Chapter 1: Haunted
The rain fell in heavy drops and she felt like the sky was collapsing onto her. The feeling wasn't far from the truth; her whole world had begun to cave in around her after last evening's events. Chris Redfield put a reassuring hand on his sister's back as they stood on the porch, staring out into the gloom. She lurched away from him and muttered: "You bastard."

"Claire." He watched as she slowly walked into the rain. "It's only for a while."

The younger Redfield turned around and dully repeated: "You bastard."

He walked down the steps towards her. "Claire, listen to me. It's what–"

"Back off," she shrieked, cutting him off in mid-sentence. The redhead balled her fists up and glared, taking a jab into the air. "If you take one more step closer to me, Chris, I'll punch you. Don't think I will? Try me. Just go ahead and try me."

He knew she would follow through with her threat; it was a Redfield trait. Although he clearly had the advantage in the situation, being taller and stronger than Claire, the last thing he wanted was to hurt her any more than he already had. The twenty-six-year-old nodded in his sister's direction. "Leon will be here in ten minutes to meet us. Do you want to pack a bag?"

"I trusted you, did you know that?" Ignoring his question.

"This is just temporary," the former S.T.A.R's member replied, grimacing at how detached he sounded. "This is what's best for you. The ordeal a year ago was too much for you to handle and this will help, Claire-bear. It really will."

"I hate you so much. I really don't see how you can do this to me. You know there was a Hunter," she paused to wipe a mixture of tears and raindrops out of her eyes, "somewhere inside you know that it was there. I didn't lose it and you fucking know it. You just don't want to admit that they're back."

"Claire-bear, they're not back. They're gone for good. That Hunter was something that your mind manifested; the bullets in the wall prov–"

"Those bullets were planted. I killed it. You want proof? Well, look at my arm." She pulled up the sleeve of her shirt and revealed three long scratches running horizontally along her arm.

"You cut yourself." The doctor had told him what to say, what she had done and why she had done it. It wasn't abnormal for survivors of such trauma to go through periods of time where they actually believed their life was endangered again. Claire was just having a relapse, a small mental blip even, and that was all there was to it.

"Did not." She sighed, pulling the sleeve back down over the wound upon realizing she couldn't expect her brother to believe her. She knew that she did sound crazy and post-traumatic stress disorder was very realistic for someone who had been through as much as she had. But that Hunter had been real, not some mirage. Its breath had smelt like flesh, its salvia had dripped onto her hand and then she had shot it dead.

If only the red head could somehow prove this to Chris. Prove that she wasn't losing it, prove that she was indeed onto something that Umbrella couldn't let out, something that the Hunter had shown her last night by simply existing. If only she could prove that Umbrella never cleaned up like they said in their statement to the survivors and the government. But, Claire-bear, where was the carcass?

"Claire, please. Just let them have you for a week to do some tests, to talk a little." He ended his sentence by throwing her the trademarked Redfield puppy dog look.

There was a pause as she thought it over. "Well, I still hate you," she said, caving into the puppy face, "but I suppose packing a few things couldn't hurt my situation anymore.. I don't supposed they'll let me take my Glock?"

"If they let all the patients have weapons, Claire, I don't think there would be a hospital."

"They should just let the patients have their weapons. AK-47's, USBs, Colts, Rocket Launchers--"

"Claire, don't be immature."

Claire wasn't listening to him. Yanking on a piece of her shortened, soaked hair, she continued: "Because if you let me go there, there won't be a hospital. Same outcome. Personally, I'd find it much more funny and macabre if a bunch of crazies ruined their prison rather than a twenty-year-old woman on the verge."

The sobering remark left Chris speechless and oddly enough, near tears. She didn't sound crazy, so how the hell could she be crazy? How could she be so close to losing it as Dr. Shardof stated? When he looked on his sibling, his blood, all he saw was a scared girl trying to be tough. What he saw was himself.

They stood there for a long time; Chris thinking about his sister's mental health, Claire thinking about how she could sneak a knife into the nuthouse. It was the last silence they would share together for a while and they sensed this and respected it. Eventually she turned toward the porch and he followed suit. The two walked back inside the house to pack up Claire's belongings without saying a word and the rain grew heavier. It could sense their sorrow.

**

"For what it's worth, you're not crazy." Leon grabbed Claire's Walkman off her dresser and tossed it into the duffle bag. "No one argues with Chris though and if his mind is set that you're a nutjob, then you are."

She reached into the bag and took out the electronic device. "Hey, no electronics are allowed lest we use the headphones to hang ourselves from the doorways. This is contraband material, rookie." The twenty-year-old threw the Walkman into an empty drawer.

"Nice to know Redfield's take care off their blood, huh?"

"Hey, I'm a Redfield too! Maybe we're not the best to each other, but we're better than those Ashfords on taking care of things." She shoved him lightly and held back a sigh; it was taking all her energy and fake happiness to banter playfully around with the ex-cop. "That was for insulting the family."

"Well." The rookie looked at her after throwing her infamous Let Me Live jacket into the bag.

"Well, what?"

"You're the best one there is," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. Although its intentions were friendly at first, the embrace took both participants by surprise. Claire looked into Leon Kennedy's eyes and the next thing she knew their lips had met in a forceful manner.

He pulled away, whispering: "Sorry, oh god, sorry. I didn't mean--"

She cut him off with a kiss and breaking it, replied in an equally soft tone, "I'm going to miss you. If not before, definitely now."

He kissed her again. "You could just run away. Sherry and I would take you in."

"From the truth? Never." Another kiss.

"Claire, I'm going to get you out. Mark my words."

The Redfield could feel the heat of his breath against her cheek as he spoke. "Seal the deal with a kiss?"

After the lip lock, the two collapsed onto the trundle bed in a clumsy embrace. "We've been through so much, this last year."

"I thought it was over."

"We all did." There was a pause as lips met again. "But it's not."

"He won't realize that and if he doesn't.."

"Oh he'll realize it. I just hope it's not too late before your brother does," Leon answered and, realizing the risk they were running of being caught by the very man they were speaking of, untangled himself from the twenty-year-old and sat up. She followed suit, still overly aware of his arm which was absentmindedly rubbing the small of her back.

"We should finish packing before Chris gets up here, finds us, castrates you and takes me to the nunnery instead of the nuthouse." At the mention of castration, the twenty-two-year-old's hands were off of Claire's back as if he'd been burned. "He's just a little protective."

"Just a little," Leon echoed meekly, looking warily at the redhead and then his crotch.

A pause and then, for the second time in the last ten minutes, Claire found herself defending the Redfield blood line. "Well, he's not that bad and he protects me and-"

"And cuts off body parts of guys who hit on his sister? You're sure you're the crazy one, right?"

She punched him lightly on the shoulder. "I thought you said you didn't agree with him, rookie."

"With a brother like that, I wouldn't doubt that you have some mental issues. Things like that are in your genes."

Another punch to his shoulder was given as the woman stood up. "Figures. Only an insane person could fall in love with a Kennedy anyway."

The ex-cop ignored the jab at his family. "Are you trying to say you're falling in love with me?"

Claire's face matched the color of her hair.

He continued: "What Claire is trying to say is that she loves me."

"Clean up on aisle three, Leon spilled his ego all over," she replied. By then, the redness that covered her face had thickened to a color of a tomato.

"If Miss Redfield could come to aisle three, she could receive her reward."

"Where is aisle three?"

"My lap."

"But Chris will–" the Redfield protested.

"Forget Chris," he said softly, wrapping his arms around her legs and tugging her gently down onto the bed.

"Oh Leon.."

As it turns out, Chris Redfield didn't check on them for another thirty minutes.

**

Chris Redfield had been through losing his parents, losing his close friends and colleagues, masses of zombies and people who wanted him dead but never before had he been through losing the one thing that meant the world to him; his sister. She was all he had left and while he knew - hoped, actually - that she wasn't as mad as she was acting to him to his face, he was concerned. What if Dr. Shardof couldn't fix her? What if more harm was done than help? These were all possibilities and just thinking of them brought a sinking feeling to his stomach.

The older sibling sighed and tapped the horn of the Jeep two times, signaling that it was time for the trio to go. Claire and Leon were on the porch, having a heated conversation and the honking didn't stir a response from either. He hit the horn again, more urgently this time.

"What the hell are they talking about and since when are they so close?'" He muttered, turning on the heat and slamming his hand onto the horn again, this time holding it there for a few seconds. This got their attention and Chris watched the two walk down the porch's stairs into the heavy rain towards the car. He gripped the steering wheel as he noticed that Kennedy's left hand was dangerously near his sister's waist. He also noticed that she wasn't making any efforts to slap it away.

A few seconds later, a drenched female let herself into the backseat followed by an equally soaked male. Chris looked into the rearview mirror and for a moment his eyes met with his sister's cold gaze. If looks could kill, the older Redfield would be comatose if not already a stiff. From reading her expression, he knew not to ask why she wasn't sitting in the passenger's seat: she was punishing him. This fact didn't make the sinking feeling in his stomach any better. He started up the engine.

After several minutes of being on the road, it was Leon who broke the silence by asking the question everyone was wondering: "What do we do if Umbrella is really back?"

His sister cleared her throat to speak but Chris cut her off. "Please don't encourage Claire. She needs help, not false hope."

"Must've been a sore spot, huh, bro?" Claire retorted, sending a grateful look at Leon. The rookie winked in return.

"Claire, not now. I don't want to talk about it."

"Sure, why not cover up the truth?" The redhead slumped back into the seat, turning to the window and pressing her face against it; the moisture that had collected on the glass felt like a face mask. The effect that it had was surprisingly soothing and so she remained there with her face pressed against the window as she watched cars pass by and rain drops splatter.

"Claire-bear.." the tone was brotherly but there was something else in it. Something she didn't like to hear; something cold, something cooperate.

"Remember how you used to always stand up for me? On the playground? When we were walking home from school? You'd save me from the bullies, you'd save me from everything," she paused and then added, "even Albert Wesker."

"This is different." He changed lanes and glanced at the clock, disturbed to find that only ten minutes had past since the group had left the Redfields' house. The time elapsed felt like it had been an hour, not one tenth of one.

The twenty-year-old responded by laughing bitterly; she was sick of her brother's psycho-babble. Noticing that her breath had fogged up the window, she pulled away and stared thoughtfully before taking her index finger to the glass. Claire wrote the name Chris in the gathered mist and then drew a no sign over it.

Oblivious to what she was writing, Chris took her silence as giving up and smiled to himself for avoiding a "situation".

Meanwhile, Leon, who had been watching Claire as she wrote, uttered a soft "hey, Red". The femme fatale looked away from her growing crop of anti-Chris signs and saw that in his window, he had drawn a lopsided heart with the initials' CR and LK in its center. The rookie leaned over and whispered: "Since there's no tree to carve our names in, this will have to do."

Her cheeks flushed. "Nice one, Kennedy."

"What can I say, what can I?" He said softly.

Claire managed a small smile and went back to creating the anti-Chris signs. By the time they reached the hospital, there were over twenty adorning the two windows closest to the redhead.

**

"Bedtime for this floor and the majority of the other floors is ten. You will not leave to use the restroom after this time; if you need to use the facilities, ring a nurse no matter how embarrassing that may be and how capable you are." The nurse eyed Claire Redfield carefully. "Do you understand?"

"Yea, sure." The twenty-year-old wasn't listening to the woman's words. Instead she was taking in scenery of waiting room; frantically mapping it in her head in case she ever needed to escape at a time when visibility was low. There were two fire exits on each side, a telephone in the left corner next to a potted plant, an admission station in the center, an off-white door labeled "Employees Only" and finally the exit door. She figured that she could easily escape through the fire doors because they were supposed to lead to a scaffolding that was wrapped around the building. Always have a plan, rule number one of being a Redfield.

"Okay then, sweetie. Your identification number will be 267."

Claire froze, a chill running up her spine. "267? Did you say that or did I hear you wrong..?"

"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"

Steve. Steve Burnside. Steve's ID number was 267. STEVE? STEVE BURNSIDE. HE DIED FOR YOU. YOU'REWARMYOURBROTHERKEPTHISPROMISEIAMSORRY–

"No, I don't have a problem with that at all. My hearing's just a little bad from firing so many firearms in the past, you know?" She swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. The older Redfield frowned; since when did his sister have hearing problems?

"Well then, I suppose I can give you five or so minutes to say goodbye to your family members. You will see them again you when the doctor says you're at stage two." The nurse walked over to the Employees Only door and vanished.

"Don't forget how to be a Redfield," Chris said slowly, unsure of how this scene would play out. Taking Leon and himself by surprise, the redhead pushed them both together and plowed right into them, wrapping her arms as far around both of them as she could. He could feel her body shaking as she tried to fight tears and failed. The ex-cop leaned over and whispered something Chris couldn't hear into his sisters ear. More tears followed.

For what could have been hours or just seconds, the three stood there holding each other. To a random person it would have looked like someone had just died and in a way, they would have been correct. By Claire being hospitalized it meant that Umbrella had won the battle; the survivors, who had basked in the glory of prevailing and killing the company, hadn't made it unscathed. A year after its demise, the evil corporation had affected another innocent life. Would it ever end? Would the pain ever stop?

The nurse came back a minute earlier than she had said she would. She yanked Claire out of their arms. She ignored Leon's protests for more time, she ignored Claire calling her a bitch and she ignored Chris saying that "he'd changed his mind". The woman's cold, gray eyes simply said that she was fed up; they didn't say that she moved or that she felt bad for Claire or the others, which was a good thing because she felt neither. The only thing she was sorry for was wearing her new pumps to work-- it had been a long day and her feet hurt like hell. Frankly, she just wanted to get patient 26-something into her room and go home to her cat. She liked her cat; it didn't cry and if it went crazy, she could always put it to sleep and get a new one at the pound.

Her cat's name was Alfred Shardof. He was named after the founder of the hospital.

– Author's Note;
Well.. I finally wrote something again. Sure I have various other stories to work on, but sometimes they remain dormant for a while because of school/video gaming/a thing called life or maybe.. my brain is just too tired for hardcore writing. For the past week or so, I have found myself completely killed by school. I am currently taking a high-level Math course and an AP (college) style History course. Add a high-level French course on top of those and you're not going to be seeing me all too much. That's my excuse.

This story will be growing larger monthly, if not sooner. My goal is to make every chapter over 2,000 words. Is Claire really insane? You have to judge for yourself. Hopefully you guys like this story, it's quite a change from my regular fics (in my opinion at least) and I would love feedback.. it helps me grow in many ways. -- Rhea@mayaku.org