Author's Note: I do not own anything within the Resident Evil Universe, though I do own Hannah/Annabelle/Melody.

I am new to the world of fanfiction, and this is my first story. It is the first installment of a quartet that I will write, but I really need the reviews and constructive feedback on fleshing out characters, emotions, and action.

Chapter Eight: Melody

Next she ordered the cabbie to a Walgreens, where she bought and applied black eyeliner. After that was a trip to a bar. Any bar. At this point, Annabelle paid the man. She doubted she would need his driving services anymore. Wandering into the bar, she saw there were a karaoke stage, and a mini-restaurant. Sighing, she was glad she did not have to lie about her age. Walking over to the restaurant part of the bar, she ordered a burger and sat back to enjoy the music.

They reminded Annabelle of her singing lessons. They were the only part of learning to be a lady that Annabelle truly enjoyed. She "practiced" whenever she could, loving the feel of song moving through her body and coming from her. That was years ago though. Her mother had gotten tired of her daughter's obsession with singing, and said only commoners wanted to be singers. Annabelle missed singing. She felt for awhile it was the only thing that made her feel happiness.

There was nothing to stop her here. Sure, it had been years since she sung, and she did not know the lyrics, but there was a computer that spelled lyrics out. A familiar tingling excitement flowed through her limbs, giving her toes that pins and needles feeling. Biting her lip, she strolled over to the bartender, asking him to hold her bag.

That tingling excitement grew as she ascended the steps of the stage and blinked at the bright lights blaring down on her. She smiled hesitantly at the crowd, and found that unlike all those scientists at her parents party, she actually cared what these people thought, she wanted to put on a show they would enjoy. The idea made that excited tingling stronger and that decided her. Whatever kept that tingling going.

She turned her infected eyes to the computer screen and grinned widely at the appropriateness of the song that was flashing there: Leanne Rimes' Destructive.

Closing her eyes, she stopped thinking and instead just poured all she was into the song. It was her song after all, every word a perfect representation of her feelings over the past few days.

Her hips wanted to sway to the music, so she let them. Her fingers wanted to grab her hair, so she let them. Her eyes wanted to scorch the crowd, so she let them. There was no one to dictate her behavior but her.

It was such a rush, she felt high as she finished, grinning broadly at the applause around her when she stepped off the stage. The words were still powerfully running through her mind, the melody still humming in her bones. Swaying to the bartender she got her bag back.

"Someone came in for you," he informed her. Annabelle raised her eyebrows in surprise. No one in this town knew her.

"Do you know who?" The bartender shook his head.

"He insisted you knew his name already. Anyway, he came in, told me to let you know, and walked out. He didn't want to mess up your amazing singing I bet." The bartender grinned widely as he subtly looked her over, from her tight black shirt to her tight blue jeans and black boots. Annabelle felt his arousal in the air around him, and smiled crookedly to him. She always wanted to smile crookedly at someone, and now she had a chance – another little rush went through her.

Annabelle smiled and thanked him, pulling on her black coat and opening her umbrella before she stepped outside and saw there was indeed someone waiting for her.

Albert Wesker leaned against a black 2003 Nissan 35OZ. He again wore black on black, his black shades, and his blonde hair was immaculately in place. Wesker smirked when Annabelle bit her lip, reaching behind him to open the passenger door. He watched her as debated before finally deciding to just go with her gut instinct of a few days ago and climbed into his car. Closing the door firmly behind her, he walked around to settle in the driver's seat while Annabelle shoved her bag in the backseat.

Wesker maneuvered the car onto a nearby freeway, the two sitting in silence. They continued that way for about an hour before Annabelle asked if she could turn on the radio. Wesker paused then stiffly nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. Annabelle played with the radio until she settled on a station playing songs with amazing beats that made her want to start dancing in her seat.

So she did. And it felt fabulous.

After a few more minutes of no conversation, she lowered the volume on the radio and turned her full attention to Wesker. He glanced at her as he looked into his side view mirror before changing lanes. Annabelle admired him behind the wheel, his confidence. She then admired his car. He did seem the type to drive a luxury car.

She decided to break the silence again. "Where are we going, Mr. Wesker?"

"Just Wesker," he replied, eyes calmly on the road while his right hand worked the stick shift. "I am Mr. only to other scientists." His voice did not hold the polite quality it had when they first met, nor did it hold the icy coldness it did when he spoke to his subordinates. It was neutral.

"Alright," she replied when Wesker did not answer her question. "Where are we going?"

Windshield wipers worked furiously to keep the rain from obstructing the window. "My research facility. There are rooms set up for you. There are things I would like to discuss with you."

Annabelle looked at him for a few moments. He guarded his emotions well, Annabelle could not decipher his goals. So she went for the direct approach. "What things?"

He cast a sardonic look at her before concentrating again on the road. "That, Ms. Davenport, should be obvious."

He had a point. They needed to discuss what happened at the mansion. Her abilities, and she had the attaché case for him. Perhaps he wanted an alliance with her. She smirked to think that she no longer was a little girl in a white dress leading them through a labyrinth, or a blond girl in a blue dress leading him on a tour. Could it be possible that Wesker thought of her as someone worth having an alliance with? She looked at him again, and could not decide if that was the case. She shrugged. She will know soon enough.

Her mind focused on something else. "I seems odd to me that you would call me Ms. Davenport, as I am not to call you Mr. Wesker."

Wesker flicked an eyebrow to concede her point. Glancing at her again and seeing her watch him still, he decided to indulge her. "Annabelle, then? Or Davenport to stick with surnames?"

The woman shuddered. "God, no. Anything but those."

Wesker frowned. "Then what am I to call you?" he demanded.

She could see he could be a man of little patience. Frowning, she thought for a few moments. She thought of possibilities and turned them away. Periodically, her mind would return to the feeling of when she was singing, how perfect it was and how blissful she felt.

"Melody," she said quietly. "Call me Melody. No Davenport. Just Melody."

If Wesker noted the influence of the karaoke bar in her choice of moniker, he said nothing.

"Melody, then."

Melody smiled then, and turned the music back up, humming along to it all through the long car drive.