The Man Who Flew Too Much

by RB Banfield

Incident Nine:

  Where Fennel Finds The Note

  The rest of Fennel’s day was one of the worst of her working career. She could not concentrate on anything, and made mistakes upon mistakes. Wrong numbers were called, emails were automatically rejected, and too many other things happened that she could not retain memory of. She just wanted the day to end, but each hour of the afternoon went twice as slow as the one it followed. Going home, she almost got on the wrong train and then nearly missed her stop. When she finally arrived at her door she thought she must be dreaming.

  After being happy to see him fly, and then being in his arms, Fennel began to get scared over it all, and almost started to have a panic attack. Bennet had seen her increasing distress and knew he needed to leave her alone so she could process it. After scaring her by flying in front of her, he apologised and returned to his work. He thought she could go about her work like nothing had happened. It made it worse for her that there was no one she could tell, not if she wanted to keep her job. She needed the solace of sharing it with a friend, but no one in the office could help her.

  It did not help that she was uncertain as to what Bennet wanted her to do, now that he had revealed his unique talent. Had he gone out and shown the rest of the office his skill, and flown about touching the ceiling and then accepting the adulation, the way he had at the restaurant, then she would have felt better. It would mean that she was merely the fortunate one to see him fly before anyone else. But he wanted to keep it a secret, and only she was privy to it, and he was not sure if he was ready to show anyone else. She did not want his secret, or any secret, since she had secrets of her own.

  More books were scattered around the floor of her lounge and she nearly walked on them. When she picked them up she realised that they were new ones she had not seen before.

  She called for the cats, now ready to chastise them, but they did not answer. Finally being able to focus on something other than Bennet, she sat down and looked at the books. One was about weapons, another war, but the most worrying was one about homemade bombs.

  She stood up and loudly called for the cats, to be met with silence. Walking through her house, she saw that her computer was working and there was something written on the screen.

  hi fenel you nice to us lern us human world thankyuo we not hunt you or claw you or bite you may you have lots treets string long naps we now fix human wrold humans not done much good with now our turn we no kow know how too fx world we hunt claw bite emeny bent bird

  “That’s not how my name’s spelt,” is all she thought to say, being unable to comprehend what she was seeing. She touched the keyboard and ran a finger across the keys. There was something odd on top of the keys. She held her finger close and saw fine strands of fur.

  “How could ...”

  Feeling dizzy, she went to the kitchen for a glass of water and a good cry. Then she returned to the computer for another look.

  The only answer she could think of was that someone was playing a joke on her. It was neither funny nor appropriate, since they also must have ordered new books, and then laid them out on the floor. But how could they have known that she was educating her cats? And also know that they were progressing far beyond what she thought was their limit? The only other possibility was too improbable to be true.

  “Like a man can fly,” she admitted.

  She looked again at the message. They thanked her for educating them. They promised not to hurt her. They wished her many fun times. They wanted to fix the world. They didn’t think humans had done a good job. It was their turn, they said.

  “What on earth do you think you’re going to do to save the world?”

  She felt faint again as she found her phone. All she could think of was how she could dispose of the evidence; the books about guns and bombs especially.

  “Yes, police, please, thank you.”

  “What’s your emergency?” asked the operator.

  “I have cats ...”

  “Can you speak more clearly, please?”

  “It’s my cats.”

  “Yes, I thought I heard ‘cats’. You have an emergency with your cats? That is not a matter for the police. You need to get in touch with animal services.”

  “No, they are dangerous cats.”

  “Do you mean you have large cats? Have they escaped? Madam, are there dangerous large cats on the loose? Where are they, and how many are there?”

  “No, my cats are cute and adorable. Little house cats. I wouldn’t have them otherwise.”

  “What is your emergency, please?”

  “Okay, let me explain. Give me a moment. My name is Fennel Richmoney and I have trained my cats to take over the world. I didn’t mean to, and they never gave any indication they would do this, but I should have paid more attention to what they were doing with all this information. I didn’t know that they knew how to use my computer, or know how to order books. I didn’t teach them that. I never thought I needed to check my computer history, to see if they’ve been online. I have no idea what websites they could have gotten this from. I didn’t know they were so advanced. How could I tell? They’re cats. They just look at me with the same stare. They’re cats. They purr and ask for their food. Or, were they asking to use the computer?”

  “Madam, I’m going to hang up now. You cannot ring the emergency number if you have no emergency.”

  “But I don’t know what they’re going to do. They’re very smart cats!”

  The operator hung up and Fennel could not prevent another wave of tears. She went back to computer and wished that they had better spelling. Of all the things she had taught them, the English language was never one of their favourite subjects, and she could not blame them.

  “You spelt ‘enemy’ wrong,” she said and for the first time managed a smile. “But what’s ‘bent bird’?”

  The enemy bird is bent? They want to bend a bird? Did it mean that they wanted to snap birds in half, or something like that? Then she saw how they misspelt her name, and realised what they were trying to say.

  “Bennet?”

  Then she saw another new book, lying on the floor next to the computer. She picked it up and many small pieces of paper littered the air. The book was about birds, and all the nice glossy pictures had been clawed. They were deep and angry claw marks, ripping the birds to shreds.

  Her mouth was dry as she spoke her next words.

  “They think Bennet is a bird?”