Chapter Fourteen:




Claire fiddled with her camera patiently while she professionally ignored the uproar around her. Every inch of the playroom was a mess; scattered toys, torn pages out of half-finished coloring books and sticky table tops. Amazing how it only took ten minutes for it to get into this state of disorder.
"Hey, Claire--look at me!" Little Tommy Higgins said as he tried (unsuccessfully) to juggle five little foam balls.
On the other side of the room, the four girl models let out loud shrieks and leapt away from the table where they had been having a tea party.
"Eeeewww!" they all screamed in unison as a large green frog hopped past them.
"Jonathon Jacobs." Claire said warningly.
"What?" A young black boy asked innocently. When Claire had first been introduced to the children, Jonathon was the one who stood out the most. He a very adorable eight-year-old boy--but was as distinguished as a President Denzel Washington. It didn't surprise her that he was a model for another store called, 'Rafiné Jeunesse'--sort of a Chanel for children and young adults.
"Don't give me that innocent look, Jonathon." she said, but smiled in spite of herself. "Please take him outside, I promise you he'll be happier outside rather than cooped up in here."
"He won't hurt anyone." Jonathon declared fondly as he watched the frog hop around. "He'll like living in my house--it's close to eight-thousand square feet--don't you think that will be enough space for him?"
Claire smiled, "I'm sure he'd be well-exercised, but he's an outdoor animal."
At that, Tommy lost control of all the balls and they flew out of his hands, ricocheting off the walls and bounced on Susie Parkin's head--messing up her perfect coif. As the two got into a heated argument, Curtis Shevel, who was riding an old-fashioned Radio Flyer tyke bike, veered sharply to avoid running over one of the stray balls--and instead squashed Jonathon's frog.
"Eeeewww!" shrieked the girls again as an ugly sounding 'splat' filled the room.
"Eeeeee!" shrieked Tommy and Curtis.
"Aaahhh!" Jonathon screamed as if Jason himself had entered the room, carrying his trademark chainsaw and wearing an ugly hockey mask.
"Somebody get some paper towels." Claire ordered, immediately jumping into damage control. But her cry fell upon deaf ears as the children crowded around the dead frog.
Rolling her eyes, she hurried to the bathroom, grabbed the heavy duty paper towels, before returning to the scene. Poor Jonathon was crying his eyes out, and a guilty-looking Curtis was also starting to tear.
"You! You killed Kenny!" Jonathon accused, sounding hurt and not at all as sophisticated as Claire had once thought. "You ba--"
"Jonathon!" Claire said but was interrupted when Jonathon went on to say, 'bad person!', without even hearing her.
"I didn't mean to!" Curtis said softly. "Honest!"
"That's enough now." Claire said. "Break is over. Everybody go get dressed for the next shoot. Jonathon, Curtis, come with me."
Despite her urge to hurl at the mere suggestion of picking up the frog, she scooped it up with about a hundred paper towels, keeping a disgusted grimace held in until the kids backs were turned. After working with the kids for nearly a week, she quickly found that there were a lot of things that she hadn't expected she had signed on for. And cleaning up frog guts was definitely one of them.
Never-the-less, she placed Kenny at the base of a large Redwood tree and said a sweet little prayer, Curtis gave the eulogy while a grief-stricken Jonathon sang 'Swing Low, Sweet Chariot'. By the end of the spur of the moment funeral, both boys seemed less traumatized and were ready to get on with the next shoot.



Claire laughed out loud as she picked up a picture she had taken that day. Alisha Clearwater and Janna Brady were each planting a kiss on Curtis' cheeks--poor Curtis' face was as red as his hair, but he seemed to handle it professionally until he got out of camera range. Another picture was of Jonathon and Bobby Chapman, sitting at a table, drinking hot cocoa and wearing ski parkas. It was too adorable for words.
"Claire?" Carly called from the other side of the closed door.
"Yes?" Claire asked, drying her hands and hurrying to open it.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Carly demanded.
Freezing uncertainly, Claire looked around and decided to be honest. "No."
Carly's firm demeanor vanished as a soft laugh wrinkled the corners of her eyes. "It's nearly seven o' clock, honey, go home."
Claire breathed a sigh of relief. "I was just about to leave."
"Okay." Carly said. "Would you like me to wait for you?"
"Oh, no, don't do that. I'll be fine--I can lock up." she said.
"Well, okay." Carly said and waved good bye as she headed out.
Taking Carly's advice, Claire packed up all her things and started out. Something on a table near the entrance caught her eye and she looked at it more closely. A fresh bouquet of roses was sitting on the table, Claire knew it hadn't been there before. Feeling curious, she walked toward it and took a peek at the note. 'Dear Claire,' it said simply. 'Please come home. I'm back.'
The handwriting was obviously Steve's. Claire let out a strangled scream as she dropped the note and backed away from the flowers. She backed up so far that she bumped into the opposite wall. A petrified scream escaped her and she ran from the building, just managing to lock up the door. She half-walked, half-ran to Rebecca's car and then stopped dead in her tracks. On the hood of the Rav 4 was a single white rose. A wave of ice water swept up Claire's back and she could feel her panic rising. A strong breeze blew by, and the rose tipped over, spilling a thick red liquid over the hood.
Two hands grabbed Claire's shoulders, swung her around and Claire found herself face-to-face with Steve.
"Hi, beautiful." he said, smiling.
Claire couldn't answer. Her throat was dry and her heart raced wildly. She couldn't even look him in the eye at the moment.
'No no no.' she thought. 'This isn't happening! Why can't he just leave me alone?'
"I've got to go, Steve." she said softly, wrenching away from his grasp.
"Is that any way you talk to the man in your life?" Steve demanded as he blocked her way.
"Steve, I have to go. Leave me alone." she said, sounding much more harsh than she had intended.
Steve frowned. "Where are you off to?" he asked. His lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Oh, yeah. Your toy soldier: G.I. Leon."
Claire froze. "What are you talking about?"
"Come off of it." Steve snapped. "It's obvious the way you look at him. You do everything but foam at the mouth."
"Leon and I..." she trailed of helplessly. "Leon and I...we're just friends!"
"Yeah, just another of your 'special' friends in your life." He sniffed disdainfully. "I guess 'life' is good for him, huh?"
"You always had a nasty, suspicious mind--don't do this right now." Claire spat. Her hand forced the key into the lock and she felt Steve wrap an arm around her and fling her to the side of the car.
Feeling alarmed, she tried to struggle, but Steve had her pinned. He bent down and kissed greedily at her neck. Claire groaned in agony as Steve squeezed her breast and slid her hand under her blouse. She cried in pain as he pinched her nipple with the edges of his nails.
Although she didn't want them to, tears formed in her eyes. Steve was too heavy, she couldn't push him away. She felt paralyzed and useless, like her limbs didn't want to function properly.
"Help!" she managed to squeak but it didn't so much as echo in the vast parking lot.
Then, to her horror, Steve pulled his pants down and did the same with hers. Claire squirmed even more, trying, fighting with every fiber of her being to fend him off.
"Get off of me!" she shouted. "NO!"
Steve didn't listen, he held her down forcefully and, so quickly she couldn't stop him, he entered her. Claire screamed so loud she was sure they could hear her in Timbuktu.
"NO! PLEASE STOP! STOP IT, STOP IT STOP IT! PLEASE! NOOOOO!" Tears streamed down her face now and she was screaming with all her might. It was so painful she wanted to die.
"NO!" she screamed one final time and her eyes shot open. She was lying in bed, tangled in the sheets, face streaked with tears.
It took her a while to assure herself that it was only a dream. But it had been so real. Too real. It HAD been real a while ago, she supposed as she shivered alone in the dark. Steve hadn't been able to understand he'd been hurting her. Or he just hadn't wanted to. Claire felt sick, sick and alone.
Sniffling softly, she left her room and sat on a couch in the living room. Hugging a large pillow to her chest, she sobbed into it, hot tears flowing down her face for the first time in nearly two weeks. Please, she begged silently, don't let this be a daily thing'. It just wasn't fair. Just when everything was starting to look up for her, she had to be reminded of the past. And it was the past, she didn't ever want to see Steve again.
Feeling a hand on her back, she looked up and saw Leon standing over her.
"What's the matter?" he asked, looking into her bloodshot eyes.
Claire opened her mouth to tell him but the only thing that came out was an incoherent blubber as she felt tears in her eyes.
"Steve was...and I tried...hic...hic...it hurt so much..." she tried to say but her throat was so constricted she couldn't get a word out.
Leon seemed indecisive of what to do before he sat down next to her and gently stroked her back. To her credit, Claire tried to be tough, not to need someone to hold onto but she ended up falling into his arms anyway. Tear after tear fell until she was all cried out and her cheeks glistened.
Gentle fingers wiped the skin under her eyes and cheekbones before cradling her jaw. Leon's body seemed to tense up for a full ten seconds before he gathered up all his courage and made his move. He raised her chin up and bent to kiss Claire full on the lips.
Claire gasped as Leon's lips moved over her own, his hands stroking and twirling her hair. Her body became weak and she melted into his arms, content to be held now. Her mind slowly worked back, with every kiss and every caress she saw more. It was like a flash light shining into a dark corner. She saw Leon cleaning her hand, giving her the jewelry box and finally, the two of them locked in a hot embrace.
Leon's tongue worked into her mouth and tested the area. Claire eagerly met him and the heat between them intensified. Then Leon reached underneath her night shirt and she felt his rough hands on her inner thigh. She gasped as he moved up and an image of Steve appeared in her mind.
Trying hard, she forced herself to block him out by concentrating with all her might on Leon, but the more she did that, the more vivid Steve's face became, she could even begin to hear his voice.
'How could you let him touch you?'
'You think being with him will be less painful--it won't.'
Claire winced as Leon's other hand worked her right nipple.
'He won't be able to save you--you belong to ME. I'll never leave. YOU'LL never leave...you'll never leave...'
That last sentence echoed in her mind over and over again, like a cruel chant, her final destination. Leon's kisses went down to her neck, his lips gentle but urgent but all Claire could feel was Steve's hands, Steve's lips; roving her body and forcing her down.
Something like panic punched her stomach and she shoved Leon away. Although Claire was shaking violently, she hardly realized it as she pulled herself up and hugged her middle.
"Claire?" Leon asked, breathless and questioning.
His hand touched her shoulder and Claire squirmed away, wincing her eyes shut.
"Don't touch me, please." she whispered so softly that she had to repeat herself when Leon didn't hear.
"Why?" Leon asked, trying not to make the disappointment in his voice obvious.
"Because..." she trailed off helplessly. "I can't stand it. I keep seeing him."
When she said 'him' Leon scooted slightly, as if the very thought disgusted him and he wanted to get away. Claire dared to look up to him and his expression was even worse. His eyes were wide and his face was a deathly pale. He looked as if he were fighting off a howl of protest and accusation. As if he didn't believe she was being truthful.
"What--what do you mean?" he asked, his voice breaking although it was deep and controlled.
"When...when you touch me...it's not you touching me--it's Steve." Claire said softly. "I don't want it to be...but..."
She didn't know what else to say but she wished she did. The pain in Leon's eyes was almost unbearable and it pierced her heart almost as much as it was piercing his.
Leon took a big swallow and inhaled before bringing his forehead to his palms. Claire remembered that pose, Leon's thinking pose. She'd just never seen it look this intense. It was like seeing a huge internal struggle on the outside. He looked like he wanted to get angry, but was holding it back. He looked like he wanted to cry, but was holding it in. He looked like wanted to hit something, anything but he couldn't.
Finally, he looked back up. "Well...I--I'm sorry you feel that way."
"I'm sorry too--" she began but Leon held up a hand.
"But--" he said. "But, Claire, I'm NOT him. I'm NOT Steve, I'm Leon. Leon Kennedy and I would never--NEVER do anything remotely close to what that...that..." he groaned in frustration. "There's not a curse word strong enough for what he is but...the point is I care about you. Really really care about you and it hurts me to think that you'd think I'm like him."
"I didn't say that!" Claire protested.
"Then what did you say?" Leon demanded.
"I just said that..." Claire began defiantly but even as the words formed in her mind she realized they weren't too flattering. Leon knew what was coming, what she was going to say but the bastard was going to let her say it. "I...said that I feel Steve when you touch me..." she whispered.
"And I'll bet you see him when you look at me." he said.
"That's not true!" Claire said.
"But it wouldn't matter even if we were twins. Even twins are different, how I interpret this is that you can't tell the difference between him and me." Leon was teetering on the edge of anger now, he was sounding bitter.
"That...that's not true." Claire repeated, only weaker.
"Yes it is." Leon said. "You know it and I know it, the only difference is that you don't want to admit it."
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me... Claire immediately thought of the popular old saying and what a lie it all was.