Racoon City, January, 1946

1946. The second world war had ended nearly five months ago, men had come home from overseas, and families were reunited. Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald were on the records, and Humphrey Bogart was one of the best actors in Hollywood. Zoot Suits and feather boa's were the style, and ladies looked like ladies. Gentleman opened the doors for their girls, and jazz was the mainstream music to listen to.

Many people were happy, and then again, many people weren't.

She was sitting on the bed, the record player sounding out a slow jazz song, scratches and pops heard every now and again due to the condition of the record, which was fairly over played. She lived with her older brother in an apartment building that didn't have a front or backyard, but it was a nice roof over their heads, and she kept it comfortable. Anyone who came into the house would feel right at home to live there.

Pulling her silk robe around her, she sobbed quietly, and used the sounds of the music as a buffer to keep anyone outside of her bedroom door from hearing. It'd been almost seven months now since her fiancé had been killed overseas in the war, but she still broke down and cried about it every now and again.

Actually, they hadn't been engaged, but she'd come to love him very dearly before he'd left. And not two months before the war ended, she'd received a telegram, one of those dreaded telegrams from the war department, that someone she loved had been killed.

She'd remembered staring at the letter. She knew three men overseas, and neither one of them she'd wanted to die. One of them was her brother, the other a family friend. She couldn't open the letter, all she could do was stare at it.

Thankfully, her best friend, Rebecca, had been there, and she'd taken the telegram from her and opened it herself.

But Claire couldn't move. She was already shaking with the mourning of losing a loved one. She was already dead inside. No matter who Rebecca named, Claire was going to break down.

As gently as she could, Rebecca broke the news to Claire that it'd been Steve, her boyfriend. Rebecca was already hugging Claire, and the tears flowed freely. Both of them just couldn't move or do anything.

Rebecca cried too, Steve had been a good friend, and to see Claire hurting so much as well tore her apart even more.

Now Claire sat in her bedroom, not paying much attention to the record, just crying because she still remembered what they'd had before, how it'd been so wonderful.

The snows were falling outside again, but it was too dark to see from her window. She could simply tell by the build up on the window sill. She watched them in her depressed state, somehow feeling the same kind of cold inside that was outside her room.

A knock came to the door. Claire gasped and turned her head, her red curls flying about her face and framing it. Tear stricken blue eyes stared at the wood and she cleared her throat and asked, "Chris?"

"Yeah, I was wondering if you were up for going somewhere."

Claire wiped her eyes frantically, grabbing tissues from the glass holder she had on her night stand, and she stood from the grey satin sheets, wrapping her maroon colored silk robe around her. "One moment," she called.

Moving to her vanity set, a few black and white pictures with jagged edges of Rebecca, Chris, and Steve, and herself, lined the edges, but she ignored them for the moment and made sure her face was proper to be presented. She took the hair comb from the vanity table which sat next to perfume bottles and make up, and she ran it through the red locks a few times.

Finally, she answered the door and she looked at the brown haired, blue eyed man on the other side which was her older brother, "Where are you going?"

"Well, I heard they had a sale on clothing at Chester's, I thought you might like to get a new dress," Chris told her as if he were trying to tempt her, a devilishly handsome smile gracing his features.

As the soft jazz sounded from the record player behind her, Claire smiled up at her brother in return and she shook her head, "No, I don't think I'm up to it tonight. Rain check?"

Chris smiled at his little sister. He'd known she'd been crying. She thought he didn't know, but she always played the same song to keep him from hearing. It worried him, so he'd offered to take her out, hoping she'd accept. "You sure?"

"Yeah," she nodded with a smile.

"It's only six o'clock, they don't close 'til eight."

"No, really. Why don't you go find you something though, a nice suit. You could use one." She slyly smiled.

"All right," Chris told her, then he patted her shoulder, "we'll go tomorrow then maybe."

Claire just nodded her head, then she sighed and reached up to hug him and show him some appreciation for caring about her so much.

"Are you going anywhere?" She asked him.

"Well, I was thinking about going to the station if you didn't want to go shopping." He stood back and looked at her. "See if anything new has happened."

"On the investigation of those missing people?"

"Yeah," he told her, "maybe I'll get lucky and one of 'em has shown up."

"Go do that then, that's more important than shopping," Claire smiled. "Besides, if I really wanted to go somewhere, I could always catch a taxi cab."

"At night? I don't think so."

Claire laughed softly, "You're still too overprotective."

"I don't have a good reason not to be, now do I?"

Claire knew he was just trying to look out for her best interests, but she also knew that he was concerned more so here lately because of all the people that had gone missing. It really was worrying, she thought. Then she told him, "Well, go on to the station. I'll be here when you get back."

"Okay, give me a call if something goes wrong."

Claire nodded again when he put his fist to her cheek affectionately and then turned and walked away. She thought maybe it was wrong, but she was glad he hadn't died. She could always find someone else to love, as terrible as that sounded, but she'd never have another brother.

Even still, as soon as he left, she turned and shut the door, and then started crying again.

It was just a terrible night for her.

But, she tried to reassure herself, things could always be a lot worse.