Chapter 36 - Instinct
August, 14th, 2006
London, England
7:15 PM
"Even if you stare at it for three days, it's not going to get any easier to figure out, Chris."
"Huh?"
Chris had been focusing on a newspaper clipping when the words hit his ears, and he turned his head and looked back when he heard a snort of amusement over his oblivious response. The sound came from the other side of the table in the hotel's conference room where he was currently sitting, and his eyes landed on his partner settled just across the way at that same table.
When he looked at her, Jill told him, "This is Earth calling Mr. Redfield, wake your ass up and take a break for once."
Chris looked forward again and shook his head over Jill's blunt way of telling him to ease up. He knew she was right, he'd been trying to piece things together for too long now, and if he did much more, he'd go into meltdown—something she'd already admitted to going through half an hour prior. Seemed like she was right, now was a good time to take a break.
They were in a conference room at a hotel in London, England, staying there for various reasons currently, but all of those reasons had to do with work. This was easily evidenced by the documents posted all over the presentation board left there from a meeting they'd had earlier with the B.S.A.A., which wasn't a large meeting, but it had to do with some important matters, including the pursuit of Albert Wesker and how things were coming along so far on that end.
The documents stuck on the display boards included pictures, newspaper clippings, faxes, any and everything they could find to try to help them discover the whereabouts of a certain corporate founder who might lead them to Wesker—Ozwell E. Spencer.
They'd been trying to use the information to piece Spencer's whereabouts after figuring he would probably be their best bet at getting more information of anyone, and they'd both been working out potential "what if he's here or there" scenarios for most of the evening, which seemed to take up a good bit of their time recently. They'd started tracking him down a week ago, and still hadn't had any one hundred percent positive come up. Apparently, Spencer was a slippery old bastard.
Standing from where he'd been sitting near the front of the room while staring at a newspaper clipping with an odd story on it that contradicted another record they had in evidence—the reason tracking him had been such a pain in the ass—Chris turned and walked toward the center of the room and to the table where Jill was already sitting. She had her legs propped up and boots crossed over one another casually, her hands shoved into the pockets of her gray cargo pants, her chestnut brown hair tied into a ponytail, and her ID tag hung from the collar of her light blue, short sleeved shirt.
She watched Chris heading to take a seat on the other side of the table across from her, between them settled a few containers of food from a Chinese restaurant that Jill had ordered a delivery from since they hadn't had a decent meal all day long. They'd planned to do as much research as they could though, so getting something to eat to keep them both going was definitely up their alley.
Chris only reached for the cup carrying his drink at that particular moment however, and said as he pulled it over, "It's embarrassing."
"What is?," she asked, a brow narrowing at him with the other one raised curiously.
"A crusty old geezer getting the slip on us," Chris muttered out in response.
Suddenly, Jill let out a short laugh. He was right, but the way he'd put it only made it sound even worse than it actually was in an amusing fashion. So she reminded him, "Crusty old geezer or not, he's one of the wealthiest men in the world. That counts for something if you need to disappear in a pinch."
Chris had been a little sour that evening, and Jill couldn't blame him. Regardless of what she'd just told him, she was starting to get irritated with nothing turning up on Spencer herself. Their trail was warm, maybe luke warm, and they had some good leads, but currently, they'd exhausted their resources when it came to the people they could question about it, waiting for responses to come in at current. The waiting was putting a kink in their efforts of finding the crusty old geezer sooner though.
"Seems like all the assholes have the money if that's the case," Chris muttered out.
Jill pursed her lips, a look that said she agreed, but she didn't want to say it out loud because it was just too damned depressing. Instead, she she slightly changed the subject and mused aloud, "I just wonder how willing he'll be to give up information when we do find him."
"Don't think it'll be easy?"
"Well, he's old," she started plainly, looking over at Chris and shrugging a shoulder. "If he doesn't want to talk, pointing a gun at him probably won't work."
"He might be old, but that doesn't mean he's ready to die to keep something a secret," Chris pointed out in response, and realized what he was saying as soon as the words were out of his mouth. So he amended them. "Then again, he probably would, but you're right about threatening him."
Chris thought about it a little more after he'd spoken those words, supposing that resorting to typical methods of information extraction if the old guy was stubborn might not work, but at the same time, they needed to know what he knew. That brought up another consideration in his mind.
"If he does withhold information," Chris began to muse aloud curiously, "what do you think the motivation would be?"
"Hell if I know. I can't think of any reason why he would want to protect Wesker. Then again, who the hell knows what that man might have up his sleeve."
"Exactly. He's probably a bottomless pit of fucked up information and shit we've never even thought of before. Just look at his taste in interior design like the estate in Arklay. I'm surprised he didn't walk in there one day and kill himself by setting off a trap he'd forgotten about."
Jill snorted over Chris's colorful way of describing things in an irritated fashion—something he'd always seemed to have a knack for doing—while shaking her head over the sad but true statements. With a sigh of breath, she stared off into space as she grew still once again, just considering all the things the man might be able to give them that would help them with a number of causes. Though he wasn't a major player in the game anymore as far as active terrorism went, he still knew enough to point fingers at several who were, and if they did find him, they'd question him about more than just Albert Wesker—though Wesker, their sole reason for tracking Spencer down now, would be at the top of their list.
Jill knew that much, and she wasn't worried about it. But sometimes she considered the question of then what? When they found Wesker, what would happen? Jill hadn't engaged Wesker in a fight since Arklay when he was still human, but she knew all about what he was capable of now, knew everything there was to tell, and she looked over at Chris with those thoughts in mind.
"What do you think will happen when we find Wesker?"
"A fight," Chris replied without any hesitation or fanfare in his voice.
"I know that, smartass," Jill retorted, slightly smirking. "I just mean we're going to need a crane to bring him in from the sound of it. We're closer than we've been yet after all."
"We'll just kill him. No sense wasting energy putting him into holding after everything he's done."
She smirked, agreeing with the sentiment because she knew as well as Chris that there just wouldn't be any other option even if they wanted to bring him in alive. Well, unless they managed to incapacitate him somehow, but that wouldn't be guaranteed, an it made Jill purse her lips a little in frustration. Why the hell did she have a bad feeling about all of it?
Suddenly, Chris brought her out of her thoughts when he spoke again however. "What is it that has you worried?"
Jill looked over at him, snapping out of her thoughts, and then shook her head, replying, "Nothing."
"Bullshit. What is it?"
Chris knew Jill better than that, and she rolled her eyes over the blunt way he'd just called her bluff. If she didn't answer him now, he would only hound her for however long it took to make her tell him what it was that was bugging her, so she decided not to withhold her thoughts any longer and told him what he wanted to hear.
"I just get this sense of foreboding whenever I think about some kind of confrontation. And no, before you start harping," she added to keep Chris from saying what she knew he would, "it's not aboutyou or worrying he'll hurt you or whatever. Which is the odd part."
That was pretty odd. Chris knew that he was the bigger target of the two of them, though Wesker wouldn't hesitate to kill either if he got a shot at it. Still, he'd figured she was probably worried because of that, worried that Wesker would, in fact, kill him whenever they had a fight, because he'd likely take a shot at Chris faster than he would Jill. So saying her sense of dread didn't have to do with that in particular was a little strange.
"I just have this sense that it won't end pleasantly for either of us, or the BSAA in general, and I don't know why," Jill added as Chris was having the thoughts.
That sounded a little more normal. Chris didn't make a response to her at first though, his face growing a bit solemn. "You don't think we'll win?"
"No, I think we'll do what we need to whether we win or lose, but I just can't shake this feeling that it's going to be more complicated than just winning or losing."
She shrugged, not putting too much stock into the feeling herself, as she simply realized it was there and it was strange. But she heard Chris sighing and looked over at him to see a less than happy expression on his face. The sight got her to let out a sign of breath, and she told him, "Come on, don't take it that seriously. You know how those feelings can go."
"With anyone else, I wouldn't," he replied, looking back up and across the table at her. "But with you it's different. I know you well enough not to just dismiss a gut feeling or something like it."
"My gut hasn't always been right," she reminded him.
"No, but I can't forget you said it."
Jill made a bland expression at him in response to the comment as if she'd tasted something disagreeable, then informed him, "See, this is why, whenever you ask me what's wrong, I always say nothing. Now you're in a worse mood than before."
"Forget my mood," he countered.
"I can't, I have to stare at your sour face whenever you're irritated."
That finally got Chris to smirk a little bit. So he gave in, saying, "Alright, fine. We'll change the subject. Besides, we have to find Spencer first. Confrontations with Wesker will be later. Sam might turn up something soon on Spencer with what we sent him, so we'll just have to wait on him to see and be irritated that we're getting outsmarted by a crusty old geezer in the meantime."
"Sam could find a needle in ten haystacks, and he's always right. But you know what irritates me about all of this?" After Jill asked the question, she looked over to see Chris briefly shaking his head while taking a drink from his cup, and she informed him, "The fact that it seems like if we're on the case, everyone else wants to slack off."
That made Chris smirk. "We're just too damned good."
"Yeah, well, there's a price for being too damned good, people expect everything out of you and then some," Jill muttered back on a tone of voice that Chris knew meant she was partially amused. "But let's just stop for a bit. I don't even want to think about it right now."
"Aw, tired of chasing down Umbrella founders already?"
Jill snorted over the sarcastic comment. "I'm not tired of that, I'm tired of theorizing."
"Oh, so you're ready to go out and shoot someone then. And here everyone always says I'm the one who's trigger happy."
"I'm not ready to go shoot anyone," she shot back, smirking before she added certainly, "and you are, Chris."
"Oh," he nodded plainly. "Well good, didn't wanna ruin my reputation or anything."
Jill grinned over the comment and grabbed the carton of noodles she'd been pecking at before, but had settled down because she was curious to see how long Chris might've ended up staring at a newspaper clipping while trying to piece things together as she kept urging him to take a short break. Now that she'd finally gotten him away from the puzzle, she took the chopsticks into her hand again and scooped some of her food out with them like second nature, taking another bite while it was still decently hot.
After a moment of chewing while staring down into the contents of the container, she asked Chris idly, "You know how English food always tastes so bland?"
Chris, knowing this was Jill's way of resetting her mind so she might figure something out faster, replied by saying, "Yeah, why?"
"I think they do whatever it is they do to the Chinese food here as well. It's not bad, but it doesn't taste authentic."
Jill wasn't a food connoisseur, but she tended to know good food when she had it. Chris smirked, then watched her taking in more of the noodles with the chopsticks, and he asked her in the meantime, if only to annoy her, "Why the hell don't you use a fork?"
"You're the one with the big, clumsy hands, Chris, not me. So I'll eat however I fucking want, thank you," she returned in a mockingly offensive fashion, chuckling softly over their banter afterward. "Go back to running around in circles on this case if all you're gonna do now is try to bait me."
She rolled her eyes at him in a sarcastic manner, then watched as he stared at her in return while snatching up a container of food that he opened while never taking his eyes off of her, his expression serious in a 'is that so?' kind of way. He grabbed a fork once the container was open, holding the utensil like the handle of a knife in his hand, which got Jill to snort, and then stabbed it into some of the chicken and rice inside and pulled it out, spilling a little of the food over the table on the way to putting it in his mouth.
Jill started grinning before he even did that much, and chuckled when he ate it 'like a man would eat', which she knew was the point he was getting across. Once he had a mouthful of the chicken and rice, she started shaking her head at him and went back to her own meal while nonchalantly informing him, "You need help."
"So I've been told," he replied, losing the serious expression to a smirk before turning the fork to hold it normally. "In fact, I think you've told me that more than anyone else has."
"I mean it every time I do, too," she replied, getting more food into her chopsticks and smirking the entire while, honestly glad for the temporary change in subject.
As she took another bite, she was halfway through with her chewing while Chris was mentioning that it was nice that his partner had so much faith in his mental state when she felt her phone vibrating and put her chopsticks in the container before she tugged it up to look at the name. Suddenly, Jill sat forward and pulled her legs off the table, washing the food she'd been chewing up down with some drink, and then put the phone to her ear after pressing talk.
"Hey Sam," she started, giving Chris a knowing look as she went on, "what's up?"
That got Chris's attention, and he chewed the rest of his food and swallowed as he listened to whatever might be said. For the moment, all she was saying were things like 'uh huh' and 'right', but then she stood up and went over to the wall where they had their data pinned up, and she looked for various pieces of it.
After a moment, she grabbed some of them and brought them over to the table next to where Chris sat, saying, "Yeah, give me one second, I need a pen."
When Chris heard that, he looked across the table and found one laying near him, grabbing it and handing it over to Jill. When she had it, she suddenly cussed out, "Oh bullshit," in response to whatever Sam had just said. Then she chuckled out. "Heh, no, his head is still in one piece, I promise."
Chris rolled his eyes, knowing Sam had probably just asked whether or not he'd exploded trying to figure everything out yet. But he smirked and stayed silent while Jill continued to look over the paper and mark through some things, followed by writing and saying, "So he did go to Europe and the charts were forged."
Silence came from her and Chris could hear Sam talking on the other end, but not well enough to make out what he was saying. Jill then spoke the words, "You're telling me. It's something Chris and I figured out too damned soon." More silence. "Well what can I say, we've been trying to bust our asses the past week or so, and this is the first positive thing we've come across. Martin's information was sketchy, but this is definitely helpful. Thanks Sam."
A moment later, she was hanging up the phone, and Chris, of course, asked, "Okay don't leave me hanging here, what'd he say?"
"Eastern Europe," Jill replied. "That's where the private jet was heading, Sam managed to track it there, and that's where Spencer's hiding now. He paid some private airport owner to forge the flight charts so he wouldn't be followed."
Chris rolled his eyes. That had been one of their, admittedly numerous, theories. Instead of focus on the irritation it had caused them though, Chris just asked, "Did he get a precise location?"
Jill grinned, telling Chris everything he needed to know with that one look alone. She slipped one of the papers over to him that she'd written on and said, "We've got a trip to plan. We'll want to do it fast too. Sam said one of his contacts told him the guy never stays in one place for too long, and this flight was two weeks ago."
"How the hell that works I'll never guess if he's in a wheelchair," Chris muttered out as he read the location she'd written down.
"Money," Jill stated flatly, recapping the pen. "How else? Unless he has a jet engine built into his hoveround."
"I wouldn't put it past him," Chris remarked as he stood up, and Jill watched him heading to the board to get their information down. As he did this, he said, "I'll go report this and get us booked."
Nodding, Jill replied, "Alright, I guess I get stuck with the packing and inventory. Again."
"You're better at it."
"True," she admitted in an egotistical fashion as she grabbed the pen again and started to jot down a few reminders to herself on a blank piece of paper.
After a moment, while Chris was gathering their things, she heard him saying, "I just hope you don't have anymore of those weird gut feelings in the meantime."
Jill smirked, still writing as she said, "Well, at least they're never about you in specific."
Chris snorted softly over the comment, then thought about it a little more. After a moment, his brows began to narrow, and he looked over at Jill while she was writing on the desk. Curiously, he said, "You're right, I don't remember you ever saying you had a bad feeling about something I was going to do."
"That's because I know nothing's going to happen to you."
Curiously, Chris inquired, "Oh yeah? And how do you know that?"
Looking over at him with a confident smile on her face, Jill told him, "Because I won't let it."
Chris watched her for a moment after the words were spoken, then smirked, slowly nodding his head. "I believe that," he replied, showing the faith he had in his partner before turning to go to the door.
It was true, Chris knew Jill would do whatever she could to keep him safe, to keep them going, and he'd do the same thing to help her out in return. He trusted her with his life, and didn't doubt her fortitude one bit—or her instincts. If she said she got the feeling that winning or loosing against Wesker was going to be a bit more complicated than just that, he would listen to that instinct. He just hoped in the meantime that once they found out where the bastard was hiding, they could figure out quickly why it wasn't going to be as simple as that.
Three and a Half Months Later
"Ready. Aim. Fire!"
A cacophony of gunfire went off from the uniformed men standing in a neat line, followed by the same command being given only a moment later before they fired again. Not too far away was a grave in a cemetery that the volley was being shot for, and closer to that grave were mourners attending a funeral. Some people were in tears, others silently paying their respects, and all of them were dressed in fine black garments which made the colors of the flowers settled around the area in farewell to the departed stand out vividly.
Clouds were shrouding the sky in gray, and umbrella's were being brought out and put up by a few of the mourners as a fine drizzle had started falling since they'd arrived while the volley went off, five shots being fired to commemorate and honor the dead. Standing with the mourners was Chris, garbed in a pair of black slacks and a dark green shirt on beneath a black blazer that was starting to get only slightly damp with the newly falling drizzle of rain.
Standing next to him was his sister who'd flown to Indiana two days ago where the funeral was being held in the hometown of the departed Jill Valentine.
Claire, who was wearing a black, slim fitting dress with a scoop neck, a dark red belt around the waist, and a skirt that reached to her knees, didn't react to the loud shots of the volley, just as Chris didn't. Some of the other mourners had jumped slightly, though not very noticeably, but neither of the Redfield siblings paid the sounds much mind, used to the volume of the shots even when they were children.
The eulogies had been given and the service was almost over, the light drizzle staying steady while the mourners finally began to part ways and leave the grave site behind—everyone except for the Redfields. They'd both entertained well wishers and socialized with friends and family at the funeral, though Claire noticed a face or two in the crowd giving Chris a particular look that wasn't classified as being either happy or sympathetic. They were looks that she had to steel herself from reacting to. As far as she could tell, Chris hadn't noticed them, so she wasn't going to bring them to light by saying something, not to mention, this wasn't the time or place at all.
But as soon as she had the thought, after the people had departed and they were alone at the grave now, she heard her brother saying, "I think some of them blame me."
Jill didn't have much along the lines of immediate family, mostly just a number of cousins, aunts, and uncles that she was more or less close to, but even closer than them were friends of hers and of her parents alike, people who knew her when she was a girl, and none of them were very familiar with Chris.
So when he said that, Claire sighed softly, telling him without worry of anyone hearing her now that everyone was gone, "I think some of them need to know a little more before they make any judgments."
She glanced up to his face after making the remark, seeing a rather expressionless facade as she asked him, "More importantly, do you blame yourself?"
That was going to be a hard question for him to answer, Claire figured. But Chris surprised her by saying, "No. I know exactly who to blame for this."
Wesker, Claire thought, looking back at the tombstone. Inhaling a breath, she read the name on the granite surface of the grave marker, and then looked down at the grass, thinking about what she wanted to say. Finally, she turned her blue eyed gaze back up and said, "Good. That's what matters to me."
"You never did care what anyone else thought."
Finally, Claire found a small smile. "No, and neither do you unless they were someone important."
"I know," Chris replied. Finally, he moved a little more than he had been, looking down at the grass like Claire had a moment before, thinking about everything. Suddenly, he smirked and said, "But I half expected someone to start throwing tomatoes at me when I gave the eulogy I wrote."
The rain had started to get a bit heavier, prompting Claire to tug her own umbrella out and lift it up, holding it over her head as well as her brother's even though she got the feeling that Chris wouldn't care one way or the other. Once he'd made his comment though, she looked over at him with a curiously narrowed brow and asked, "What? Why? It was perfect." Then she chuckled softly, "I didn't think you were so well written."
"It took me long enough to get it out," he admitted with a little humor in his voice. "But I thought I might've been to...unemotional when I was speaking, probably made people think I didn't give a damn."
"You're just dealing with it how you deal with it best."
"Maybe," he replied, and that time, his voice sounded a bit more solemn. He let out a long sigh and looked back up. Claire watched him, wondering what he might've been thinking about, and she just waited silently for him to say something more.
When he didn't, Claire asked out of a sort of sisterly intuition, "Something else is bothering you, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Chris admitted freely.
With a slow, silent nod, Claire questioned whether or not she should ask, but decided that it wouldn't hurt in the least. "You gonna tell me what it is?"
Chris finally looked away from the grave and over at his sister, the expression on his face considerate. Taking a short breath as if he might've been trying to figure out how to put it best, he parted his lips and said, "I'm not convinced she's dead."
Claire knew the story, so she didn't have to ask. Jill had thrown herself out of a window with Wesker in order to save Chris's life. They'd combed the ravine that she'd fallen into for three months without a sign of any bodies or belongings, and had finally declared her, and Wesker, as being officially dead. When Chris called Claire to tell her, she booked the first flight she could get out of Barcelona where she'd gone on a business trip and flew to Indiana to attend the funeral with him. Jill was her friend too after all, and Claire couldn't miss such an occasion.
Before she could ask Chris why he wasn't convinced though—which, she had to face it, the whole thing did seem pretty seedy in description alone—he began to speak, looking back at the grave marker as he did so.
"Jill told me something not long before we left for Eastern Europe. She said she had this gut instinct that told her it wasn't going to be as simple as winning or loosing when it came to Wesker. I don't know what not simple is, or how complicated it gets, but we didn't expect to run into Wesker when we did, and saying that she's dead now and so is he just sounds too cut and dry to be called complicated."
Claire thought about that for a moment, unable to help but wonder about it all. Was his theory true, or was Chris just burdened with grief and looking for anything he could find to keep him from facing the pain of loss? Knowing Chris as well as she did, she'd normally say this wasn't him trying to find some way to justify denial, but then again, he'd never lost a partner before.
"Does that sound like crazy talk to you?," Chris asked, proving their earlier chat about only caring for the opinions of those they were close to as being precise. He wanted his sister's thoughts, and she wouldn't deny him.
"I don't know, Chris," Claire responded with a shake of her head that made her ponytail waver a bit before she looked back up at him. "I know that with Wesker, anything is possible. I also know that much, much stranger things have happened. At the same time, you've never lost a partner before. Jill's been working with you ever since this all began. So I could say yeah, sure, it sounds too cut and dry, and I honestly think it does myself. But at the same time, I don't think you need to believe that it is completely. You need to remember that it might not be the case because, if it isn't, and you realize it later, it would only hurt you even more than it does now."
Chris took that in and slowly started nodding his head as he looked forward again. "Makes sense," he admitted. It made a lot of sense, and caused Chris to draw in his breath deeply before releasing it aloud. He then felt a hand on his arm and looked back at Claire, who shook her head at him.
"I also don't think you need to consider it right now, Chris. You need some time for your emotions to settle down, then figure out if you're just being hopeful or full of shit."
Slowly, Chris began to smile over the comment, then gave a nod of his head. That was why he asked, Claire didn't beat around the bush, and he didn't dismiss the things she told him.
"Com'ere, sis," he said, reaching to pull Claire into a hug, one she didn't deny him and returned with both arms despite the fact that she had an open umbrella in her hand. Chris was grieving after all, and Claire knew it no matter how much he hid it when he was around other people. So regardless of whether his ideas carried weight or were as empty as a hot air balloon, he needed time to figure it out first, and then go from there.
"Tell you what," Claire said just before their hug ended and she stood back to look up at him again, putting the umbrella back up. "Why don't we find some place to go get a drink in Jill's honor, and I'll sprint."
That made Chris smile and nod his head. "Alright, but I'll sprint. She was my partner, so it's my turn."
Claire couldn't help but smirk because Chris found a reason to say he'd sprint and that it was his turn every time they managed to get together and do something like this, no matter what it was for.
Still, she agreed, saying, "Alright, but only if I get to pick the place."
"Deal," he nodded, then looked back at the grave. "Just, go get the car ready, I'll be along in a second."
"Okay, take your time," Claire replied in understanding. He needed a few minutes, and she wasn't going to rush him. "Do you want the umbrella?"
"Nah, I'm fine. You're the one wearing the nice dress."
Snorting, Claire shook her head, then turned around to go with the words, "Alright, I'll be waiting then."
Chris looked back as she gave the grave a final look and then began to walk away. Once she'd gotten far enough off in the distance, Chris turned back and walked over to the tombstone where the casket would be buried not too long from now. There wasn't anything in it, Jill's body hadn't been found, but if she was dead, then this might be the closest to anything official they would ever have to an actual tomb for her, being a casket with some of her belongings inside of it.
Chris put a hand on the casket and took in a breath, ignoring the bouquets of flowers, including one of two on the top that was made up of white roses and blue delphiniums that had a short note attached to it signed with the typed out names "Chris and Claire Redfield". Instead, he thought about things, and finally, he looked back at the silver colored casket.
"If you really are dead, then I lied to my sister. I do blame myself, in so many ways. But you know who and what I blame more. If you aren't dead though, and I'm just talking to myself," Chris paused, then let out a long, vexed sigh of breath.
He'd attended several funerals before, but never one quite like this, save the funeral for his parents when he was seven years old. It was never easy to figure out what to say or do in these situations, and Chris wasn't entirely certain that what he was saying now was even warranted due to the uncertainty surrounding Jill's death, which only made it that much harder. Still, he finished his thoughts.
"Let's just say I'm not going to stop until I find out the indisputable truth. I owe us both that, and I promise I won't let either of us down."
Making that promise, Chris looked the site over once more, taking his sister's words to heart that right now wasn't the time to consider conspiracy theories any more deeply than he already had. Today was the day mean for honoring Jill's memory if she really was dead, and if that came up to be true, Chris wasn't going to disgrace it by ignoring the fact that she really might have sacrificed herself for his sakes. He'd go and have a drink with his sister to honor her, and do what he knew that Jill would want him to, saying her life had actually ended.
But his own instincts were telling him that the truth was yet to really be seen. She'd said it wasn't going to be simple and he got the feeling she was absolutely right. Chris wasn't going to ignore those feelings forever. After all, nothing was ever simple.