Bring On the Rain
*****
I've got no one who will bring me a big umbrella
So I'm watching the weather channel
And waiting for the storm
(Sheryl Crow, "Weather Channel")
*****
"And now it's time for traffic on the ones. Let's go to our..."
I sigh and punch a button on the console, changing the station.
"...and in late-breaking news..."
I hit another button, the third of six.
"...denied the allegations, saying that..."
When I get to the end of the small row of silver buttons, I realize I haven't heard anything different. Every station has been an AM news station. All six buttons.
My God, all six buttons.
I tap the brake just out of shock. I realize, suddenly and completely, that I've lost control of my life.
It wasn't in the front hall of the mansion that I lost control. The gunshot didn't even scare me. Rather, I was heartened by it, positive that it was Chris. All I wanted was to find him, and then everything would be okay, I assured myself. No, it wasn't then that I lost control.
It wasn't in the dining room that I lost control. Barry was calm too, although he found it odd that there was blood on the floor and therefore decided to explore that tile especially carefully. (He does manage to catch on if a clue sits up and barks.) Unless that blood got up and started tap dancing, I didn't think he was going to find anything else out, but I really didn't care either way. So no, it wasn't then that I lost control.
It wasn't even in the hallway, watching that zombie feast on Kenneth's remains, its swollen tongue lolling around in its mouth like it had a mind of its own. I was alarmed. Surprised. But I shot it, and it died, and I stayed alive. I was still in control.
No, damn it, I lost control of my life when I realized that all six freaking buttons on my car radio were set to the news. I would go from one station to the next, waiting, listening. For what? News of another outbreak? Information on Umbrella?
I'm a zombie too, I realize. I'm wandering around aimlessly, a puppet of Umbrella. I may have survived the mansion, but Umbrella survived too. They're still pulling the strings, and I'm living in terror, afraid of my own shadow, while they sit solidly on their throne.
It's not fair, damn it. It's just not fair.
I pull over to the curb, resting my hands on the steering wheel, and suddenly I'm crying because all six buttons on my car radio are set to the news.
*****
It still bothers me about the car radio. So much, in fact, that I elected to walk to work today. Which means that I'm walking home from work. Somehow, even with all the news and traffic reports spilling from that car radio, I didn't catch any weather forecasts. Unfortunately.
It's POURING.
I manage to catch sight of my sodden reflection in a shop window. I look like a seal.
A black van honks its horn at me. "Asshole," I mutter, lifting my head higher.
Again, the horn beeps. I half turn, flinging my hand out in a dismissive gesture. "I'm over as far as I can go, damn it. Take it easy."
Again, the jerk beeps at me!
"Fine!" I spit, sloshing through a huge puddle at the side of the road. "Are you happy now?"
The van slows, its window rolling down to reveal a face I know all too well.
"Jill, what are you doing walking in the rain? Didn't you hear my horn?"
I thought I couldn't possibly feel like more of an idiot, but that's the funny thing about life--it's never so bad that it can't get worse. "Chris?"
He grins, like a flash of lightning. "Yeah. Want a ride?"
"YES," I say almost desperately, moving around to the passenger's-side door. "Hold on," I hear him say. "It doesn't open from the outside."
He opens the door for me, and I climb into the van. There are empty Styrofoam coffee cups rolling around on the floor at my feet, and the seat upholstery is bandaged with duct tape. There's also tape on the passenger's-side window, preventing it from opening.
"My God, Chris, what have you been doing to this poor whatever it is. I've seen tanks that were in better condition."
"Hey, we're a package deal," he chuckles. "Can't have the knight without his shining armor."
"You'd need steel wool to make this armor shine." But I'm smiling, for possibly the first time in days.
He laughs good-naturedly along with me. I'm beginning to think his laugh is more contagious than any of Umbrella's viruses. I'm also beginning to think there's no cure. Not that I'm complaining.
The laughter has faded, leaving behind a comfortable silence and a gentler version of his electric grin. He sighs and says, "So, why were you out in the rain?"
My heart drops into my stomach and splashes my innards. What am I supposed to say--I'm too scared to drive my car because the radio reminds me of every single bad thing that's happened to me in the last two months?
"My car's in the shop," I tell him, going for the easiest answer.
"Oh. Man, that sucks." He doesn't seem to notice the catch in my voice. Maybe I really am Hollywood material.
My attention is suddenly drawn to the van's radio. It's a classic rock station, and I can hear "Horse With No Name" filtering softly throughout the interior of the van. I shake my head and smile, humming along with the la-la's.
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing," I say, smiling at him. "Thanks for offering me the ride."
"You bet," he says, returning my smile.
He pulls the van up to the curb as the song ends. "Thanks again," I say, unclicking my seat belt and reaching for the door handle.
"Hey, wait a minute," he says, putting the van in park. "It's still raining pretty hard. Why don't you wait till it lets up a bit?"
"You don't mind?" I ask, settling back into my seat.
"Of course not. I've got nowhere to be." He runs a hand through his dark hair and focuses on something ahead of us. "Say, isn't that your car?"
I look ahead and read my own license plate. "Oh. Well, it's not in the shop YET," I say, floundering. "I'm bringing it in tomorrow."
"Oh." He chuckles, and I'm beginning to think he doesn't believe me. To distract myself, I reach for the buttons on the van's radio. I move from the classic rock station to a station playing a screamy song I can't recognize. It threatens to shake the already-suffering van apart.
"Two minutes in my van and you're already messing with my radio?" Chris teases.
I switch quickly to what sounds like a rent-to-own commercial. " 'Noooo credit? Noooo problem...' "
I jab the next button. Country-western music. Oh good Lord.
Chris is laughing, I think at me, as I switch almost desperately to a station playing a rap song that would probably be extremely obscene if the station didn't blank out every third word or so. Things are not improving--I'm beginning to think I should have stuck with the rent-to-own commercial.
I push the final button. The news.
I chuckle and shake my head, leaving the radio alone.
Chris smiles, of a lower wattage than his usual smile, but no less attractive. "Well, I've got to have one set to the news."
I feel my lips twist into a smirk. "Only one? There's hope for you yet."
Our eyes meet. He's relaxed, almost content, as if there's no place he'd rather be than in this suffering, shuddering van. He looks wonderful. I realize I don't--my hair is damp and matted, rain spotting my clothes.
But somehow, there's no place I'D rather be, either.
"It's still pouring," Chris says. "You might be stuck with me for a while."
I shrug, smiling. "It could be worse. I'd much rather be stuck with you."
"Than who?" he challenges, his eyes lighting up.
I grope for a name--I hadn't expected him to ask that! What does he mean by that? "I'd much rather be stuck with you than...Wesker," I say, with an inner sigh of relief. That was easy--I'd rather be stuck with an irate rhinoceros than be stuck with Wesker.
He grins. He's not stupid. "That was pretty much a given."
"Your turn," I challenge. "What about me? Would you rather be stuck with me?"
He smiles beatifically. "I'd rather be stuck with you than with..."
I raise my eyebrows. "...than with?"
"Than with...Lisa Trevor," Chris says, preparing to block the smack he knows I'm going to give him. And I do, whacking his shoulder.
"Chris!"
"I'm kidding!" he chuckles. "I'm kidding. I would rather be stuck with you, Jill Valentine, than with any other woman in the world."
"Oh, go to hell," I laugh, shaking my head, wishing he meant what he was saying.
The radio drones on in the background. "And now for the weather...our five-day forecast after these messages..."
I sigh, looking at the radio. And suddenly, I hear myself saying what I'm feeling. I'm shocked at the pain in my voice.
"Five-day forecasts. How ridiculous. You can't predict what's going to happen in five days. You can't predict what's going to happen tomorrow. No one can do that."
Chris reaches for the parking brake, and I fear the worst. I've blown it; he's going to tell me the rain's let up, and he'll see me tomorrow, and drive off. He'll never tease me like this again; we'll never spend any time alone again. I fear I've lost him completely, all in one minute.
Except that he's not reaching for the parking brake. He's reaching for my hand. I let him, and he strokes his thumb gently over my knuckles. The coarseness of his hands, roughened by life and what it takes to work through it, fascinates me.
"We'll be ready," he tells me. "Whatever it is, we'll be ready."
I let my smile reach my eyes, the way he always does. I'm trying to put into my face what I think, what I feel, that he's wonderful. The way he looks at me and makes me wonderful.
The commercials end, and the forecaster comes back on. "Well, folks, we're in for some rough weather this week, so get out your umbrellas..."
Chris sighs, one hand still clasped in mine, his free hand running through his hair. "Sounds like there will be more storms coming."
I give his hand a little squeeze, and he smiles at me.
"That's okay," I say, just above a whisper. "Bring on the rain."
*****
Tomorrow is another day
And I'm thirsty anyway
So bring on the rain
(Jo Dee Messina, "Bring On the Rain")
*****
Author's Note:
Whatever lies I may tell you, there are some country-western songs that join the ranks of my Guilty Pleasures. *smile*. That one is by Jo Dee Messina; I'm unsure of the album name. This story also contains elements of the song "Weather Channel", a personal favorite of mine. That one is by Sheryl Crow, and can be found on the album "C'mon, C'mon".
"Horse With No Name" is by America; any song with la-la's holds a special place in my heart.
I was overjoyed to see Jill and Chris again. I usually don't work on Fridays, and was not happy about having to do it this week, but they managed to help me pass the time. It'd be nice if they came by during my normal hours, but, what can you do. *smile*.
Please review! I haven't posted in a while, so feedback is craved.
*****
I've got no one who will bring me a big umbrella
So I'm watching the weather channel
And waiting for the storm
(Sheryl Crow, "Weather Channel")
*****
"And now it's time for traffic on the ones. Let's go to our..."
I sigh and punch a button on the console, changing the station.
"...and in late-breaking news..."
I hit another button, the third of six.
"...denied the allegations, saying that..."
When I get to the end of the small row of silver buttons, I realize I haven't heard anything different. Every station has been an AM news station. All six buttons.
My God, all six buttons.
I tap the brake just out of shock. I realize, suddenly and completely, that I've lost control of my life.
It wasn't in the front hall of the mansion that I lost control. The gunshot didn't even scare me. Rather, I was heartened by it, positive that it was Chris. All I wanted was to find him, and then everything would be okay, I assured myself. No, it wasn't then that I lost control.
It wasn't in the dining room that I lost control. Barry was calm too, although he found it odd that there was blood on the floor and therefore decided to explore that tile especially carefully. (He does manage to catch on if a clue sits up and barks.) Unless that blood got up and started tap dancing, I didn't think he was going to find anything else out, but I really didn't care either way. So no, it wasn't then that I lost control.
It wasn't even in the hallway, watching that zombie feast on Kenneth's remains, its swollen tongue lolling around in its mouth like it had a mind of its own. I was alarmed. Surprised. But I shot it, and it died, and I stayed alive. I was still in control.
No, damn it, I lost control of my life when I realized that all six freaking buttons on my car radio were set to the news. I would go from one station to the next, waiting, listening. For what? News of another outbreak? Information on Umbrella?
I'm a zombie too, I realize. I'm wandering around aimlessly, a puppet of Umbrella. I may have survived the mansion, but Umbrella survived too. They're still pulling the strings, and I'm living in terror, afraid of my own shadow, while they sit solidly on their throne.
It's not fair, damn it. It's just not fair.
I pull over to the curb, resting my hands on the steering wheel, and suddenly I'm crying because all six buttons on my car radio are set to the news.
*****
It still bothers me about the car radio. So much, in fact, that I elected to walk to work today. Which means that I'm walking home from work. Somehow, even with all the news and traffic reports spilling from that car radio, I didn't catch any weather forecasts. Unfortunately.
It's POURING.
I manage to catch sight of my sodden reflection in a shop window. I look like a seal.
A black van honks its horn at me. "Asshole," I mutter, lifting my head higher.
Again, the horn beeps. I half turn, flinging my hand out in a dismissive gesture. "I'm over as far as I can go, damn it. Take it easy."
Again, the jerk beeps at me!
"Fine!" I spit, sloshing through a huge puddle at the side of the road. "Are you happy now?"
The van slows, its window rolling down to reveal a face I know all too well.
"Jill, what are you doing walking in the rain? Didn't you hear my horn?"
I thought I couldn't possibly feel like more of an idiot, but that's the funny thing about life--it's never so bad that it can't get worse. "Chris?"
He grins, like a flash of lightning. "Yeah. Want a ride?"
"YES," I say almost desperately, moving around to the passenger's-side door. "Hold on," I hear him say. "It doesn't open from the outside."
He opens the door for me, and I climb into the van. There are empty Styrofoam coffee cups rolling around on the floor at my feet, and the seat upholstery is bandaged with duct tape. There's also tape on the passenger's-side window, preventing it from opening.
"My God, Chris, what have you been doing to this poor whatever it is. I've seen tanks that were in better condition."
"Hey, we're a package deal," he chuckles. "Can't have the knight without his shining armor."
"You'd need steel wool to make this armor shine." But I'm smiling, for possibly the first time in days.
He laughs good-naturedly along with me. I'm beginning to think his laugh is more contagious than any of Umbrella's viruses. I'm also beginning to think there's no cure. Not that I'm complaining.
The laughter has faded, leaving behind a comfortable silence and a gentler version of his electric grin. He sighs and says, "So, why were you out in the rain?"
My heart drops into my stomach and splashes my innards. What am I supposed to say--I'm too scared to drive my car because the radio reminds me of every single bad thing that's happened to me in the last two months?
"My car's in the shop," I tell him, going for the easiest answer.
"Oh. Man, that sucks." He doesn't seem to notice the catch in my voice. Maybe I really am Hollywood material.
My attention is suddenly drawn to the van's radio. It's a classic rock station, and I can hear "Horse With No Name" filtering softly throughout the interior of the van. I shake my head and smile, humming along with the la-la's.
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing," I say, smiling at him. "Thanks for offering me the ride."
"You bet," he says, returning my smile.
He pulls the van up to the curb as the song ends. "Thanks again," I say, unclicking my seat belt and reaching for the door handle.
"Hey, wait a minute," he says, putting the van in park. "It's still raining pretty hard. Why don't you wait till it lets up a bit?"
"You don't mind?" I ask, settling back into my seat.
"Of course not. I've got nowhere to be." He runs a hand through his dark hair and focuses on something ahead of us. "Say, isn't that your car?"
I look ahead and read my own license plate. "Oh. Well, it's not in the shop YET," I say, floundering. "I'm bringing it in tomorrow."
"Oh." He chuckles, and I'm beginning to think he doesn't believe me. To distract myself, I reach for the buttons on the van's radio. I move from the classic rock station to a station playing a screamy song I can't recognize. It threatens to shake the already-suffering van apart.
"Two minutes in my van and you're already messing with my radio?" Chris teases.
I switch quickly to what sounds like a rent-to-own commercial. " 'Noooo credit? Noooo problem...' "
I jab the next button. Country-western music. Oh good Lord.
Chris is laughing, I think at me, as I switch almost desperately to a station playing a rap song that would probably be extremely obscene if the station didn't blank out every third word or so. Things are not improving--I'm beginning to think I should have stuck with the rent-to-own commercial.
I push the final button. The news.
I chuckle and shake my head, leaving the radio alone.
Chris smiles, of a lower wattage than his usual smile, but no less attractive. "Well, I've got to have one set to the news."
I feel my lips twist into a smirk. "Only one? There's hope for you yet."
Our eyes meet. He's relaxed, almost content, as if there's no place he'd rather be than in this suffering, shuddering van. He looks wonderful. I realize I don't--my hair is damp and matted, rain spotting my clothes.
But somehow, there's no place I'D rather be, either.
"It's still pouring," Chris says. "You might be stuck with me for a while."
I shrug, smiling. "It could be worse. I'd much rather be stuck with you."
"Than who?" he challenges, his eyes lighting up.
I grope for a name--I hadn't expected him to ask that! What does he mean by that? "I'd much rather be stuck with you than...Wesker," I say, with an inner sigh of relief. That was easy--I'd rather be stuck with an irate rhinoceros than be stuck with Wesker.
He grins. He's not stupid. "That was pretty much a given."
"Your turn," I challenge. "What about me? Would you rather be stuck with me?"
He smiles beatifically. "I'd rather be stuck with you than with..."
I raise my eyebrows. "...than with?"
"Than with...Lisa Trevor," Chris says, preparing to block the smack he knows I'm going to give him. And I do, whacking his shoulder.
"Chris!"
"I'm kidding!" he chuckles. "I'm kidding. I would rather be stuck with you, Jill Valentine, than with any other woman in the world."
"Oh, go to hell," I laugh, shaking my head, wishing he meant what he was saying.
The radio drones on in the background. "And now for the weather...our five-day forecast after these messages..."
I sigh, looking at the radio. And suddenly, I hear myself saying what I'm feeling. I'm shocked at the pain in my voice.
"Five-day forecasts. How ridiculous. You can't predict what's going to happen in five days. You can't predict what's going to happen tomorrow. No one can do that."
Chris reaches for the parking brake, and I fear the worst. I've blown it; he's going to tell me the rain's let up, and he'll see me tomorrow, and drive off. He'll never tease me like this again; we'll never spend any time alone again. I fear I've lost him completely, all in one minute.
Except that he's not reaching for the parking brake. He's reaching for my hand. I let him, and he strokes his thumb gently over my knuckles. The coarseness of his hands, roughened by life and what it takes to work through it, fascinates me.
"We'll be ready," he tells me. "Whatever it is, we'll be ready."
I let my smile reach my eyes, the way he always does. I'm trying to put into my face what I think, what I feel, that he's wonderful. The way he looks at me and makes me wonderful.
The commercials end, and the forecaster comes back on. "Well, folks, we're in for some rough weather this week, so get out your umbrellas..."
Chris sighs, one hand still clasped in mine, his free hand running through his hair. "Sounds like there will be more storms coming."
I give his hand a little squeeze, and he smiles at me.
"That's okay," I say, just above a whisper. "Bring on the rain."
*****
Tomorrow is another day
And I'm thirsty anyway
So bring on the rain
(Jo Dee Messina, "Bring On the Rain")
*****
Author's Note:
Whatever lies I may tell you, there are some country-western songs that join the ranks of my Guilty Pleasures. *smile*. That one is by Jo Dee Messina; I'm unsure of the album name. This story also contains elements of the song "Weather Channel", a personal favorite of mine. That one is by Sheryl Crow, and can be found on the album "C'mon, C'mon".
"Horse With No Name" is by America; any song with la-la's holds a special place in my heart.
I was overjoyed to see Jill and Chris again. I usually don't work on Fridays, and was not happy about having to do it this week, but they managed to help me pass the time. It'd be nice if they came by during my normal hours, but, what can you do. *smile*.
Please review! I haven't posted in a while, so feedback is craved.