Maxen

Here I Go Again

here i go again on my own

going down the only road i've ever known

like a drifter i was born to walk alone

and i've made up my mind

i ain't wasting no more time

(Here I Go Again - White Snake)

Part One

Max wasn't a fan of heights.

She wasn't scared of them, exactly- she just simply preferred the ground. As a child, her uncle had built a magnificent treehouse for her tenth birthday- at least, Max assumed it was magnificent. She was never brave enough to climb up and see for herself. The plane she currently occupied jolted downwards and she tightened her already death grip on the arm rest, receiving a sympathetic glance from the passing stewardess.

"Keep your cool, Max," she silently scolded herself, checking to make sure no one noticed her slip up, "you're almost there."

Beside her lay her backpack, filled with both real and fake documents that her uncle had supplied for her not even a month ago. She'd almost gotten them mixed up at the terminal back at the airport, nearly giving the woman her real identification card- the one stating she was fourteen. She could hear her grandfather scolding her now.

"Some hunter you'll make." He'd grumble, cleaning his guns under the dining table. Her mother would promptly tell him that Max could be whatever she chose and maybe even leave the hunt. Her grandfather would only chuckle and mutter to himself about it being a legacy, one Max couldn't run from.

She knew her great-great-great grandfather was Samuel Colt, creator of the infamous Colt- a weapon rumored to be able to kill any supernatural creature. He had a wife, Elizabeth, and they had a son named Caldwell, who then had a son named Hart, who then had a son named Samuel Caldwell Colt, Max's grandfather. Due to issues with their family name in the hunting world, the Colt's decided to take on a simpler surname in the late 60s: Davis. Her mother grew up as Evelyn Davis, giving birth in 2003 to a daughter named Maxen, father unknown (or so Max was led to believe).

In all honesty, the girl had never inquired about her father much. She'd seen enough lifetime movies to know that wouldn't really end well. Besides that, Max was never quite close to her maternal family. She never felt comfortable asking personal questions, even to her mother. It was easier to train, hunt, and go their separate ways. Now Max wished she'd have tried a little harder.

Two weeks ago, while Max was helping her grandfather clean the guns in the early morning, her mother announced she needed to go grab some things from town. When she hadn't returned by ten that evening, Max could only assume the worst. She and her grandfather spent hours searching the town, asking if anyone had seen her or noticed anything suspicious. No one had. Around three that morning, while crossing the old wooden bridge that took the Colt's back to their secluded home in the woods, they found her.

Strung up from a tree, eyeballs gorged out of the sockets.

Max reached over and grabbed the complimentary water bottle the nice stewardess- Grace, her name tag read- had bought her moments earlier, taking a long swig before closing her eyes and resting her head against the headrest. She wished for something stronger.

"Attention passengers," a voice called over the intercom, causing Max to jump, "please fasten your seatbelts; we'll be arriving in Kansas momentarily..."

The voice dragged on, going over last minute reminders and safety protocols but Max didn't listen, too focused on her previous words.

".. we'll be arriving in Kansas momentarily..."