Chapter Twenty:



Claire blew her nose into the lightly scent handkerchief and breathed deeply. Fall was fading away quickly. Soon all the crisp, golden leaves would be gone from the trees and barren snow would cover the ground. A depressing season to follow after an equally depressing funeral. Despite the overall mood of the funeral that had taken place an hour earlier, Claire couldn't find it in her shed a single tear. For the past few days, she had planned Steve's departure as Leon lay in a cold hospital bed, slipping in and out of consciousness due to his extreme blood loss.
Even though the wind was cold, the sun shone cheerfully, a real irony, especially after the unexpected rain spell that had occurred in the past week. In Claire's hand was a small note that she had folded over six times so that it fit neatly in her palm. She had waited impatiently as she kissed her old acquaintances good-bye (she could hardly call them friends anymore since she hadn't seen them in years). To her, they were just people who happened to find out that Steve had passed away and wanted to cause dramatics. Although one old girlfriend of hers genuinely seemed ready to die herself as they put Steve into the ground. Claire didn't want to know why the girl's horrible sobs echoed so loud in the cemetery for a man she hadn't even been close to…she knew the answer wouldn't be good.
Now the cemetery was empty; completely devoid of any life or sound except for the occasional hum of an eerie hymn being carried in the breeze—just her imagination, she chided herself as she made her way to the burial plot were Steve was resting.
Unfolding the paper, she cleared her throat. Written on blurry pencil hand was her personal eulogy for the late Steve Burnside. The one that held her true feelings about her ex-lover and not a few pretty words thrown together to sound appropriate to a priest or guests.
Clearing her throat, Claire took a deep breath and read:

'Dear Steve, I never imagined that this would happen. Not us getting separated, but you dying first and me being left behind. I always thought that it would be the other way around. I either killed myself or you relieving me of that duty.' Claire released a shaky sigh and swallowed hard. 'Not that I never wished that you died. There were many nights when I would sit up alone and wonder where you were and what you were doing—and I knew just exactly WHAT you were doing. I HATED you so much I wished you would drink yourself to death or would get into a fight so bad that they would just drop you off the edge of a cliff…I always felt bad after I thought it, but you somehow managed to always, always make my thoughts turn to that.'

At that point, Claire stopped reading. The words that came out of her mouth were so calm, so docile. Her heart pounded erratically, knowing that what she read wasn't exactly what she was feeling. Her eyes scanned the head stone. Written on the polished rock was the name Steve Burnside in bold print, underneath was his birth and death date, etc. The last inscription was …he will always be in our hearts…
She certainly hadn't chosen the headstone, not on purpose at least. She had pointed listlessly at one that looked the least frivolous and then left in a hurry. Now she was paying for it. Not in my heart, she thought bitterly. I don't want him inside me anymore!
Another voice intervened before Claire could rip her hair out in aggravation, then let him out…
The whisper was vague and soft, but it echoed in Claire's ears like a rock song you couldn't get out of your head. Let him out, let him go, let YOURSELF live…
Feeling a surge of fresh anger build inside her, Claire let out a loud shriek that could have knocked a few of these moldy oldies out of their graves and force them to listen too.
"Oh God, Steve, I HATE YOU!" she cried tearfully, but with so much projection a flock of birds flew from the safe haven of a nearby redwood. "I hate you for being so selfish and for being such a fucking bastard!
"I hate you for going with other women, for drinking, for beating the crap out of me!"
On the last word of that sentence, her voice rose so high that she nearly busted a blood vessel in her throat. Even though her throat was fine, something obviously broke because soon tears were streaming down her cheeks; fresh, hot tears that burned her eyes and seared her skin as they traversed down to her chin.
She choked on sob after sob and until the next words were a warbled, incoherent babble.
"Was it…something…sniff…that I…did…Steve?" she asked. "Was it…really…my fault…all…all along?" Her sniffles subsided as an unsullied upsurge of ire inflamed her. "Did I DO something to drive to drinking?!" she demanded. "What did I DO?! GODDAMNIT, just ONCE TELL WHAT I DID WRONG! DAMN IT, STEVE, TALK TO ME!"
The dullard-like silence that followed only seemed to infuriate her even more.
"It WAS my fault, wasn't it?" Claire ranted, stamping her foot in agitation. "Well, I'm sorry for making your life so damn miserable! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for being so boring that you needed alcohol to give you excitement. I'm sorry that I couldn't be everything to you. Do you hear me, Steve?" The last remark was directed in no particular direction, heaven bound, hell bound, you decide. "I'm SORRY!!!"
One last heavyhearted sob and her voice died out completely. No sound came from her mouth no matter how hard she tried. Without realizing it, she had fallen to her knees and was now sitting like a lost little girl at the mall.
Hugging the trunk of her body, Claire leaned over, shivering from either relief or the cold numbness that she was succumbing to. Her eyes closed tightly and she allowed her whimpers to cease completely. Gazing up, she saw from the first time the little statue at the base of Steve's headstone. Blinking her eyes roughly, she swallowed deep and examined it closely.
The little cherub was kneeling in prayer; the face upturned heavenwards, a look of hope in the inanimate eyes. A concrete angel, she thought ruefully. That's what Steve had been…if not in the end, then at least in the beginning. An angel…but one that had been thrust into the real world too quickly and the mind was suddenly poisoned by the cruel and hardhearted methods.
As hard as it had been for her, she suddenly realized that it couldn't have been any easier on Steve. He had been young, younger than she, when he lost his family, and being a boy, he was much more immature than his age. The things he had seen, Umbrella's evil ways, was too much for a…child like him…some of it must have affected him in even the smallest ways. Eating away at him, like a parasite until it just got to be too much and he had to get it out in one way or another. But…why did he choose the hardest way of all?
Claire wiped her eyes, the reality of it all hitting her hard. Understanding flooded through her and she could suddenly see exactly what had happened. But with this newfound clarity, grief followed. If only, if only, if only… she thought softly. She could have helped him if she had been less blind before.
But what could have opened her eyes. Gazing again, on the concrete angel, she realized that Steve couldn't have stayed any longer. A fish couldn't stay out of water for long because of it's gills…Steve couldn't stay in this world that he had suddenly come to hate…maybe, just maybe, he was in better place now. Maybe not heaven right away, but…did he really deserve hell?
Yes, definitely. One part of her declared passionately. But the other part of her whispered, Wait, in time, you will be able to decide. Forgiveness might not come for a very long time, but maybe one day. For now, just say good-bye.
Standing up, she cleared her throat. No good, her voice was still gone. Instead, she mouthed the final words, 'Good-bye, Steve.' She backed away, her eyes never wavering from the angel on the grave. 'Good-bye.'




Beeps…beep…beep… The little machine against the wall beeped steadily, arousing Leon from a deep, deep sleep. A coma was more like it. It was so heavy, so dark, and so dreamless. His eyes opened to a bright, white room devoid of any beauty except the girl lying on the worn, leather armchair to his right. His arm felt like crap, his stomach felt like shit…his whole body was a wreck. When he looked down, he saw why.
Needles and wires were poked all along his forearms and his torso was in bandages that were stained a light pinkish color. Groaning in an effort to sit up straight, he looked again to Claire who was sleeping deeply on the less-than-comfortable looking hospital chair.
Smiling despite his pain, he looked down at her with a stunned awe. He hadn't seen her for a while. For the past few days, he had been asleep, sometimes waking long enough to get an idea of where he was, but then falling back into unconsciousness. To his dismay, Claire had never been there when he was awake, and he would have been less than human if he said that that didn't bother him at least a little.
Leon wanted to reach over and stroke her hair, caress her chin, wake her up…but something in the deepness of her slumber made him stop. She looked so…happy, so at peace with everything and everyone. The serenity of her sleep made him feel guilty for even fathoming the idea to wake her.
Instead, he just sat and watched her body rise and fall with the steady rhythm of her breathing. She had her legs drawn up to her chest and her hands were cradling her chin like a makeshift pillow. Her face, although clear and still seemed different. She looked like a person who had just gotten rid of a heavy burden but was now dealing with the aftermath. Dark circles shadowed her eyes and her face was tear-stained, shiny traces still evident where the salty excretion had traveled.
On the table between them was a newspaper opened to the obituary section. Looking down, Leon saw a picture of Steve at the bottom. The reality suddenly hit him. Steve had died. He was gone from their lives forever. Poor Claire…she must have been suffering so much now. She had to have planned his funeral right down to the eulogy, all that stress must have been frustrating, and Leon hadn't been around to help her with it.
Examining her visage carefully, Leon realized just how tired and worn she looked. His heart sunk as he saw her weary expression and thought about how it had been his fault she was like this. If he hadn't come back into her life, she wouldn't be in this mess, Steve would be alive and they would have worked out their problems. There would have been none of this bullshit with the police or any other type of obstacle that was in the way of her happiness.
Shame filled Leon as he looked down at his hands. It was his fault that Claire was in this mess. It really was. He had been so selfish. He'd come to California and forced his way back into her life all for the sake of some lost dream of having some right to be in her world. To be her world.
Tears filled his eyes as he realized how self-centered and idealistic he had been. He was only lucky that Claire had been strong enough to overcome and rise above all the bullshit around her. Looking into her face, a description quite accurate to what she really was came to him: concrete angel. She truly was a concrete angel. A creature so delicate but so strong and resilient that it could survive through anything. That could be hit again and again, both physically and mentally and still have the resolve to fight back.
What right did Leon have to such a phenomenal woman like her? What did he expect from her anyway? He certainly didn't want to stay in California forever and it would be wrong to ask Claire to go anywhere with him. She had a job here; her only means of family was here…her life was here. Not with him in Chicago or in Ireland or where ever the hell he wanted to go.
Leon's wallet was on the table beside the newspaper, the little Spitfire emblem grinning maliciously at him. Reaching for it, he opened to where he had his sister's address in Chicago. Looking from the address to Claire, he made up his mind to leave her forever. Maybe she might actually be something big without any ties at all…