Chapter One: Valentine's Day
Chris stared down at the stiff paper in his hand with a surprisingly neutral expression. Claire had expected him to be at least a little surprised. Angry. Shocked. Confused. A cluster-fuck of different emotions, not this blank mask that was so different from the Chris Redfield who wore his heart on his sleeve right next to his combat knife.
"So… do you think you…that you'll be going?" Claire asked.
Chris drew his lips into a sideway pout and shrugged, tossing the heavy scalloped invitation to the table. "Well, they bought my ticket, didn't they?" he cleared his throat exhaustedly and pressed the sinus point between his brows with his thumb, index and middle fingers. "I expect you'll be attending as well?"
Claire smiled tightly and pressed her hands together. "She asked me to be her bridesmaid…"
"And you're doing it?" Chris prompted rhetorically.
Her silence answered his sort-of question and she gave an uncomfortable shrug. "She paid for my trip too…and the hotel room is already booked—for everybody…it came as such a surprise I didn't really know what to say…" she paused helplessly. "I'm really sorry, Chris."
The elder Redfield's eyebrows drew up in what his baby sister assumed to be feigned curiosity. "Why would you feel sorry?" he asked her.
"Oh, I don't know…" Claire trailed off. "Probably because…don't you—I mean, didn't you…I mean, anyone would have to be daft not to realize that the two of you—"
Chris cut her off with an abrupt hand gesture. "That's enough out of that. What Jill and I…well…we never really had—whatever, okay? It's a free trip and there's sure to be food. That's all I need to be happy."
Claire gave a sympathetic smile and then a soft laugh escaped her. Chris raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly is so funny?"
"Nothing." Claire told him. "It's just that if I had known that a wedding invitation was all it took to get to see you, I'd have gotten married a lot sooner."
"Ha ha." Chris exhaled and ran his hand through his hair. "Well…I guess I'm due a vacation."
His little sister had stayed for a little while longer. She did not have much time as she still had some reports that needed to be typed up prior to her two-week hiatus. Chris walked to his fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs and his half empty package of butter. Upon shuffling through the cabinet he discovered that he had exactly two slices of bread left which he would put to good use. He disliked being woken up so abruptly in the morning but Claire had been quite persistent in her buzzing of his doorbell until he had stumbled out of bed, tripped down the stairs and opened the door to find her clutching a beige envelope and shifting uncomfortably from side to side.
He had grumbled something that sounded like, "This better be an emergency." And Claire had stepped through the doorway to rifle through Chris' mail basket located just underneath the mail slot.
"So you do have one." Claire said as she fished out an identical, rectangle shaped envelope and handed it to him. "You should really check your mail more often."
Chris grunted and snatched the envelope from her, closing the door with a backward kick of his leg. "Little sister, you live nearly an hour away—did you really drive all this way at—" He glanced at his clock. "—seven in the morning to go through my mail? Because that's a felony, you know."
Claire pulled out another envelope. "Oh, you jerk! This is the birthday card I sent you!" She scoffed and threw the envelope at him. She glanced back down and her eyebrows popped up. "And apparently one from Leon."
"Leon? Really?" he asked. "He doesn't seem the type to send cards."
"He isn't. I had to remind him it was your birthday." She started toward the kitchen tearing the envelope as she went. "I didn't want you to feel all alone and overworked and pathetic on your birthday so I made sure everyone we knew sent you something—you have coffee, right?"
Chris looked down at the pile of envelopes in his basket and spotted a pale blue envelope that looked like another birthday card with familiar feminine writing on it. Without stooping to pick it up, he followed Claire into the kitchen.
"How the hell do you keep track of your bills if you never check your mail, Chris?" Claire berated as she made herself at home and started pulling out coffee grinds.
"I pay my shit online, Claire." He retorted. "Usually on Saturday mornings when I wake up at a decent hour and can focus." He looked over at the table. "And why the fuck did you open my card?"
"Leon says happy birthday. He says he doesn't usually send cards but a certain someone persuaded him." She chuckled. "He also sent you five bucks."
"Oh sweet." He said picking up the envelope. "I always knew I liked that guy."
After coffee had been made, Chris had opened up the envelope Claire had placed before him and stared. On the rigid, off-white paper was printed calligraphy heralding the marriage of one Miss Jill Valentine to a Mr. Raphael Baine. At the bottom of the mimeographed message was a handwritten note from Jill, "I know you're busy. But you're coming. The flight is booked, the hotel is paid for and you have vacation time to spend."
Chris had been rather noncommittal as Claire poked and prodded for a reaction. What the hell did she expect him to say? What did she expect him to do? Scream? Cry? Hop on a plane, fly to Jill and knock some sense into her? Hell, no. The last time they had been together she had made her point quite clear to him—she wanted normal. Though she would always care for him, her heart wanted freedom from the memories being with him represented. Great words from the one who was now going to make his little sister her bridesmaid and had invited him for an all expenses paid trip to see the big show.
He had thanked Claire for telling him, expressed how much of a shame it would be had he missed out on a free plane ride and scooted her out after coffee. Now he planned to make himself a couple of eggs-in-a-basket and zone out for the rest of the day. The butter sizzled violently as he spread it over the heated pan and placed the last two slices of bread on it. As he cracked some eggs into the little circles cut into the bread his phone rang. Loping over to the base, he grabbed the cordless and held it to his ear.
"Redfield." He said.
"Hey! My man!" a voice boomed from the other end.
"Burton! How are ya?" Chris exclaimed cheerfully as he returned to the stove to make sure he didn't burn the fuck out of the eggs.
"Good, good." Barry Burton said. "Just, you know, calling to…just check up on my old buddy."
"I see." Chris said, pushing the crisping toast around the pan.
"Yeah…I…just…you doing alright?" Barry asked.
"Dandy." Chris said, flipping the toast over.
Barry made an affirmative grunting sound and Chris could just imagine him nodding over the phone.
"I'm making eggs." Chris spoke into the silence.
"Oh. Great. Are they good egg—"
"Barry, what are you really calling for?" Chris asked. "You're astute elegance leads me to believe this isn't a dire situation. Should I be worried you're losing your mind?"
A hearty laugh that could have been the soundtrack of the Winter Wonderland in the mall at Christmas escaped his friend. "Forgive me for not being the best conversationalist."
"Uh-huh." Chris scraped his breakfast onto a plate and headed over to the table. "This wonderful phone call wouldn't have something to do with Valentine, would it?"
The other end was so quiet Chris was sure that they had been disconnected until he heard Barry clear his throat. "Yes. I'm sorry, Chris."
"Why is everyone sorry? Claire woke me up this morning to tell me how sorry she was. She isn't dying—she's getting married." Silence still. "That was a joke, Burton. Now would be an appropriate time to laugh."
Barry gave a half-dead chuckle and Chris rolled his eyes. "Well, I don't know about you but I'm excited as fuck to have a paid vacation to—where are they taking me again?"
"Halifax." Barry said.
"Ah, yes. Canada." Chris bit into one slice of toast and slurped at the yolk that threatened to spill over. "I hear the foliage is beautiful this time of year."
"Chris, are you really okay with this?" Barry asked. "You know you can talk to me."
"Yes, man. Definitely. Whatever makes her happy, okay? I'm totally cool with this." Chris assured him, getting tired of repeating himself. "I gotta eat these eggs, Bar, can I call you later? We can pick out suits or something."
Barry grunted. "Yes. Of course. If you're sure."
"Yes." Chris said. "I'm totally okay."
It took another ten minutes to convince his old friend that he was really okay. By the time he hung up, he still had only taken one bite of his breakfast and it had gotten lukewarm. He took another bite of bread and egg and chewed in silence. The ticking of the wall clock was almost in complete synchrony with his teeth gnashing against each other. The utter picture of self control, Chris swallowed, stood up, took a deep breath and proceeded to grab the edge of his table and fling the whole thing to the side—the table flipped over and everything on it cascaded to the floor in a cacophony of crashes and slams.
"Jesus Christ." Chris said, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and crouching down. "Jesus CHRIST!" he stomped across the floor a few times and kicked at the wall repeating the chant over and over again. He ended with one last obscenity and threw himself on the couch. What the fuck was Jill thinking? Raphael Baine? That wimpy, whiney momma's boy who rode his college-boy internship with BSAA until he became permanent—the elitest fuck who tried to tell people how to do their job when all he did was fucking push papers? Goddamn it. Goddamn it!
"FUCK!" Chris screamed at the top of his lungs. He kicked violently at the end of his couch. He had not thrown a tantrum like this since he was five years old. He leapt up from the couch and started pacing. This was maddening. The walls began to close in as he remembered Jill, seated across from him at the café, gently stroking his hand in that way she had that made him feel tingly in his stomach.
"I just need normal. I need a break from this. I've been doing this for nearly a decade, Chris—ten years. I don't know how much more I can." She sighed. "I spent most of my life on the run, Chris. The other part was battling an evil pharmaceutical company for the fate of the world—" Chris had laughed at the description. It seemed a little melodramatic. "—you always make a joke of things. I know it may seem melodramatic to you—but it's how I feel. I'm tired, Chris. I just want to see if I can settle down. To see if someone like me can live a normal life."
Chris had stared into her beautiful blue eyes, so wracked with misery and pain that he wanted to rip his own heart out and hand it to her—so she could see how it pulsed with the same pain, its veins purpled with misery. Instead, he spoke with a voice that seemed stony—as if he were already distancing himself from this woman who always set out to do what she had a mind to. "And you think you can accomplish that by getting a desk job?"
Jill had cringed from his tone. "I don't know what I think is going to happen. I just know that this life with running everywhere, fighting…it isn't what I want now. I joined the RPD hoping to escape the stigma my father's legacy left me. I wanted to change what I thought was my fate to follow in his footsteps. Then the nightmare with Umbrella happened and I got caught up in this…this thing that never ended." She lowered her eyes. "…and I know that you are the type to keep on fighting…keep on going…I know this is going to take us down completely different roads."
Letting out a groan, Chris stomped back up the stairs to his room and grabbed his running shoes from under the bed. Not bothering to put on socks, he pushed his feet into them and bolted down the stairs and out the door. He lived in a quiet area on the edge of town, not too many houses and secluded enough that he knew whenever people were coming and going. Instead of running down the main road, he ran toward his backyard that edged up against a wood. He leapt over the gate like a gymnast and started sprinting up the moist, loose dirt hill.