horribly unexplainable brown stains on the sheets. Not that Melody was expecting five-star hotels, but you had to draw the line somewhere. Anything that smelled worse than cat urine or milk that’s been sitting in the hot summer sun was a major ’no.’

One night, she told herself. One night and then she’d move on. That’s the way things would be for a long time.

It was early morning, which meant that Melody had been up for over twenty-four hours, but she still wasn’t tired. She was buzzing with energy, itching to move, to do something. But there wasn’t much she could do that wouldn’t alert her brothers to her whereabouts. When thirty-seven minutes later—she’d counted—flipping through brochures and TV channels with crappy reception didn’t satisfy her, she swung her duffel bag over her shoulder and left in a hurry.

There always seemed to be a bar nearby right when you needed one. Melody had no trouble finding it, just minutes down the road and well within walking distance. She took a shadows so as not to raw attention to herself. No matter how far away she got, she always had that feeling of “someone is watching me.”

Risking a brief glance at the door, Melody breathed again. She was safe. For now.