Thanks in advance for reading this, guys and gals. I hope everybody enjoys it. You could say that this is a very short introduction to the story, a prologue of sorts, and I apologize for it's brief length. A quick history: I vaguely remembered writing a story for a few years ago, but couldn't for the life of me remember what it was about. After a search using my pen name, JB Stone, I found it. To my disappointment, I found only a single chapter dated March 20th, 2001. After wracking my brain for the plotline, I gave up and decided to go with a new one based on this first chapter and the story's tagline: "The final Resident Evil story." Originally titled "Resident Evil: Omega" I revised the lone chapter and came up with this shorter, but in my opinion, better introduction. (A quick note: I stole the format for the chapter heading from Steven King's short story 'The Sisters of Elthuria' I feel it works better as a plot point advisor as opposed to the standard Chapter 1, Chapter 2, ect.)

I.

Joe's Apartment/Claire & Joe/Love, Actually

The thunderstorm had fallen silent an hour or so ago, and Claire watched the passing cars with a heavy caution; She didn't need another shower. Not after the hours it took to perfect the look she would still call "Claire De Frizz."

Her calves and heels started aching five blocks back, and the young woman cursed her womanhood briefly. Not for long, though, as she nearly danced at the thought of the man she was making this incredible journey for. If not for that cursed womanhood, she would not know Joe, and that would be a bad thing.

As she counted the paces that really hurt, Joe's building came into view. At the small set of steps that led to the apartment buzzers, Claire tried to remember if Joe had claimed to be a "Best-Selling Author," or "An Aspiring Author." She felt her skin crawl at the dingy brick exterior, and as she pushed the iron-wrought door open, she wanted to take her skin off and shake it clean on the sidewalk.

Fighting her sudden nausea and her two angry feet, Claire forced her voice to ring with the perk and charm that had won Joe over in the first place. "Hey, it's Claire!"

"Hey! Hold on a sec," he said. There was a pause, then an obnoxious buzz. "It's open. I'm in 7A, at the end of the hall on the right."

The buzzer room had not prepared Claire for the dungeon that was this hallway. From spider webs on the ceiling to pieces of a few ancient, long-since-shredded carpets on the dirty wooden floor, this place was a dump. Joe, for his part, was as handsome a man as had ever approached her, and on that fine March night at Jezzabelle's in Midtown she had no problem letting him work his magic on her.

It was that instant, animal attraction that the most passionate of lovers have, if only for a brief time. And passion they shared. They made love--scratch that; they fucked--three times the first night they met. Joe was as incredible a partner as he was a looker, and soon, Claire found the passion giving way to a genuine interest in the man. He was clever, funny, witty, charming, and all of the other superlatives you could use about the most perfect man ever in the history of ever. White smile, toned and tanned, head full of close-cropped hair. He was gorgeous in mind and body.

As she rapped awkwardly on the rotting door, Claire tried to remember those things and supplant them where the memory of this apartment building would be.

Joe opened the door with a smile and a look of playful worry. She smiled back, but couldn't figure what the face was for.

"It's a dump, I know."

I was thinking the exact same thing! "Oh, come on. You should've seen my old place!" She scoffed with a fake laugh.

Joe motioned her into the small-but-cozy flat, and she was instantly less hesitant about walking in without a biohazard suit. Actually, the place wasn't bad. Small, yes, but not dirty like outside. Clean, well kept, and as the lemon PineSol hit her nose, she realized that the hallway had a very pungent urine smell to it that she was very glad to be away from.

"Can I take your coat?" He offered. Claire obliged and walked with long strides into his home.

"So…nice place!" She said through a fake smile. While it was sort of true, she still couldn't get the horror of her walk through the hallway from hell out of her mind.

"Yeah, nice try, lady." Joe smirked. "I wish I could say something cliché' like 'well, home is where the heart is,' but this," He said with a broad sweep of his arm. "is not my home."

Claire, through surprise and a bit of annoyance, managed, "So…you don't live here?"

Joe hung Claire's coat on the rack, then sighed. "No, and I guess I should have told you beforehand. I like to come here to, I don't know, get 'in the mood.'"

"Oh," Claire nearly meowed. "I see."

"Oh, no, not like that, sweetie. I meant 'get in the mood' for writing. I do my best work here!" He corrected with a grin.

"This is your office, then? Sweet deal, Joe." She nodded, a huge weight taken from her chest.

The next hour were spent eating a wonderful chicken marsala dinner with a few glasses of white wine at the modest dinner table nestled in a corner of the flat. They finished their meal, and after some nice conversation, Joe kissed Claire. Not with a passionate, fast-tongued kiss, but a deep, meaningful one. A slow one, that started with their noses brushing gently, followed by a confident but careful meeting of the lips. It blossomed into a long kiss, one that would linger for the rest of the week. They fucked--scratch that; made love, three more times that wonderful night. And the morning came too soon.

Next Update:

II

The Question/Goodbye, Joe/The King