She's gone, and fear has overcome.
He was looking down, in the fog, nearly feeling how his eyes hurt from tension. His gloved hand unconciously gripped the window sill. The shards ripped his gloves, Redfields blood mixing with dirt and glass.
Chris felt something hot steaming down his face. It burned his face as if acid; it was torturing. As the liquid reached his lips, he licked it and felt salt.
Tears... He couldn't remember when he cried last time. In childhood?
Who has time for tears?..
He sure as hell never had.
Unsteadily he walked to the centre of the room, to her gun, that lay there, shining in the moonlight. He felt as though all the sense in his life was just thrown out of that window with her.
He hesitantly picked up the gun. He checked the chamber. Just one bullet left.
He stroke the weapon absentmindedly, not caring to wipe his face. The tears had already stopped, only itchy invisible paths of salt were left. Emptiness swirled inside the man, desperation. Bitterness.
Nothing was left inside him now, nothing. Absolutely nothing. Although the body of Christopher Redfield, one of the survivors of Raccoon City, was pretty much alive,
his soul was dead. Technically he felt like a zombie, despite that physically he was not infected.
Suddenly his dull eyes narrowed as he put the hand with her gun to his temple, the barrel cold, freezing against his sweaty hot skin.
You gladly gave me everything you had and more
She gave her life. He didn't give her anything. He couldn't save her.
Chris closed his eyes, his finger on the trigger hesitant...
Now it's too late,
Too late for me.
Outside the Mansion was quiet. Too quiet. The sky was dark black, reminding of the Haron's robe. The sounds of crows could be heard in the distance, short and sharp, cutting the thin air like knives. Leafless trees were trembling, and the smell of fresh earth was lingering air. The graveyard was near, and the lonely scratching sound of the undertaker's shovel could be heard somewhere.
Suddenly the sound of a single gunshot broke the silence, making the crows fly from their nests and croak worriedly, hurrying off to someplace nobody never knew.
Near the rocks, beside the small river, a man in a leather coat was walking, his leg probably injured as he tried not to step on it too much. In his arms he was carrying a woman, her ponytail loose, her brown hair hanging down to his knees. She was unconcious, nearly dead, but the man knew better; the small pulse still was in her, the pulse of life. Her face was pale, the seal of death hovering over her serious features. Her legs were broken, her arms as well, but in the TriCell laboratory they'll bring her back to life.
His red eyes flashed maliciously behind his sunglasses, as he looked back at the Mansion.
"Chris... Our little... Conversation... Is not over yet"
The sound of gunshot made the man stiffen, as he stopped walking for a second, as if wanting to hear something else beside his own shallow breathing.
Sound, echo, the absurd
Hard to explain what I heard
A grin spread on his features as the man looked back, his eyes stopping in the features of an unconcious female in his arms. He knew what the sound was. And he knew that he would be the winner, no matter how the tables turned.
He leaned to her ear, and whispered mockingly, slowly, clearly saying every word in his unmistakable light british accent, hoping she'll hear somehow:
"He is dead."
Maybe it wasn't because she heard him, maybe it was because of all the pain she was feeling, but a cry escaped her lips as she started to thrash in his arms. He just smirked, holding her body tight to his own leather clad form, feeling regret, close to sorrow, and anger, close to rage course through him.
"Chris... It was I who had to kill you. You didn't have any right to die so foolishly..."
His eyes flashed red once again as he suddenly started to run with inhuman speed, despite his pained leg. It was nothing to him; pain was making him feel alive. Pain never lasted long, and he knew that he was dead; truly dead. Only battles with his mortal enemy made him feel alive, when he felt rage, fury, hatred boil in his bloodsteam, that had stopped on July 24, 1998.
"I'll never forgive you for this, marksman. Only your captain is capable of deciding wether you are worth to die, wether it is time to die, and the way to die. You had no rights. You just had no rights Chris"
It started to rain, as if the weather was crying upon the death of the certain person. The man in a leather coat felt the raindrops on his face, and he knew that it had to be Chris's blood, the blood he had to spill.
It was dark, darker than black, darker than everything. He couldn't see anything, let alone feel if his eyes were closed, or opened. He didn't know if he even had a body, if he even had something. He didn't know who he was, where he was... It was Nothing, the Absolute Nothing, or perhaps it was the true Eternity, who knew.
Whispering, laughing, talking, cries of agony, joy, amusement, feeling of betrayal, the soulles croud of grey people, the smell of death. What was it? It was overwhelming, it was deafening, overwhelming, despite being so quiet, so faceless, so weak. It was a blur, but it was a tornado. It was a whisper, but it was a scream.
To fill your heart with hatred.
He thought he could feel children's laughter, or maybe he was mistaking. He thought he could see familiar faces, but they vanished too fast. He wasn't even sure if he had eyes.
One day you will understand why.
He never understood. Why, why did he betray them all? Yes, yes... The memories... They were returning. But it would be better if they never did... Never did come back...
Why did he do this? They all trusted him. Why?
The answer was simple. He never betrayed them, because he wasn't really with them right from the beginning.
This dream, I got to wake.
But was it a dream? He didn't know what it was. The pain... It was real. It was the only thing that was real, that was present, and when he thought it had to end it only became worse and worse.
What made my mind forget,
Forget to hide?
Could the nightmare be awake?
All this was real. But even so...He knew it was too early for him to die. To early for him to stop fighting.
The wind blew, brinning october leaves with it, and he heard cries. Her cries.
He knew he couldn't die.
It's god's decision that I fight.
But was there such thing as a God?.. How could a man distinquish the true God and the one who wanted to be a God?... And who really said that he had to fight? Maybe he proclaimed himself a fighter. But who was he, to know that he was fighting for the right thing?.. Who was he to let himself take a weapon in his hands and kill?
The game of turning white to black,
And black to white...
And there was it, the sound of rain. It heavily pounded against something solid, and the sound was bringing him from darkness, bringing him from his sleep.
But how could he fight without her?How could he live without her? How could he breath without her? He couldn't.
Only the dead can hear me.
The rain continued to fall onto the greedy earth, that drank the water as though a thirsty traveller, who found a creek in a deset. Nobody came, and he knew nobody would. He was always among their ranks, among their rotten ranks. He only realised it was merely a puppet which strings were coldheartedly pulled.
She, on the other hand, was never a puppet. She had will. He, on the other hand, was weak. It was he who had to die. It was he who was ought to die.
And he died; he died a death he never thought he would.
But he was worthless.
The world is teeming with unnecessary people.
He had to die.
We blamed bad luck for his fate...
She was the one who had to live; she had to be the one whom he had to save, she had to be the one who had to see the dawn, she had...
We weren't put on this earth, put here to feel joy.
It got cold; extremely cold. The pain faded away, and a thunderstorm boomed somewhere, at least he thought so. The sound was scaring, and bringing back memories... Fear... Sorrow...
I'm awake.
Chris hoarsely breathed in the bitter air, lifting his head and coughing out blood. He coughed and coughed, and the red liguid poured out of his mout, making him want to gag, close his eyes and get back to that Eternity, just to stop the coughing. Somehow, he managed to sit; the coughing stopped as he titled his head and swallowed the remnants of blood. The metal taste in his mouth was disgusting, but in the same tome soothing, somehow. He glanced at his right hand, his head throbbing with an awful headache, and was greeted with the sight of Jills Samurai Edge glistening in the fading moonlight; the horizon that he could see through the broken window seemed pink, and that meant only one thing: the sun was soon about to rise.
Chris brought his bloody hand to his temple and felt nothing: no blood, no bullet hole. It was strange to feel alive; he clearly remembered how he pressed thebarrel of the gun to head... The memory was fading away quickly, but he managed to catch it before it dissapeared remembered clearly the scene of Jill's fall, it was still fresh and always will be in his mind, remembered the emptiness inside him, the howling of the wind. He remembered everything.
He started to stand up when something caught his attention; a note under his other, free hand that wasn't there seconds ago, he thought as he took it and stood up.
The paper was yellowish, crispy, looking old and burned in the corners. It reminded of an old letter, and it smelled like ashes. It reminded Chris of these papers he and Jill found there, in the Mansion, back in 1998... The smell of the paper even reminded him of Raccoon Forest that he liked so much back then, and he briefly wondered... Of course it wasn't possible, but...
The thought of Jill made him feel deep sorrow once again; of course, it wasn't the unbearable pain of loss he felt when he was There... He didn't even know where.
The letters on the note were handwritten, and when he saw it, his eyes widened; it couldn't have... He died right there, in 1998... But the handwriting was so familiar, he'd seen it so many times before, ten years ago, and he still remembered it.
"She prayed for you to live", was the only sentence written.
Chris's grip on the gun tightened.
He will fight from now on and forever. For her. Live - for her. Breathe - for her. Because it couldn't be any other way.
He put the note in the pocket, as if treasurung it, the note that was the only connection to his dead comrade. And maybe his only connection to Jill. But when he tried to find it later, he didn't find anything, not even ashes. Nothing. As if the note never existed at all.
But he swore to fight for her and he will; untill the very end. And untill his last breath, his only partner from now on will be sorrow. Because the one who saw death can never feel happiness again, can never treasure emotions or feel something.
This movie doesn't end the way we want
all the time,
then he shouts at the moon.
"She's gone!", and fear has overcome.
He was walking the mile.
He was walking alone.
He was walking alone.