Die Frau im roten Kleid
Every night she came to Leon Kennedy in his dreams wearing a red dress, sunglasses, and stiletto heels that clicked on the kitchen's tiled floor with each calculated step. In the silence of the late night and early morning, he would offer her his hand and she would take it and together, in his apartment's kitchen, they'd waltz to the hum of the refrigerator until sunrise. At some point, she would break the silence and talk to him about her childhood. She would tell him how her mother had cooked Chinese dumplings for dinner every Friday and how she had a stuffed cat named Rose with buttons for eyes in between dance steps; she would tell him things he'd wanted to know, but never gotten a chance to ask.
They'd laugh and they'd smile and they'd kiss, but as soon as the beginning of dawn made its way through the kitchen window's blinds, the laughs and smiles always vanished as she pulled away.
She'd pull away saying, "Leon, save me."
Saying, "Leon, he'll kill me if you don't."
Saying, "Leon, find me."
Then she'd walk out of the kitchen and he'd try to call after her, he'd try to run after her, but his voice and feet always failed him. No matter how hard he tried, the dream always played out with her leaving and was as predictable as a Shakespearean tragedy's curtains closing on a deadly note, leaving him with a bitter taste in his mouth upon waking; one that took several mouthfuls of Listerine to dispel.
Three weeks since the rescue of Ashley Graham and the start of the reoccurring dream, Leon told Claire Redfield about everything. He told her in a bar in the heart of Washington D.C. while on his second beer, idly peeling away at the bottle's label as he recounted the past month's adventures.
"Wait, if Ada's alive after that fall, Steve could be alive, too, right?" Claire said. She took a sip from her gin and tonic and resumed staring at him; he'd had her complete attention ever since the word Umbrella.
"Claire, I'm not talking about that Burnside guy," he said.
"I'm just saying, he could be alive, you know?"
"Yeah, well, don't get your hopes up," he said.
"God, don't be like my brother, Leon," she said, stabbing the ice in her drink and sticking out her lower lip. "So what do you think the dream means?"
"I think it means I have to find her."
"That's the government's job. I mean, they've been working on the case ever since you came back home, right?"
"I'm an agent; I'm part of the government," he said.
"An agent is exactly my point. One stupid, wannabe Chris Redfield of an agent isn't going to accomplish anything hunting down Albert Wesker alone except for get himself killed."
"I killed Krausser, Claire," he said.
"You didn't let me finish," she said.
Leon took a long gulp from his beer and leaned back into his seat.
"Fine, go on."
"As I was saying, one agent isn't going to do anything to Wesker. However, an agent with his friends is an entirely different situation," she said.
She smiled, he let the words sink in, and then he returned the smile.
"I knew I could count on you guys," he said.
"I've got to head back to New York now, but I'll talk to Chris and call you tomorrow," she said, getting up suddenly and grabbing her jacket.
"Can't stay for a round of pool?"
"Why bother even asking, Rookie," she said, "You know us Redfield's can't lose."
She zipped up her jacket and gave a small wave before walking out. He was still smiling until the waitress came by with the bill—for such a short woman, Claire could sure put away alcohol.
a/n: I used to post a lot of fanfiction back here in this section back in 2002, but after a short disappearance all my works were left abandoned. at any rate, I'm back after playing RE4 and rekindling my interest in the series. reviews appreciated, emails accepted: