While I finish my other fic "God's Child," I decided to pull my very first Resident Evil fic out of retirement. I wrote this in 1998, right after RE2 came out. It's technically AU now. At the time I wrote this, RE3 and Code: Veronica hadn't even been announced yet, so keep in mind that: a) we didn't know Raccoon City had been nuked b) we didn't know Ada, Leon, Claire and Sherry's fates and c) we still thought Wesker was dead. I've left the story virtually unchanged from when I wrote it 14 years ago. I hope you enjoy it!

The Evil Within

By Riot Siren

Be quiet awful woman
Lonely as hell
And I will comfort you
When I can
And give you my bones
And blood to feed on

-From "Calming Kali" by Lucille Clifton

"Only I have lived to tell the tale"

He is standing. And he is standing as absolutely and definitely as if he were sitting.

-Wiltold Gombrowicz

He disliked being alone, especially at nightfall. Yet he had a hard time being around people who were happier than he was. Happiness was a feeling that no longer came easily to the young man sitting in the corner of a busy Paris café. He sat with his arms folded across his chest, staring bitterly at the bright, lively scene before him. He wore and expensive-looking black suit, covered by a dark trench coat. Stylish sunglasses hid his eyes. His mother wouldn't have approved. She'd always said he had beautiful eyes. Yes, he supposed his bright blue eyes were quite stunning…like it mattered anymore.

A sudden burst of laughter from a nearby table caught his attention. A group of people, probably about the same age he was, laughed at the latest joke about America's president. The man watched them enviously. His gaze shifted to a couple flirting at another table, but he quickly looked away, disgusted and angered—not at the two lovers, but at himself.

That could have been his life.

The café was becoming too busy. The dinner crowd was starting to come in, and some more deserving person would need his seat. The young man got up. He self-consciously ran gloved fingers through his strawberry-blond hair, and quickly made for the door.

As he walked the busy boulevard, Leon Scott Kennedy felt like a shining example of the old saying "nice guys always finish last." He'd never felt so alone.

Even during the worst times, he'd always had someone. As a child, whenever his father hit him (and he often did), Leon always had his mother to run to. Growing up, there'd been his older brother and sisters to lean on. But on the other hand, they'd never really understood him, never understood his outbursts and anger. What was the use of caring about someone if they didn't understand you?

Ah, but Ada had understood him. She'd made the hellhole of Raccoon City bearable. It didn't matter that she'd worked for Umbrella. By the end, Ada had seemed to want to change her ways. But she never got the chance.

Ada…

Why had she been taken from him so quickly, so violently? What had truly passed between them on that horrid night? Had it been love, lust, or merely longing?

For some reason the turmoil of the past two months made Leon think of his childhood, which hadn't exactly been a picnic, either. He'd been the "strange child", given to fits of temper, contrasted by moments of withdrawal. No wonder he'd turned out that way, with a mother ensnared in her own guilt and a father who'd never wanted him in the first place.

But by some miracle, he'd survived it all, and was stronger for it. And spending his youth as a personal punching bag to school bullies and his father had taught Leon a few things, like how to handle himself in a fight and endure all sorts of physical pain. Those were two skills that had served him quite well in Raccoon City.

The city…his one chance to start over. And he'd failed miserably.

He'd failed himself, failed Ada, and the people of Raccoon City. If his father knew, he'd be laughing his ass off.

Leon shuttered involuntarily. The evening was chilly, and darkness was falling quickly. It had been an unusually cold autumn, but it had no effect upon Paris' busy nightlife. He pulled his coat tight to keep out the wind and crossed the busy street. Leon and his "associates" had been in the city for almost three weeks, following leads, rumors and dead-ends. Two months had past since that fateful night in September. Two months and Leon still got nightmares.

The Seine River lapped lazily at its banks. The setting sun turned the water the color of freshly spilled blood. Leon walked this part of the riverbank almost every night. It was a small park unfettered by buildings and people, although the riotous street lay irritatingly close. From here, one could see the legendary Notre Dame cathedral across the river. The Gothic church's fateful edifice rose into the evening sky, defying the modern bustle around it. Leon could almost see the gargoyles glowering from the ancient spires and rooftops. Leaders could rise and fall, the world could change for better or worse, but the cathedral wouldn't care. Stone doesn't bleed or cry.

"I wish I were like you," Leon mumbled under his breath. Naturally, the cathedral didn't respond.

It was getting late. The moon had risen over the water, and now shone against the indigo sky. Leon sighed and turned to go. His shoulder had begun to ache horribly. The bullet wound never got the chance to heal properly. Leon was reminded of all the Demerol and scotch it had taken to survive the flight to Europe. The pain of his wound had been almost too much to bear. For a moment the evening sky faded and he was taken back to the morning after that fateful night. The memories just wouldn't fade, the suffering was still so vivid…

It was a hot morning, Leon remembered, and it was only going to get hotter. Claire had been surprised at his sudden zeal.

"C'mon, let's move out."

"Why? Is something following us?" she'd asked.

"Hey…it's up to us to take out Umbrella!"

Leon had been so sure of himself, so confident. But soon the stabbing pains in his arm had begun, and the dusty road hadn't helped.

It was little Sherry who'd brought up the point: "Um, won't we need money or something?"

So they'd headed back the the RPD headquarters, against better judgment, against sanity. They'd found more zombies of course, but they were quickly dealt with. Leon recalled how scared Sherry had been to go back. But Claire had a hunch, and she wasn't to be argued with.

"Grab some extra clothes from those lockers we found downstairs," she'd ordered. "I have an idea…" And with that, Claire had headed back to Chief Irons' office. Leon and Sherry had done as they were told, and more. They'd found some duffel bags, which they stuffed full of clothes, ammo, files, and anything else that could be salvaged.

"This all seems so unreal," Sherry said as they'd ransacked the S.T.A.R.S. office. That kid was awfully sharp for a twelve-year-old. On the way to meet Claire, Sherry had asked Leon a very valid question.

"Leon, just how are we going to take out Umbrella, anyway?"

Leon hadn't had an answer.

As they walked into the Chief's waiting room, they'd heard an explosion. Leon remembered panicking and bursting into the Chief's office with gun drawn and murder on his mind. But Claire had everything under control, as usual. She'd laughed at him, pointing at a wall safe she'd just blown open with her grenade launcher.

"It was hidden behind one of those damn sicko paintings," she'd declared proudly. "It's Chief Irons' horde! His payoff from Umbrella, plus more!"

Leon had never seen so much money. There were literally thousands in unmarked bills—enough for the three of them to live comfortably for the rest of their lives, if they so chose.

"We can't take this," Leon had said.

"Why not? Are you crazy?" Claire persisted. "There's more money here than…" then she realized. "You're still thinking like a cop, aren't you?" she'd said coldly.

"That's my job," Leon had fired back.

"Well, welcome to the dark side, pal!" Claire exclaimed, shoving a fat wad of bills into his hand. "I suggest you put your damn police…principles aside and help me take it."

That was the first time she'd spoken so caustically to him. And it wouldn't be the last time, either. But then, he'd still been foolish enough to test Claire's temper.

"Listen, Claire, I don't like your attitude—"

"No, you listen!" she'd exploded. "This is the same 'attitude' that got my brother court-martialed, so you'd better get used to it! It's hereditary!" Claire thrust her arm defiantly into the safe. "Now unless y'all want to make the evening news, we should get out of here."

Leon and Sherry had been completely shocked by Claire's outburst; they'd simply watched her take the fortune. They also took some of the dead Chief's objects d'art. Some of them ended up being worth good money. After that, it was a mad dash down to the parking garage. Claire managed to hot-wire a car and they'd sped out of the city and they never looked back…

Leon started from his reverie. How long had he been standing here by the black waters? Just then, Leon heard a sound behind him.

The snap of a branch. A sudden scuffle of feet. Someone had been watching him. Anger flooded Leon's mind. The thought of somebody spying on him without his realizing was too much. That bastard was going to get it…

Instinctively Leon drew his handgun from an ever-present shoulder holster. He scanned the dark path. Suddenly, off to the left, he heard the crunching of dry leaves underfoot. A shape was visible in the darkness—someone who hadn't wanted to be seen, but now was. The figure gasped and jumped back. Whoever it was had just seen the gun held casually at Leon's side.

"Now we can do this one of two ways," Leon growled at the stalker. "The wrong way…or my way. Which is it gonna be?"

The figure didn't answer. Instead, it ran toward the river. Leon heard a splash, then nothing. Swearing loudly, Leon backed into the shadows. No way was he going for a swim.

Back on the street, Leon checked his wristwatch. He hated to lose track of time like that.

Claire wouldn't be too worried; he often stayed out later than midnight, wandering the streets. Leon headed off the main avenue and walked down a deserted side street. He'd be home soon…although he didn't really consider the meager flat "home." The streets were nearly empty now and frigid wind bit at Leon's face.

That was when he heard it. Footsteps were following him.

Leon spun around, expecting trouble. Of course, no one was there.