EYES OF THE BEHOLDER:
CHAPTER ONE: REMEMBRANCE
(The sequel to my first fic, As Cold Blood Runs. This first chapter basically focuses on the characters, depicting what happened in the three years since the UMBRELLA-NEO incident. I hope you enjoy.)
Good morning, Sunshine
December 15, 2001. Three years later...
The sun peeking through the thin white curtains shone through my eyes, and I was forced to awake from my sleep. I sat up, and brushed my reddish bangs from my eyes. It was another morning...a chilly one, perhaps, but just another day in paradise, as the song goes. I kicked my feet out from under the comforter and sat upright on the bed. I reached for my white t-shirt on the wooden nightstand, and put it on. Carefully, I stood up, trying not to wake up the redheaded angel still asleep in the bed. I walked over the beige carpeting towards the large window across the room, and pushed the curtain out of the way. The early morning light spread across the beautiful snow-covered neighborhood in the small Chicago suburb where I resided. It was, as mentioned before, just another morning. But three years ago, I would've never thought I'd see another day. My face grew hard as I thought about my comrades that fell to the brutality of greed and ambition, and about how I should have, in all right and reason, fallen with them. But, what if it wouldn't have happened? Would I be a father? A husband? What would have happened if I had turned down the offer to serve in Raccoon City? So much has affected me...but in a way, the good overturns the bad, easily. I put a hand on my right cheek, feeling a scar from a war long over, but one that had left more than just physical torment. I lost family in this war. I lost a home. But I gained so much more. I had a wife...a son...legally, a daughter, as well. I had formed friendships that would last until the day I died. A normal life...finally, a normal life. I heard the door creak open, and a medium-short blonde girl poked her head through, looking at me.
"Hey," she cheerfully said.
"Shhhh..." I whispered, holding my index finger to my lips. I used my other to point to my sleeping wife. "She's asleep. Let her rest."
"Just came to tell you that Marty's up," she said. "I got him bathed and changed."
"Thanks, hon," I told her. "I'll be right down."
"OK," she said, running out the door. I grabbed a pair of blue jeans off the floor and slipped into them. I walked over to the open door, and prepared to leave.
"Just where the hell do you think you're going?" I heard the tired voice, and looked to my left. Claire was awake, rolled over on her side, staring straight at me. I smiled, and walked over to her, kissing her forehead.
"Mornin', gorgeous," I told her. "Baby's awake. Daddy duty time." She laughed at me, and smiled...a beautiful smile that I fell in love with the first time I saw it. A smile I still love today.
"Better do something or Sherry will," she laughed, standing up and embracing me. I returned it, and put an arm around her shoulder.
"He's already bathed and dressed," I told her. Just as we were about to exit the room together, I heard a loud clang, Sherry yelling and Marty laughing.
"Sounds like breakfast is next," Claire told me. "I'd better get down there."
"No, you just relax," I told her. "I'll take care of it." I rushed down the beige carpeted stairs, and into the family room. I glanced into the kitchen, and saw Sherry picking up fallen pans.
"You just can't sit still, can you?" I joked, walking in to help her. I picked up the iron pans, placing them back into the cupboard, just noticing the slightly taller, but ever-so-unchanging Sherry. Still short for her age, she'd grown her hair longer. She stood there in a gray sweater and blue jeans, watching me carefully.
"I was just going to start breakfast," she said, believing that I was angry with her.
"That's ok, Sherry. You're not in any trouble. I really appreciate your efforts," I told her. "But you just need to loosen up a bit. You spend too much time around here."
"I just want to help, that's all," she replied, on the verge of tears.
"You help more than you ever know," I told her. "Now I mean it. Go over to Ashleigh's or Caitlin's, or somewhere. Get your mind off everything and just relax."
"You sure?" she asked.
"I'm sure." I told her, and her face lit up like a thousand-watt bulb. She grabbed her coat, and turned to face me before she went out the door.
"I'll be back soon. I think I'm going to Ashleigh's," she said, and she ran out the door. I stood there, remembering a legal custody battle we had fought to adopt Sherry. Luckily her only living relatives: her brother; a close personal friend and comrade; and an aunt in California had put up no fight. Her brother had even recommended that custody be granted to us. Luckily, that was the case. I went back towards the stairs, and heard my eighteen-month old son crying in the living room. I walked in, and sitting on the white leather sofa was my red headed son, Martin Scott. He looked up at me with huge, beautiful blue eyes, and his crying subsided.
"Da?" he asked.
"Yep," I said, picking him up, cradling him in my arms.
"Yoo urk ooday?" he asked me in baby babble, trying to ask me if I had to work today. Being a captain of a local S.R.U.* doesn't leave you much time with your family.
"Hopefully not, little buddy, as long as Uncle Ark doesn't call," I told him, tousling his hair.
"Ere Erry?" he asked.
"She's gone over to a friend's house," I told him.
"E comin bak?"
"Of course," I said. "She isn't going to leave you."
"K," he said. "Go see Mama." He wriggled out of my arms, and took off slowly up the stairs. I plopped down on the couch, turning on the TV. Nothing more than the local, boring news, as always. I didn't catch myself in time, and the next thing I knew I was asleep.
Meanwhile, in Detroit, Michigan...
(Several hours later...)
(...and that's how it's been lately, kiddo. Busy with school and I'm working as a night janitor at a local factory. Beck's working at a local hospital as a specialist in viral vaccination agents. I'm losing weight at a rapid pace, and I'm finally feeling much better. Not looking like a living wall anymore, about the size of a really big linebacker, lol. I got your letter and picture yesterday. You're looking great, sis. Glad to hear that Leon, Claire, and the baby are happy and healthy as well. Got to go here, I got to clock in in an hour. I'll try to call you this week, sometime.
Love your brother,
Seth.)
I closed up the email, studying it in every shape and form. I really haven't been keeping too much contact with my sister lately, as stated before I was attending a community college, trying to obtain a law degree. I was supporting this habit by working as a night janitor. Tough labor (7 p.m to 5 a.m), but it was money nonetheless. I didn't want to seem like I was living off of Rebecca's exuberant salary at the local community hospital. So, I busted my ass night and day to try and live. Beck wasn't real happy with it, but it needed to be done. I quickly buttoned my gray uniform shirt, and hit (Enter) on my keyboard. The mail sent itself, and I had to be gone. I scribbled a quick note to Becky before I left, and left it on our computer desk. I turned out all the lights, shut off the coffee pot in the small kitchen/dining room, and ran out of the door of the apartment and headed for the elevator. I hit the button to lower myself to the B1 Garage, and the old, clunky piece of machinery crawled down the floors slowly, until the doors slid open to the dimly lit garage, revealing several cars, including my '91 Camaro. The old girl started right up, and I rolled out of the open door, preparing for yet another boring evening of mopping and sweeping.
Indianapolis, Indiana:
"Chris!" I see him! He sees me. He begins to run, and I follow. He's faster...getting away...gotta catch him...I gain ground. But he turns around...he's got a gun. He sticks it to his temple...BLAM. Hello darkness, my old friend.
I awoke with a cold sweat. Another Chris nightmare. I stood up, and wrapped myself in a heavy leather jacket of Chris' that I found in his apartment, and walked over to a small window facing out of the hotel room. It had been weeks since I had last seen Christopher Daniel Redfield, and I was worrying. Three years ago he finally snapped under the unexplainable amount of pressure, and had taken off. I had tracked him this far, only to find an old, torn-up apartment, where Chris had left his jacket and a note addressed to me...one I had read so many times I had it memorized.
Dearest Jill,
Don't think I've not noticed you following me, because I have. You of all people should understand what I'm going through, and should give me my space. I hope you would understand, but it's obvious you don't. Please, just go back. Give my sister and her family my best regards. Maybe someday I'll figure this all out. But for now, just let me be.
Chris.
"Dammit, Chris," I whispered. "Where the hell did you go?" I leaned up against a dirty wall, and I felt tears flow from my eyes. I didn't care anymore. Chris was missing, and I felt I was on a wild goose chase. For nights on end, I had dreams of him. Always dying. Being shot, stabbed, or bitten by the undead creatures we had grown so accustomed to killing. But never living. Was it a vision, or just my love-sick mind telling me that it was finally time to get back out and find him. I liked the latter, more. So much that I was finally rededicating myself to the search.
"I'm coming for you, Chris," I cried silently. "Better have your shit straightened out when I get there." I laid back down on the bed, still wrapped in Chris' jacket, and fell asleep.
Desert Paradise Municipal Airport; Desert Paradise, Arizona
"OLIVERIA! TAXI THAT GULF DOWN HERE AND GET IT FUELED!" Mr. Shanahan's face was turning red, and those weird veins on his forehead were bulging again. I think he meant business.
"No can do, senor!" I shouted, laughing at the short bald man in overalls. "Do you expect me, a lowly chopper jockey, to be able to move giant Gulfstream?"
"Just get your ass in the damn thing and get it down to the tanks," Shanahan shouted. "I don't give a damn about what you can and can't fly!"
"All right," I mockingly warned. "But I don't think I can move Gulfstream!" I climbed up the exit ramp, closed the hatch, and moved into the elaborate passenger cabin. I slid the door to the cockpit open, and sat down into the pilot's chair.
"Aye Carumba," I moaned. "Too many gauges and switches." Nothing said ignition, it was all so confusing. All had weird letter-number combos. I was only chopper jockey, I could barely fly Cessna or Piper! And he wants me to move Gulfstream.
"Oh muerto," I shouted. Radio...yeah, that's it! I use the radio! I picked up the headset, and affixed it to my head.
"Senor Shanahan," I said. "How do you start this thing?"
"Dammit, Carlos," he told me. "It's not too hard."
"I'm not familiar with this craft!" I shouted back. I heard Shanahan sigh, and he resigned to help me.
"OK, first hit the switched labled X-0894," he told me. I found the switch, and flipped it. "That should initiate power to the cabin." It did.
"All right!" I shouted.
"OK," he said again. "Next, move the lever on the floor closest to you on the right.. It should be labeled with yellow tape." I pushed the lever, and I heard something disengage underneath. "That released your engine brake. Now, in this order, hit switch C-04, CVT001-20, T-001, and UF940-17Y." I did exactly that, and I saw the gauges respond. "Now, there's a small lever next to the engine brake, labeled in red tape," he said. "That'll start the engines." I looked and looked, and finally found the lever. After I pushed it, I heard the twin engines whir to life, and the plane lurched forward, but didn't move.
"She's on, now, where's throttle?" I asked.
"Another lever, to your left with blue tape." I caught sight of it, and prepared to move it, but Shanahan came over the radio again. "Just barely move it, just enough to get a little speed. You hit that too hard, and you'll hit take off speed in a matter of seconds." I barely touched the throttle, and the plane began to roll.
"Thanks, amigo!" I shouted. "She's on her way." The plane was very responsive, and sooner than later, I had stopped at the fueling island. I opened the exit hatch, and climbed out. Shanahan was waiting for me, a bright grin on his elderly face. He walked up to me, and slapped me on the back.
"See, kid?" he asked. "Not so hard, was it?"
"No," I said. "But so many switches, it was confusing!" Two other workers ran out, and hooked a fuel line into the tank of the plane, and it began to fuel up. Shanahan walked with me back down the landing strip, talking to me.
"I've got one hell of an idea," he said.
"And that is?" I asked.
"I want to get you certified in the Gulf, and maybe the Super J, too."
"WHAT?!" I shouted.
"I want you to begin flying for the delivery service," he told me. "You're one hell of a chopper pilot, and you do pretty good with the little stuff. But I want you to start making the delivery and pickup runs for me. "
"The Gulf and the J are passenger planes!"
"Not our modifieds. We've torn out the passenger cabins, and turned them into large cargo holds. We just use them because of the speed and power."
"Dropping off and picking up what?" I asked.
"Parts, tools, fluids like oil and fueling agents, stuff for the local stores, just anything that we're hired to transport." That got me thinking.
"Would it happen to take me to Chicago, sometime?" I asked.
"We have a big parts broker up there," he told me. "I guarantee that you'll make one to two runs up there a month." Just the excuse I was looking for.
"You arrange the lessons, I'll attend," I said.
"I thought you'd see it my way," he replied, heading for the small tower.
Arklay Mountain Area, Illinois.
Several days later...
"Forest....Kenneth....Joseph....Richard....Enrico....we did it, guys. We took 'em down. The good guys finally won. But it sucks that you couldn't be there. You guys are the best I ever worked with...and it...it..." he fell down at the concrete foundation, the only remnants of the Spencer Estate, and began wailing. I hated to see him that way. I climbed out of the rental sedan, and walked down the dusty road towards him. He was kneeling at the base of the mansion, weeping.
"It's ok," I said, putting a hand on his shoulders. He stood up, his face pale, as if he'd seen a ghost.
"Jill? What are you doing here?" he asked me, eyeing me with reddened eyes.
"I was about to ask you the same question."
"How did you..."
"You're predictable."
"What's the deal with my coat?" That one I couldn't come up with an answer for.
"What's the deal with you?" I asked. "You're sister's worrying about you, the same as everyone else."
"I told you. I need space."
"You need a fucking shrink if you ask me."
"Well, I didn't ask you."
"Too bad.
"I don't know your reasoning for following me, but it won't do any good."
"All right, I've had enough," I said angrily. "You're going seventeen miles south of here, and you are going to see your sister. You're going to meet your nephew, as well." He was stunned.
"Claire had a kid?!"
"A boy. Eighteen months old, his name's Martin."
"Jesus Christ bananas!" he shouted. "You're shitting me?!"
"No. He's a menace. Much like you, except he's a redhead."
"Dammit," he breathed. "I had no friggin' idea."
"Well, maybe you should go by and meet him."
"Aw, hell, I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"She'd kick my ass black and blue!"
"If I don't first. Get in the car."
"But my bike..."
"Get in the damn car, Chris."
This was actually long in the running. I was planning this from about when I was writing chapter eight of As Cold Blood Runs. I hope this doesn't just fall apart, I feel that it's better than its predecessor. I would appreciate it if you would tell me what you think. Oh, yeah, before I forget, check out the new website at www.squallstrife78.freeservers.com. It will be worth your time!
Peace,
Squall.