Black Crescent Moon

Thought It Was The End, Did You?

There was something distinctly calming about reading a good book. The world outside faded into the background, giving way to the ink and paper realm of the written word. It spun wonderful images that captured my imagination in such a way that I'd be sucked in for hours on end, tucked in the corner of my room and ignoring reality all the while.

Crappy books, on the other hand, were a valiant battle between myself and the story. Each misspelling or mistake another cringe-inducing reminder that I could set the stupid thing down, and walk away.

But if I did I'd have to face reality, and reality sucked. I preferred reading shitty fan-fiction over the real world any day; the fan-fiction was less depressing.

"Kathryne, I need Richards' file from the cabinet!" My uncle, Eric Taylor, called from his secluded office across the hall.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I set my phone down on table and stood. So much for sitting around reading all day. "Which one?" I yelled back, poking my head out of the filing room door.

I wasn't quite sure how I'd wound up working as a gopher at my uncle's practice, but it beat flipping burgers or manual labor. After I'd earned my Associate's, Eric had threatened to kick me out unless I started doing something productive with my spare time.

He stuck his head out, scowling. His salt-and-pepper brown hair was sticking up all over the place, like he'd been playing with static electricity. "Andrew."

I nodded, slinking back towards the cabinets. The files in them were a disorganized mess, though my uncle insisted he had a system for sorting them. "What's wrong with good ol' alphabetical order?" I grumbled under my breath, pulling a drawer open at random.

Crouching down, I started thumbing through the folders. "Chatham, Mayhew, Leonards, Richie, Porter." Nope, not that drawer. I slammed it shut and moved to another one. "Hope, Lowell, Stevens..." Gah, I really needed to organize everything.

It took me fifteen minutes of shuffling through seven different drawers to find the stupid file. "Found it!" I exclaimed, throwing it down on my uncle's desk.

He was not impressed. "Took you long enough," he said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his fancy executive rolling chair. "Did you get lost?"

"Trying to go through all of your files to figure out how you've sorted them? Yes, I did get lost," I bit irritably, rolling my eyes. "Did you just throw things wherever they'd fit?"

Eric shook his head, sighing dramatically. "It's by the year and month of their first visit, kiddo. It's not that hard." He picked up the file, idly flipping through its' contents.

I was beginning to consider strangling him. "Except the drawers aren't labeled, and you don't have a list of names and dates written down anywhere. How am I supposed to figure out where to look?" It was a miracle he hadn't lost any of the files yet.

Well, that I knew of.

"Not my problem," he shrugged.

My cheeks flushed in anger. "Fine! Find your own damn files. See if I care." I turned on my heel, fleeing back to the confines of the filing room.

Stupid, aggravating bastard.

My head started pounding as soon as I sat back down in my comfy cushioned chair, making me dizzy. "Oh great," I muttered, curling up into a ball. "Just what I need. A headache." I hated headaches.

I closed my eyes, hoping a quick nap would make it go away.

Unfortunately, I wasn't so lucky.

"Kathryne?" Eric knocked on the doorframe. "Hey, are you— oh dear." He trailed off, presumably upon seeing me lying down in the chair. "Headache again?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck. "No, just tired," I lied, opening an eye to glare at him.

He snorted disbelievingly. "And I'm Mother Theresa." So much for being convincing. "Get up, kiddo. We're going to the clinic."

Damn it. "No, we're not." I loathed Giovanni's clinic– despised being poked and prodded with needles, hated the lingering chemical smell of the place.

Most of all though, I hated that it'd been the first place I'd woken up after Adrian had died.