Grayson wasn't really sure when the affair had begun; it had started with friendly drinks at Jack's Bar, and had ended in the bed in his one-bedroom apartment.
They never really talked about it either, the affair. It was just something that happened over and over again, a routine of drinks and fucking. And it was easier that way—to just let it happen. If they didn't talk about it, they didn't need to justify themselves. They didn't need to discuss how William or Jill might feel if they ever found out, or how weird it must be to Sherry that her mom spent so much time with a guy who wasn't her dad.
And most importantly, Grayson didn't need to think about what would happen if Alfred ever found out.
He sat up in bed and looked over at Annette, who was still asleep and wearing absolutely nothing. She was a pretty restless sleeper, he'd observed; she'd tossed the blanket off herself at some point, the lines of her scapulae tense and knitted together, her sandy blonde hair spread out on his pillow.
Remembering what she'd told him, Grayson leaned over and whispered in her ear, "You told me to wake you when I got up."
Annette stirred, then suddenly shot upright and asked, "What time is it?" Dark circles were under her eyes.
Grayson looked over at the digital clock on his bedside table. 5:45pm winked back at him. "5:45," he told her. "You should go back to sleep. You need it. These little cat-naps aren't gonna cut it, Annette."
Annette, still naked, started gathering her clothes and underwear, her footsteps creaking on the floorboards. "I have to get back to the lab," she said, shimmying into her jeans, and then slipping her T-shirt over her head. "William's going to be pissed. We—"
"Are in the middle of some important research and can't fuck it up," Grayson said, because she'd said it so many times before. He grabbed her cellphone from the bedside table and handed it to her. It was one of those new fancy fold-out ones with a display screen, and had cost her about a grand.
"Thank you," she said, and shoved the phone into the pocket of her lab coat. Her ID was still clipped to the lapel. Once Annette double-checked she'd gotten everything, she looked at him and sighed. "Look, I'm sorry," she said, and pecked him on the lips. "It's only for a little while, Grayson. I'll make it up to you, I promise."
"Don't worry about it," he said, and shook his head. Then, "Remember, Sherry's birthday is—"
"Oh, shit," Annette said, and sighed. "I forgot. I was just so busy—"
"It's fine," Grayson said. "I bought her something and put your name on it."
"You shouldn't have to do—thank you. I'll get her a card and put some money in it, or something."
"Sure."
"Don't look at me like that, Grayson."
"I'm not looking at you like anything, Annette."
"You're looking at me like I'm a terrible mother. Look—"
"You're a busy woman, I get it," he said. "Relax."
Annette snagged her keys from the bedside table. The Mr. Raccoon key-chain Sherry had bought her was attached to the ring. "When do you start at the Raccoon City Police Department?"
"Next week," he reminded her, for the thousandth time. "My FTO's a guy named Marvin Branagh. Hear he's a damn good cop."
"Think I saw a newspaper article about him," Annette remarked, the keys jangling in her fingers as she walked toward his door. She looked at him. "Wish you luck. I'm sure it'll be fine."
Grayson was still pretty nervous about starting at the police department. His only work experience had been as the Ashford's butler, and as a bouncer and bartender at The Black Room. He should have been transitioning into some kind of hospitality career, or maybe using that Columbia degree Alfred had paid for to write for the New York Times or something; but he'd chosen to become a cop instead. Mostly because Jill and Clancy had talked him into it—and the pay wasn't too bad either.
He'd also be able to transition into a career with the Umbrella Security Force with some law enforcement experience under his belt. And with a connection like Alfred Ashford, who was the company's paramilitary director, he'd pretty much be guaranteed the position.
"Yeah, I'm sure it will," Grayson said, and smiled. "Just First Day Jitters, you know?"
"I was like that when I started at Umbrella," Annette said, opening his door and stepping halfway through it. "Parents owned a ranch in Montana, and there I was, fresh out of college and working for one of the largest pharmaceutical companies on the planet."
"Country girl in the Big City," Grayson teased.
"Classic story," Annette said, and grinned. "Anyway, I need to go. I'll see you later, Grayson." She left.
"Yeah, see you," Grayson said, and waved to nobody. His phone rang. He didn't even need to check the caller ID to know it was Jill; he'd been avoiding her for the past week. Inhaling slowly, and then exhaling, he took the handset from the cradle and listened.
"Why haven't you been answering your goddamn phone?" Jill asked. Grayson heard her dog Charlie barking in the background. "I was starting to worry if something happened."
"Nah, I'm fine," he said, and stared out the window opposite him. Twilight had settled over Raccoon City, the sky a deep indigo velvet streaked with pink-gold clouds. The lights of the Raccoon City Radio tower blinked in the distance. "I've just been busy. Carl's not happy I'm leaving the bar."
"Who cares how Carl feels. This career change is a good thing, Grayson. You're not gonna get anywhere working some dead-end job at a rock dive."
"A rock dive you frequented," Grayson pointed out.
"That's not the point. I frequent Tony's Kitchen too, but it doesn't mean I wanna make pizza. Point is, you're not gonna get anywhere there."
"Yeah, I hear you, Jill."
"Do you really?"
"Yeah. I do."
She sighed. "I'm glad you're okay." Charlie was really close to the phone now; Grayson could hear him sniffing the receiver. Jill gently urged the dog away, then said, "I was calling to see if you wanted to go somewhere. No bars, though. I have to go into work early tomorrow. Coffee sound good?"
"Yeah, sounds fine. Where at?"
"Raccoon Park. There's this cafe near there. We could go for a walk afterward, maybe up by St. Michael's."
"Sure. Meet you there in an hour, Jill."
"Okay. See you then." She hung up.
Grayson dressed, then walked to Raccoon Park; it was close enough to his apartment that he could see St. Michael's clock-tower from his window. It was a pretty warm and breezy night. A couple of teenagers were skateboarding on one of the hills, blasting some kind of brassy music from a portable stereo; Grayson recognized the song as The Impression That I Get. Jill was watching them do tricks, dressed in a blue shirt and dark jeans, and a white leather windbreaker.
She had two foam cups of coffee in her hands, and passed him one. "Figured we'd just skip to the walk," Jill said, smiling with white teeth. Her eyes were light blue, a slight epicanthic suggestion to them, framed by dark brown hair she'd cut short around her jaw.
He sipped his coffee and walked with her, away from the skaters and their loud music. "How's life?"
"Better, now that I know you're still breathing," Jill teased.
"Sorry."
"It's fine, Grayson. You're nervous about the job. I get it."
"Yeah. Guess I'm just wondering if I'm cut out for it."
"You passed all the exams, and you're in great shape. You'll do fine. You ever see Chief Irons?"
Grayson chuckled. "Point taken."
"Maybe after you've gotten some experience, you could try out for S.T.A.R.S," Jill said, and smirked at him. Her eyes were rimmed with smoky eyeliner. "Test is coming up in a few months. Put the work in now, then who knows? I could put a good word in with Captain Wesker."
"We don't really get along," Grayson reminded her. Wesker had found out about Annette, and had threatened to tell William about the affair if Grayson didn't keep his mouth shut. They had history. Grayson had known Wesker when he'd worked as a researcher for Umbrella. He also knew, although not the specifics, that Wesker was doing something shady with S.T.A.R.S.
"He's not so bad once you get to know him," Jill said, and sipped her coffee.
Grayson frowned. "Yeah. Not so bad," he lied.
They arrived atop the hill St. Michael's sat on. It was a popular tourist destination, and had been built by some eccentric railroad tycoon; but Grayson didn't know much else about it. He'd never even gone inside; he'd convinced himself that, because it was a tourist attraction, it wasn't really worth visiting. Tourists had a way of cheapening a place, Grayson had long ago decided. They turned historic sites like St. Michael's into mass-produced commodities—into T-shirts, key-chains, postcards, cheap snow-globes that middle-aged retirees could display on their shelves.
"We should check it out one of these days," Jill said.
"No thanks," Grayson said, and stared at a sign that displayed operational hours, and informed the public that they also offered guided tours and weddings. "Who the fuck gets married at St. Michael's Clocktower?"
"A lot of people," Jill said. "This place generates some serious revenue."
Grayson shook his head and finished his coffee.
"Anyway," Jill said, and they started to walk again, "you should definitely consider joining S.T.A.R.S, Grayson. Take the fucking test."
"Not sure if I could stand sharing an office with Vickers," he grunted, and tossed his empty cup into a trashcan. "Or Speyer. That hick accent and mullet of his annoys the fuck out of me."
"Forest isn't a bad guy. Vickers? Well, yeah. I'd have to agree with you."
"If I have to share an office with Vickers, Jill, I'm gonna wind up punching him again. Promise."
"I don't doubt it. He kinda deserved it, the last time we were all at The Blackjack."
"Little shit has a big mouth for someone who can't back it up."
Jill stopped walking and looked at him. He stopped too, heard the plink-plink-plink of moths against the bulb of a nearby streetlamp. "You sure you're okay?" she asked suddenly. "I don't know. You've seemed pretty distant lately."
"I've just had a lot on my plate," Grayson said, and slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He shrugged. "It's nothing, Jill. Just a lot of bullshit."
"If you need help, you know I'm there for you, Grayson."
"I know. It's fine, Jill. I got it under control."
She kissed him. "I'm worried. That's all."
"I'm all right. Promise."
