"Melanie Graham, where have you been?" my mother scolded. "You weren't at the press conference of your uncle's."
"I was at the shooting range," I told her, rolling my eyes. I didn't find it necessary for the President's niece to be present for every political event. My mother saw it differently.
"You act like a boy," she said frowning. "you ride motorcycles, drive fast cars, go to the shooting range. Lord knows what else you do that I don't know about."
"Just be thankful Ashley acts more feminine," I grumbled. I didn't see why it mattered if I was girly or not. I could understand the pressure if I was Ashley; she was the First Daughter, after all.
"I'm sure your uncle is." My uncle was the President of the United States of America. My dad, his brother, died a week after his election so he invited my moher and me to live with him and his family in the White House.
"Good thing I'm your kid then and not his."
"Well, anyway, go get cleaned up. It's almost time for dinnere. Don't forget tonight is the dinnere with the Dawn Hughes family, so dress NICE."
"Don who?"
"Yes, Dawn Hughes," she replied.
"No, I mean who is he?" My mom heaved a frustrated sigh.
"SHE is a key ambassador for Interpol, and her family is dining with us tonight. Also the military general named Jack Krauser and a few other people of importance are going to be there as well. No pants unless they are slacks; otherwise wear a skirt." I grumbled my discontentment before leaving to go to my room to get ready.
I jumped in the shower of my personal bathroom and washed quickly. I completed my shower routine and stepped out onto tile floor, wrappinga towel around myself. I wrapped another, smaller towel around my dripping hair andexited to my walk in closet that was organized into sections. I went immediately to the dress-up section and selected a pair of black, silky slacks. I looked at my options for shirts and decided on a red, silky, dry-clean only shirt that was a halter top with an open back and fairly loose in the front, but hihg on the chest. I also grabbed a pair of thong underwear from my dresser and a strapless red bra that matched. I laid the clothes out on my bed beforewalking back into the bathroom and removing the towel from my hair, which had transformed into a curly, wavy mess.
I took out the black hairdryer frmo the cabinet and turned on some music while I waited for my hair to dry. Once my dark hair was finally water free, I plugged in my pink, ceramic Chi hair straightener. It seemed to take forever for me to straighten all of the different layers of hair, and the music playing disguised the pitter of light footsteps behind me.
"You better hurry up, Mel," Ashley said, causing me to jump. I sprayed some hairspray over my now silky-smooth hair and shut the tool off.
"How much time do I have?" I asked, walking towards my bed to grab the outfit I had put there.
"Like, thirty minutes," she said, sitting down by my pillow.
"I'll be ready," I said confidently. I went back into the bathroom and changed into my new clothes, leaving the old ones crumpled on the floor. I dug out my makeup back from a drawer and smeared some foundation in random spots on my face before rubbing it all in. The next thing to go on was black eyeliner on my lower lid, on ehte borderline of too much for the occasion. I added the sparkly grey eye shadow next, followed by mascara and clear, shiny lip gloss. I sprayed two squirts of J'Adore by Christian Dior, and exited the bathroom in a rush.
"You look nice," Ashley commented. I spared a glance at her. She was wearing a knee length pencil skirt and a light lavender, button-up, short-sleeved shirt with a skinny black belt at the waist and black peep-toe heels. She looked very cute, and very chic.
"You, too, little cousin," I said grinning as I sat down on the bed and put on the shiny, strappy, red heels that I had picked out from under my bed. Ashley frowned.
"You know, you're not even a full year older than me," she said.
"I know, I'm nine months and four days older exactly," I replied, sticking out my tongue. Ashley and I had always been close to each other, however differently we acted.
We exited the room in a rush and went down the red stairs at a fairly good clip before slowing oursleves to enter the dining room. To our dismay, we were the last ones there. Even though we weren't late, it ws still embarrassing. My mother glowered at me. Ashley sat down to the left of her father, and I sat in between her and my mother.
The food was already on the table, and my uncle said grace while we all dipped our heads.
"Amen," he finished and the rest of the table echoed. I looked around, trying to identify the company. A middle-aged woman sat across from Ashley, her lips set in a sever line that implied they rarely ever smiled. 'Must be the Interpol lady,' I thought to myself. Next to her was a man, and though they didn't look quite the same, there was a sameness to them. The kids next to him, a young boy and a teenage girl, looked intimidated. 'Her husband and kids,' I added mentally. Next to my mother was a man in a ilitary uniform, one that implicated high rank. There was a ragged scar down his face, and though I tried to avoid staring, he caught me looking. He grinned at me, and it distorted the wound even more.
"I'm Jack Krauser," he introduced himself.
"Melanie Graham," I replied politely, trying to keep the bluch from being caught staring off my face. As far as I could tell, I was succeeding.
"You can ask about it, you know," he said.
"About what?" I asked, as much to try and fool my mother into thinking I was behaving myself, as well as to make him thing that he misinterpreted my look. He laughed, ar ough, rather unpleasant noise.
"My scar."
"Oh, um, if you don't mind me asking, how did it happen?" I asked, obviously giving him what he wanted. 'Glory hound,' I thought dryly.
"I can't tell you exactly where I was, but I can tell you that I was in a hot country. I was scouting ahead for my group, and mind you I was already a Green Beret at the time, and I was caught and tortured for information. I didn't give thema single syllable, and I managed escape without be caught."
"Sounds terrifying," I answered honestly.
"It was. But that's what my training was for," he replied. 'Ugh, this guy is obsessed with himself,' I thought, mentally sneering.
"So are you the President's daughter?" he asked, eying me like a person would look at a horse they were thinking about buying. I fought the urge to shudder.
"No," I answered. "I'm his niece; Ashley is his daughter." He nodded, his gaze moving to rest on my cousin. She was busy talking to Mrs. Hughes. He studied her for several minutes, and when he looked back his eyes met mine, which were narrowed in a new suspicion. he raised his eyebrows at my expression, but didn't speak with me for the rest of the evening.
As Ashley and I were getting ready to go up to our rooms, which were across the hall from each other, my mother stopped me. Ashley went on ahead, telling me goodnight.
"You did well tonight, Melanie.
. I was impressed by your diplomatic conversation with Mr. Krauser," she told me. I just nodded and told her goodnight. Truth be told, Mr. Krauser was a creeper in my mind. I banished all thoughts from my head as I crawled under the covers, clothes from dinner laying discarded by the foot of the bed.
The next two weeks went as usual. The guests left, more came. It was a Thursday, and as always on Tuesdays and Thursdays I was at the shooting range. I was a really good target shooter with just about any type of gun, but especially with my pistol and my shotgun. The Firestar 9mm was a small enough gun for my little hands.
"See you, Tony," I called as I walked out of the small place where you were required to sign in before shooting. When you go to a place two times a week, you get to be on a first name basis with all of the employees. I climbed into my dark purple Lamborghini and drove back towards the White House. I could never bring myself to call it home; it was too weird. The guards let me in at the gate without question. A big, black SUV with tinted windows pulled up behind me. Everyone insisted on Secret Service guarding me as well, though I failed to see why I would be a target. I'd gotten tired of arguing the point.
As soon as I stepped out I knew there was something wrong. My mother came towards me hurriedly, a dark look of worry on her face. She never hurried for anything; her philosophy was that women never hurried. Either way, she came tottering towards me as fast as her heels would allow. She spoke before I could even get a word out to her.
"Have you seen Ashley today, Melanie?" she asked sharply.
"No, I haven't," I told her, raising my eyebrows.
"Are you sure? This is very serious, Melanie."
"No, I haven't seen her," I repeated, getting frustrated. "What's wrong?"
"That is. Nobody's seen her all day. She's nowhere in the House or in the Gardens, and no one saw her leaving. We think she's been kidnapped," my mother muttered, low enough that only I could hear. My eyes widened.
"Are you being serious?" I asked, my eyebrows snapped together at this point.
"Of course," she hissed. "And your uncle has demanded that until we get Ashley back, you aren't to leave the grounds and you are to have two Secret Service nearby while in the House, and at least four if outside." I didn't argue; the fact that Ashley was no where, and that there'd been no signs of a struggle scared me.
It was approximately five in the afternoon, and my uncle, my mother, and I were sitting in a den. There were two Secret Service men outside each of the two doors into the room.
"I spoke with the people at the University. She showed up for all of her classes today, so she went missing sometime on her way home," my uncle said.
"I'm certain she didn't run away," I said firmly. The idea had been thrown out and not as thoroughly shot down as I would have liked. "If anyone would run away, it would more likely be me. She understands her duty as First Daughter better than that."
"Then we have to assume she was kidnapped. I wonder if they even know who she is," he replied.
"Jonathan, I'm sure she'll be okay," my mother said. We sat in silence for the rest of the night.
The next week and a half went a lot like that. Investigators were looking everywhere, questioning everybody from teachers to the Secret Service themselves. The ones who were with her that day had vanished. It was assumed by most people that they were probably dead. My uncle had decided to keep the subject under wraps from the press, since no one knew where she could be or who was responsible.
Then my uncle received an anonymous letter, stating that a girl who looked very much like Ashley was spotted in some unheard of region in Europe. The pictures that were enclosed in the envelope were blurry, and taken from a great distance away. It could have been Ashley; the hair was right, the clothes, the build: it all matched. It seemed decently credible.
We were in the den again, but with an addition. A man with sort of longish, dirty blond hair sat in a chair across from my mother, my uncle, and me. His name was Leon Kennedy. He was the agent Uncle Jonathan had called in to investigate the possibility of Ashley being in that foreign country. His facial features were sharp, handsome, but like he'd seen more than he'd wanted to ever see.
"You were in that mess of Raccoon City, weren't you?" my uncle asked. Leon nodded.
"It was my first day as a cop there. I showed up to find almost everyone infected." I raised my eyebrows. I'd heard some of the stories from Raccoon City, passed along from survivor to person to person. I recalled that Claire Redfield, Sherry Birkin, and Leon Kennedy were the only known survivors. 'That poor little girl,' I thought. 'Wasn't she only like eleven? But that was six years ago: she'd be like seventeen now. Not that much younger than me,' I thought with a mental shudder.
"Mr. Kennedy, I want you to do whatever is necessary to save my daughter. I'll have someone connected with you on a communicative PDA at all times. You are to report your status to them, and they'll convey information to you on where you need to go. Your flight leaves tomorrow morning at eight. You'll be met in Spain by police officers of the area."
"I'll be there, Mr. President. You don't need to worry; if it's really Ashley, I'll bring her back safe." There was a hard look of determination on his face. I believed him. He met my gaze and I nodded at him. I believed if anyone could bring her back, it would be him.
The next morning I was at the private airport with my uncle. The plane was the smallest it could be and still make it across the Atlantic. Leon would be the only person on board, aside from the pilot and copilot. He was wearing a brown jacket, and over it sat a backpack that looked like it held some kind of box or case inside of it. It looked uncomfortable. My uncle reminded him the importance of the mission, and as the President turned to leave, I hugged Leon.
"Bring my cousin back," I said emotionally. I let go of him and met his distant eyes and let him see the raw feelings churning in my own. He eyed me with blatant confusion.
"I will," he assured before turning to board the plane. My decision was made.
"Wait! I forgot something I wanted to give to you in the car. Can I go get it for you?" I asked. He looked at me, blinked, then nodded his head yes. I turned around and started sprinting back towards the black Audi that we had ridden in. As I ran by my uncle, he gave me a strange look.
"He forgot something in the car," I told him, and then continued towards the black vehicle. I opened the door, ignoring the inquisitive looks from the Secret Service, and grabbed a black duffle bag out. I went sprinting back towards the plane with the big bag hanging over my shoulder and when I got there, I asked Leon if I could set the bag down in the plane so I could find what I was looking for.
"Sure, I guess. Just make it quick, if you can," he said.
"I will," I assured him. I walked up onto the plane and acted like I was sifting through the contents of the bag. I grabbed the Firestar firmly in my hand but kept it hidden in the bag.
"What are you doing?" Leon asked, noticing that I was no longer looking through the stuff in my bag.
"You're going to take me with you," I stated firmly. "Go tell the pilot to take off." Leon laughed, more out of surprise than actual humor.
"You have got to be kidding me. Go get in the car with your uncle."
"No. She's my cousin, I want to come along."
"Why, so the President can lose another member of his family?"
"So I can ensure that you are doing everything in your power to get Ashley back."
"Of course I will," Leon snapped. I had the vague impression I'd hurt his feelings.
"Do you want to know what I think, Mr. Kennedy?" I asked, rolling the name off my tongue in a mocking way.
"I'd absolutely love to."
"I think this is just another paycheck to you. You need to see Ashley as a real person, not a mission, not a job, but a 20 year old girl that loves pink and flowers, and shoes."
"I do see her as a person. Why wouldn't I?" Leon asked, his eyebrows mashed together.
"I already told you. You're getting paid to do this. Think of me as an assurance to my uncle that you're doing your job."
Leon was frowning, his face set in hard lines. I was pretty sure I'd offended him by the suggestion that he needed motivation for rescuing my cousin. He was studying me carefully, trying to assess how much of a threat I was, I assumed.
"What's in your bag, Melanie?" he asked, making my name sound like a joke. I scowled.
"A gun. Firestar 9mm," I replied. "Some clothes, some ammo, some food. You know, the usual."
"Is the safety on?" he asked. It wasn't really the reaction I'd been expecting.
"What?" I asked.
"Dear Jesus, is the thing that keeps the gun from firing on or off?" he snapped, irritated.
"I know what the safety is," I growled. "I mean, why does it matter?"
"I don't want anybody to get shot by accident. Just give me the gun, Melanie." Now my name was coaxing, pleasant. I frowned deeper.
"What makes you think I'm going to shoot anyone by accident?" I asked. I had the childish impulse to stick out my tongue, but I held back.
"Please, you're the pampered President's niece. I don't think you can shoot anyone on purpose." I laughed, and pulled the gun out to point it at him.
"Maybe I'm not as pampered as you think. I go to the shooting range twice a week every week, and I have since I was old enough to get a permit for a handgun. I go hunting during the different seasons. I'm a better shot than most men out there," I said. Leon was standing with his arms raised in the air. I didn't buy the whole 'I'm harmless' thing.
"Melanie, okay. I'm going to take you back to your uncle. Everything will be okay, I promise. Just give me the gun," Leon was saying gently. I flipped the safety off.
"Now the safety's off, Leon. Go tell the pilot to take off. We're ready to go, there's been an unexpected addition to our number, but everything is alright." For the first time, I think he realized how serious I was. He just nodded and turned around. I kept the gun pointed steadily at him. He walked away from me and disappeared to where the cockpit was. Leon said loudly what I told him to say. The pilots must have thought he was crazy, as loud as he was talking. I was betting it was for my benefit. They didn't question him, though. They even said they had enough fuel to add someone as long as them and their stuff weighed under three hundred pounds, so we were good. Leon came back through the door slowly, and as the plane started to take off, I clicked the safety back on.
"Thank you," I said. I sat down in one of the seats towards the front. Leon sat facing me in the seat across from me.
"No problem," he said sarcastically, giving me a death glare. I sat the gun on the seat next to me, facing away from both of us. I dug my shoulder holster and a couple spare clips out of my bag. I slipped the holster on, running the strap through my belt, and then slid the gun and spare ammo where they belonged. I heard an odd electronically sound, and Leon pulled his little PDA out of his jacket pocket.
"Mr. Kennedy, why is my niece still on board that plane?" my uncle asked, his voice dripping with anger and warning. I motioned for Leon to hand me the small device. He sighed and handed it over. I looked at the screen, and saw my uncle's frowning. His frown grew deeper when he saw me.
"Don't worry, Uncle Jonathan. It's not Leon's fault, don't blame him. In fact, you should pay him even more than you offered," I said.
"Melanie, what did you do?" he asked, running a hand over his face.
"Well, I sort of held him at gunpoint and made him go tell the pilots to take off. Don't worry though, now that I'm going along I'll behave," I said slowly, wondering how much trouble I was going to get in when we got back.
"Are you insane, you little brat?" he asked, looking livid. I fought the urge to laugh; he always called me a brat when I was in trouble.
"No, I am not," I told him. "I just want to help."
"You're going to get in his way," my uncle grumbled.
"Am not," I sad confidently. "I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much."
He sighed again. "What am I going to tell your mother?" I fought the giggle in my throat. Mom was going to flip.
"Tell her the truth. I'm sure she won't have a problem believing it," I said.
"No, I'm sure not. Tell Mr. Kennedy that I am sorry for my pain in the ass of a niece. Try not to hinder his progress, Mel. I want Ashley back."
"I know. So do I; that's why I'm here." The screen went blank as my uncle ended the call.
"My uncle said to apologize for his pain in the ass of a niece," I said, handing the device back to Leon.
"Bit of an understatement, don't you think?" he grumbled. I scowled back at him. I fell silent for a minute. He just closed his eyes and relaxed.
"So, in Raccoon City-" I began, but he cut me off.
"I don't want to talk about it, Melanie. I suggest you get some sleep now. There might not be a chance for it later." His eyes were still shut, so I stuck out my tongue at him. My childish needs satisfied, I leaned back into the seat and closed my own eyes.