Flight of the Fallen

One: Whispers Through The Static

**February 12, 1993**

Nathan Hale held the envelope in his hand, staring at it with a mix of curiosity and resignation. "Another letter?" he muttered under his breath. This was the seventh one he had received, all from an unknown sender who had become an uninvited presence in his life. Initially, Sean had assumed the letters were intended for the previous occupant of his home, some unfortunate oversight that would correct itself in time. But as he scrutinized the address on the first letter, he quickly realized this was not the case. The envelope was addressed to him, with unmistakable precision:

"Nathan Hale, 5211 113a Street North-West, Edmonton, Alberta. T5E 5C1."

The first letter being sent had made no sense to Nathan. He had gone to the post office in hopes of tracking down its origin, but the response he received was baffling. The post office explained that the address he was seeking didn't exist, and there was no clear explanation for how or why the letters kept arriving. With no way to reply, and no understanding of what was happening, Nathan had simply set the letters aside, unsure of what to make of them. They were strange, unsettling even, but not enough to demand his immediate attention—especially with the new job he had started two months ago.

In the back of his mind, Nathan considered the possibility that these letters might be part of some elaborate prank, perhaps orchestrated by a family member or even one of his new coworkers. However, he quickly dismissed the thought. His relationship with his family was distant at best, and his coworkers, though polite, didn't seem the type to engage in such antics. Reluctantly, he tossed the latest letter into the growing pile in his desk drawer—a pile he kept as a precaution, just in case these letters turned out to be something more sinister. He couldn't bring himself to throw them away, fearing he might be discarding potential evidence.

As Nathan sorted through the rest of his mail, one envelope in particular caught his eye. It was a party invitation, addressed in familiar handwriting: "Melissa's Sweet Sixteen." His heart sank as he realized how much time had passed since he last spoke to his sister. The demands of his new job had caused him to drift away from his family, but here was a reminder that his sister still cared, that she still wanted him to be part of her life. The invitation was a small, yet meaningful gesture, and Nathan knew he couldn't ignore it. He pulled out his phone and quickly typed a message to Melissa:

"Just got your invite. I'll be there. Any gift ideas?"

Satisfied with the message, Nathan turned his attention back to the rest of the mail. Most of it was junk—advertisements, bills, and the usual assortment of unimportant correspondence. He tossed these into the trash without a second thought and then began preparing dinner. Living alone had made Nathan less particular about his meals, so he opted for something simple and quick: spaghetti.

He filled a pot with water and set it on the stove to boil, then retrieved a container of homemade spaghetti sauce from the freezer, placing it in the microwave to defrost. Within minutes, he was seated at his small dining table with a steaming bowl of pasta in front of him. Just as he began to eat, his phone buzzed with a new message. It was Melissa

"Awesome! I've been searching for this book called *The Giver* by Lois Lowry. A friend let me read the first chapter, and it was so intriguing! But I can't find it anywhere, and neither can Mom and Dad. You'd be the best brother ever if you could find it! If not, then just some earrings or a necklace would be great."

Nathan couldn't help but smile at the excitement in her message. He made a mental note to stop by the bookstore the next day to track down the book. "Looks like I've got a mission for tomorrow," he murmured to himself as he continued eating.

After finishing his meal, Nathan cleaned up the kitchen, placing the leftover pasta in a container and storing it in the fridge. Despite feeling the weariness of the day, he wasn't quite ready to sleep. He settled onto the couch, remote in hand, and turned on the television. The Discovery Channel was airing a documentary about sharks, but Nathan found it difficult to focus. His mind was elsewhere, still pondering the letters and the strange events of the day. Before long, exhaustion overtook him, and he drifted off to sleep on the couch, still in his work clothes.
—-
**February 13, 1993**