Heaven Can Wait

Kasage Starrunner

Disclaimer: Resident Evil and all characters, settings, monsters, and corporations associated with the game series and the movie are © Capcom and its affiliates. The author has no association with any of these companies.

All other characters and creations are © Kasage Starrunner. The author would like to note that Petra Cross, (Jo Sullivan, possibly) and Adrian Rhodes are part of a joint game project with her and friends, and that Petra will also be used in a collaborative mange started by Mangaworkshop.net. Also, the character Alex Quenby is based on her character, Quenby Andries from the Infinite Spiral Manga saga. Other character associations will be mentioned as necessary.

Also, feel free to correct my Resident Evil knowledge. I want to be accurate. Suggestions on that account are encouraged.

Author's Notes are available after the chapter.

A Cast List will shortly be available at my site, Let Me Live::

http://geocities.com/lukleia/claire.html

Warnings: Violence (as typical for Resident Evil), profanity (the worst namely on the part of Petra)--more warnings will be added if necessary.



Chapter Five: Mnemonic Mirages



Dr. Marion Forscythe's Report: The Lazarus Operation



Last night at 23:47, former Umbrella researcher Albert Wesker and myself completed an experimental procedure entitles the Lazarus Operation. The goal of this procedure is to reanimate the deceased human body and mind, restoring it to its previous sentient, living state, with the same quality of life and function it maintained before the death occured.

The Lazarus Operation is a biomedical procedure involving a virus that has been tentatively classified as the Easter virus. This virus is injected into the subject, called both Lazarus and Phoenix by the staff, in small incriments while in a state of crygenic hybernation. The temperature is slowly raised, causing the virus to become active. The Easter virus takes the place of the dead cells, replacing and mending the decaying tissue--even nerve and heart muscle cells which up to this point were not scientifically possible to regenerate. An I.V. solution provides the nurtition for this restoration process, like an umbilical cord for the corpse. Three carefully placed electric shocks are given at intervals to reanimate the nerves cells and cardio-vascular system, "resurrecting" the individual.

Previous attempts by out rival corporation, Umbrella, have proved futile and dangerous, as the incident in Raccoon City illustrates. However, the preliminary results of last night's procedure indicate to both Wesker and myself that the Operation was a success. The subject rapidly stabilized after the procedure, as indicated on the medical record, and we, the researchers, believe that he will awaken from his cryogenic state shortly. Test results indicate that the subject Steven Burnside will be able to resume normal life function, if his consciousness can be regained.

As miracualous as this procedure seems, I must caution that this has only been practiced twice with any success--and only one was under my supervision. The case involving this "pheonix" involved very special circumstances that scientists and medical officials alike can not afford to ignore: He was 17, in excellent physcal condition but for a large wound to the abdomen, and had very little decay due to below freezing temperatures at the time of death. There were also amounts of a foreign RNA substance that Albert Wesker took samples of. It's structure appears to be very similar to that of Umbrella's T-virus, with a couple of very odd anomalies. I am not certain if these remnants effected the results of the operation.

In closing, it is my suggestion that further testing by the Bio-ject Corporation is necessary before the results of this operation are made available to the larger research staff and public. Albert Wesker and I would like to request the time and funding to conduct more testing of this project in the near future, fulfilling our obligation to the corporation.

--signed, Dr. Marion J. Forscythe, M.D.



***

The little girl sat in the room as though she were the only one there. Blue eyes seemed to give an eerie, starlit glow from behind moon-pale lids. Her face had the same celestial quality, framed by sun-gold strands of hair. She looked like a porcelain doll, head tilted to the side. Her nimble fingers captured small insects from the floor, placing them on a long, thin arm. From there they climbed upward past her sleeves onto the black velvet of the dress, following her shoulder to the white collar near her throat.

That was when she started singing. Her voice was high and bird-like, as only a child's could be. It came perfectly on key with an echo that followed like a second harmony.

"There was a friendly, but naive King

Who wed a very nasty Queen.

The King was loved

And the Queen was feared.

"Then one day while strolling with his court

An arrow pierced the kind King's heart.

He lost his life

And his lady love."



***



Midfield Valley, Cross Residence



Claire awoke with the name 'Alexia Ashford' on her lips. She wasn't exactly what all her dream had contained, but the vision of those cold blue eyes and the song she sung--a song that played over and over again in Claire's mind--flashed before her consciousness and vanished, leaving her bewildered. She looked around the room anxiously, half-expecting to be back in the prison cell at Rockfort, with her tragic escape just another memory from a dream. However, the bed was too comfortable.

The red-head closed her eyes and breathed, trying to recall the events that had transpired yesterday--Midfield Valley, Chris, Jo, Petra ... She opened her eyes again revealing the still dark master bedroom. It was 6:30 a.m. and the sun hadn't risen yet. The young woman could still see the stars sprinkled across the sky through the window. She yawned and stretched in bed, becoming suddenly aware of how stiff and sore all of her muscles were.

She'd slept too long.

Stiff and aching, Claire slid from the bed, shoeless feet thudding softly against the beige carpeted floor. She stretched again, muscles in her neck spasming from where she had slept so soundly in a strange position. The woman was about to thoroughly examine the room when she heard a series of crashes on the lower floor.

Thundering down the stairs, the red-head sought for the kitchen. She found Chris and Petra there along with a dozen pans scattered about the hard-wood floor. It seemed that Chris had woken their host up fifteen minutes ago and she was groggy and, in her own words, quite bitchy. Petra had gone into the kitchen to fix something for breakfast, but when she opened the cabinet the cooking ware launched an all out attack on her, leaping from the shelves to the floor. The woman cursed profusely, holding her tender abdomen with one hand, and the knuckles of the other in her mouth. Chris was in the corner having a hearty laugh over the situation and quite frankly making things worse.

"Fucking hell!" Petra finally yelled, then slumped on a stool defeated.

Claire bent down and began collecting the pans, listening to Chris' laughter become a chuckle then disappear entirely. The red-head finished stacking the pans back in the cupboard, then stood, slapping her hands across her jeans. Petra sat on the stool, slouched and pouting like a five year old. Claire quickly looked away from her and resisted the urge to grin.

It became obvious that Claire had missed something when Chris patted the green-haired woman on the back and she lunged for his throat. The stool caught under her feet and fell toward the floor, but Claire caught it before it could add to this morning's ruckus. Petra wrapped her legs around the older Redfield's back, shrieking, "You bastard!" Chris laughed and fell into the bar, trying to disengage himself from the furious woman. He held her in the air and she kicked out, forced to grab the back of her baggy pajama pants to prevent them from falling off and revealing her underwear. The man set her on the counter and held her there as she hissed out heavy breaths.

"Someone needs a cigarette this morning."

"Yeah, and a cup of coffee, and breakfast, and about five more hours of sleep!" She aimed a foot for his crotch but missed as he dodged. The older man made for the living room, holding his now half-empty pack of cigarettes aloft like a carrot. "Here, Petra. Come on."

The woman growled, balling her fists, but followed. Her feet stomped across the floor and the dining room door slammed behind her. Claire watched in silence, swearing up and down that there was no explaination for her brother being such an ass. But then, he'd had no luck with her since they got back. She lowered her eyebrows.

"I guess that leaves me with breakfast. I wonder if I can cook eggs yet ..." She eyed the saucepan in the cabinet warily, then looked at the coffee machine. "Coffee first--I know I can make that. Maybe those two will be back to cook by then."

***



Petra stared at the plate and blinked. "What is this?"

"Eggs, bacon, and toast," Claire replied, taking a sip of coffee.

The green-haired woman poked at the blackened bits that she assumed were supposed to be bacon and grimaced. The eggs weren't in much better condition, greasy and burnt. They even appeared to be covered with a gelatinous slime that was the remains of too much cooking oil. She bit into the toast, which was a little dark, but at least it looked like toast.

"What did you do, Claire, put the T-virus in it?"

Chris dug in and ate heartily--despite the frightening appearance and Petra connotations. After nineteen years of living with Claire, he was used to his sister's cooking. The older man washed it down with a swig of coffee. "Actually, this is one of you better breakfasts."

Claire smiled as Petra looked between the two of them. She was not convinced. "You're fuckin' with me, right?"

Chris shook his head. "You should see her try to make omelets or pancakes."

The woman shuddered and poured herself another cup of coffee. "I'm voting Claire off the island--the kitchen island that is. From here on out the stove has a restraining order against her. She doesn't get within three feet of it."

"I'd vote myself off, but I was hungry," Claire laughed.

"Jesus, there's cereal in the cabinets--and I got fresh milk as soon as I got home. Next time spare me ... this." She stabbed at an egg as though it were alive. Chris raised an eyebrow. "I swear it moved." She stabbed it some more until it was thoroughly dead, then dumped the whole thing in the garbage. "Wasn't that hungry, anyway," she muttered.

"Sorry. I thought it might work this time."

"How can you fuck up eggs?"

"Easy," said Chris. "Claire touched them. She's a real marvel with her lack of cooking skills. She blows up hotdogs in microwaves and burns up T.V. dinners. Its amazing she can survive on her own at all."

Claire pinched him--hard. "Shut up! I don't burn T.V. dinners."

"I've seen you."

Petra rolled her eyes. "I'm going back to bed. Wake me up if the phone doesn't by 10." She tromped back upstairs, leaving the Redfields to clean up Claire's mess. As Chris scraped the goop out of the saucepan, he decided that he was siding with Petra on never letting Claire into the kitchen again.



***



Bio-ject Medical Fancility, Undisclosed Location



The bright lights of the medical facility glowed red through his eyelids as the young man regained consciousness. He felt fuzzy and numb. All of his limbs seemed like rubber to him, and they tingled with the fire of newly restored circulation.

"I'm alive."

It was his first coherant thought and he wasn't really certain why he thought it at all. It reminded him of something, fragmented memories from a dream, a place of blinding white and a sickening sense of fear and failure. No other memories came to him. They were shut off and unconnected with his neurons--cold storage behind a locked door with no key. He sought for it, but the it all remained just behind his vision.

Brown-green eyes flickered open to challenge the blinding light. He let his lids open and close until he could make out the white walled interior with no windows. He thought there was a curtain to one side of him, but wasn't sure. Too many blurry patches and black spots were running across his vision. The young man blinked, but they wouldn't go away so he closed them again.

He heard footsteps on the linoleum and a rushing sound as the curtain next to him was opened. A female voice called out, "Steve. Steve?" And it took him a moment to realize that she was addressing him.

The youth opened his eyes once again and stared blankly at the blurry woman in front of him. He twitched slightly and squinted, confused. The woman leaned forward and put her hand to his head. It was warm to the touch, which made him shiver. He hadn't realized how cold he was.

"You must be suffering from temporary memory loss, I'm sorry. Your name is Steve Burnside."

The name seemed to unlock a few images from his memory, but he could ony grab onto a couple before they fled him again. He heard himself speak and started at his voice. "Claire?" he stumbled, then wondered who that was.

The woman patted his hand, careful to avoid the tender area where the I.V. was taped down. "No, I'm not Claire. You won't know me, I'm Dr. Forscythe."

"Doctor?" He tried to raise his head, but the muscles would not respond. "Something happened?"

"You had a very close encounter with death, but you're going to be alright now."

Steve felt himself sink into the pillow. He was very tired--his eyelids felt like lead. They fluttered and closed against his will. The young man didn't like the lack of control, but there was nothing he could do. His brain was already overwhelmed. He tried to open his eyes, but the doctor shushed him and smoothed his hair.

"You rest now so you can make a full recovery."

Steve didn't get the chance to respond before he slipped back to sleep.

***

Midfield Valley, S.T.A.R.S. Headquarters



Alex Quenby had not made her S.T.A.R.S. team happy when she got them up at 3:00 a.m. It had been 35 degrees and breezy as she hiked them through the cow pasture behind the house. Besides hiking, they jogged, drilled, and were questioned by the unrelenting captain. At 5:00 a.m. they had all returned home exhausted and crawled back into bed, including the captain and Jo. It was now eight in the morning and Alex had showered--the plumbing at least had been finished before they arrived. As she walked into the kitchen and dining area, the wet-haired blond could hear her partner mumbling to herself.

"No--that's not it ...wait--yes ... There it is, haha!"

Alex had to face the facts ... Jo was a loon.

That loon, in fact, was sitting at a card table with four cups of bubbling liquid and a water-testing kit laid out in front of her. In her right hand she held an eye-dropper, carefully adding drops of specified chemicals to the cups. The brown eyes watched the reactions carefully.

Alex couldn't believe what she was seeing. "I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing, Jo."

"If you're thinking I'm actually going to drink these cups of soda, then no, I'm not doing what you think I'm doing." Another drop of the water-testing solution dripped into one of the cups. Alex watched her a moment, then shook her head.

"So what does it tell you?"

Jo just blinked at it for a moment.

"Jo?"

"It's ... safe? That can't be right."

The tall blonde laughed, picking up a cup and examining it. "I told you."

"I still don't believe it."

"It's over. Give it up. The sodas are safe to drink."

"I wouldn't say that." The brunette began cleaning the mess off of the card table. She dumped the soda in the sink and sighed. For now she was defeated. "So what's the plan for today?"

"More physical conditioning after lunch. I contacted the local youth club to borrow their indoor pool. We have to share that with some kids though. Keep the team on the deep end." The blond dug her sun goggles from her pocket and began springing the elastic so that it snapped back at her fingers. "That'll be one o'clock, maybe two. Probably some odd minute in between."

"You mean business with this late stuff."

"Yes, I do. They need to be aware that there are important times other than on the hour, half hours, and quarter hours."

"True. God, Umbrella will put an alert out at 1:27 a.m. if it suits them."

Alex nodded. "By the way, do you know of any 3-D holographic pragrammers locally?" It was a shot in the dark, but the woman had to ask.

"University, actually." Alex gave her a surprised look. "It's where Umbrella got their training technology from, why?"

"I want to set up some simulations. The only reason Raccoon City got so out of control was because their ass of a captain was a traitorous bastard and never taught them what they were up against."



***



Umbrella Headquarters, Paris, France



It had been a long day, and Valeris Davenport had the feeling that it was just about to get longer. Though exhausted from an early morning ... incident, there was triumph in the on the old man's face. In his hand he held the sole copy of the recording of the Tyrant in C-block which was captured by the JANUS system and conveniently erased at 07:05 hours G.M.T.

He laid the tape on his desk and examined it, thin lips curving just slightly upward. Yes, he owned an archival masterpiece--the sound and video recording of how Alex Quenby defeated a Tyrant without suffering injury. The old man wasn't certain he wanted to view the recording, fearing it would interrupt his mythic vision of the Herculean young woman. It could spoil the whole enigma that made her interesting in the first place. On the other hand, it may add more layers to the conundrum that was Alexis Quenby.

Valeris put the tape in the player and sat back to watch. He wasn't disappointed.



***



Audio-Visual Recording: The Tyrant in C-block



The camera turned and zoomed in as two figures in the black jumpsuits of Umbrella trainees stepped from the sub-floor elevator into C-block. Torn wires and pipes hung from the ceiling, barely visible in the red emergency lights. The taller figure turned to the elevator and gestured to someone inside. The JANUS system zoomed in closer, revealing the taller figure as Alex. The audio picked up.

"Get back in the elevator, Jo." The eyes glinted blue and red at the other figure, who stood glaring stubbornly, hands on her hips.

"You aren't fighting this thing alone, whatever it is."

"This is the G-virus block and there's no way in hell you're fighting a Tyrant."

"And hell will freeze over before I leave you on your own. Let's decontaminate this block and get out of here."

"Fine," the woman spat. The two turned from the doors. They closed behind them and the elevator began its ascent, whirring up to a surface level. The computer switched to another camera as they walked, registering their Glocks and combat knives on a side screen. It returned to a standard view as the two trainees examined their surroundings.

"This is pretty well locked down, but the subject broke through the glass," said Alex.

"No contamination other than the monster, right?"

"None. Hopefully our escapee won't cause any damage now that we're down here."

A static line ran across the image as a clicking sound was heard.

"What was that?" asked Jo.

"Air in the ventilation system. Happens all the time on the subfloors."

The tall blond leaped through the broken glass, then helped her partner scramble over the side unscathed. The camera switched to the interior of the room. The light was cold--red warning lights made dim by the cold flourescent tubes in the ceiling. The airlock door in the corner was open, mechanical lock hanging from sizzling wires.

"Laboratory, Alex? It's awful clean."

"Everything's packed away. Lucky for the researchers they'd all left for the night."

The brunette looked through the cabinets, boots thudding on the floor. "Chemicals--nothing useful."

Alex raised an eyebrow. It appeared as though she didn't agree, but said nothing, peering through the observation windows lining three-fourths of the room. It was hard to see through them due to the combined force of glare from the lights and a fog coating the glass. The fog was strange, due to some temperature change between the two rooms. That meant the door had been busted recently, or the fog would be gone by now. The tall blond rubbed on the glass, clearing the window so she could see. She stepped back as a smeared trail of blood became hidden behind the fog again.

"Gross," commented Jo, disgusted. "Someone didn't leave before it got out."

"Come on. I'm getting hungry."

"What!?"

Alex said nothing and walked through the open lab door, crouching in a defensive position. The camera switched to a better angle as Jo rejoined her in the picture, weapon drawn. The ventilation system rattled again and the brunette tightened her grip on the gun, brown eyes looking up and down the wide hallway nervously.

The blond looked back at her and moved forward, speaking in a quiet, yet harsh tone. "Put that away. The Glock's out last resort and could even prove useless. We only have a couple rounds between the two of us." The brunette reholstered the gun and moved into the open. Static ran across the screen and she looked around like she heard something again. Jo glanced at Alex.

"I heard it too," she reassured her, standing straight with her head cocked slightly.

Static ran across the screen again and a loud *thud, thud* was heard. The computer checked its cameras in several boxes at the top of the screen then resumed the standard view of the two trainees. Alex was now walking by the far wall, seemingly examining the structure.

"Looks like they store B.O.W. gas in D-block of this subfloor. That's going to make things difficult. There's a line running through that pipe in the ceiling." The camera followed her gesture to a large insulated pipe, then panned back to the blond.

The thudding was coming louder, mixed with the slight clang of the metal floor. The footsteps of something bi-pedal and heavy were now obvious. It echoed down the hall as the vent rattled again. Alex swung her head up and down the hall, then put the laboratory door to the left of her and Jo behind her. There was movement down the red-lit hall as a dark shadow moved steadily toward them. Jo shivered once, then crouched, ready to take any of the blond's suggestions.

*Clank, clank* The shadow reached the edge of the white light and paused, revealing itself. The computer registered the heart-rate of the brunette rising rapidly. The blond stood staunch and unchanged, as the pale light revealed the advanced height and musculature and the long clawed arm of a Tyrant Type 2. It's silvery-gray skin gleamed like a sick, full moon as it began to walk towards them again.

"Oh God, Alex. That's a--"

"I know." The woman dug her feet into the floor, tensing her muscles. From where the camera sat, it saw the tightened muscles on the back of her neck clench, as though she were gathering energy to her. She grabbed her combat knife with her fist, the bladeless half near her thumb and stood poised, letting the monster get a few precious feet closer.

"What are you do--"

"Stay here," Alex hissed, and charged headlong at the Tyrant. The monster let her approach without making a move, just staring with vacant eyes. Five feet from him the woman launched herself in the air, jamming the knife at the weak space between where the clavicles and sternomastoids met. The combat knife connected with skin and literally snapped in two. Unphased, the blond rebounded off the Tyrant's chest, barely dodging the razor clawed arm as it struck towards her. She returned to Jo's side as the brunette shook her head.

"The knife--"

"No kidding. Bullets are going to be like paintballs to this thing."

Alex looked around the room, searching for her next move. Her head turned from the lab to the Tyrant. She grabbed Jo and pulled her close. "There's a gas-mask on the far wall behind the Tyrant-monster. Go get it and put it on. I'm going to try something." She detached her handgun from her belt. "Take this. Keep it busy."

"What!"

Alex had already dived back into the lab. The brunette couldn't see her through the fogged glass. The computer split the screen. Jo holstered the second gun, and Alex began removing various chemicals from the storage cabinet. Alex and the chemicals became a small box in the corner of the screen as the camera followed Jo.

"Right arm's dangerous. Creature lunges right--dodge right ..." the young woman mumbled. The Tyrant made a move like he was about to charge, and the brunette started bravely forward, watching the Tyrant's muscles for any sign that it was predicting what she was doing. She dipped left like she was going around that side, tricking the monster into lunging for her as she did a remarkable switchback, running instead around the right side.

The camera angle switched as she ran for the gas mask on the back wall. It was a race for the young woman to put the gas mask on her face before the Tyrant turned around and cornered her. Finally, the mask slipped on and just as the monster charged she ran around the right side again. The edge of its foot tripped her and she fell to the floor, but scrambled up in a reasonable amount of time and began looking around her for a distraction. Static ran across the screen again.

Jo stepped backwards across the hall, glancing here and there but keeping a relatively close eye on the Tyrant. Suddenly, she ran to the side of the hall and yanked a fire-extinguisher out of its case, holding it between herself and the creature like a weapon. In the top corner it was visible that Alex was now carefully mixing chemicals, though Jo herself had no idea she was doing this.

The Tyrant grew closer and the short woman tightened her grip on the extinguisher. She aimed the short hose on the end carefully. When it was only a few feet from her she began spraying the creature straight in the eyes, stepping backward at a quick pace. The monster roared and lashed out, but couldn't see where it was aiming.

Jo glanced behind her. The lab door wasn't far away now. The extinguisher ran out, so she threw it away with a clang. Still moving steadily backwards she unholstered the two guns and fired them simultaneously until she was forced to reload. Before she could holster one of the guns, a hand grabbed her from behind and pulled her into the lab. The split screens became one again.

Jo looked around. Alex was standing behind her, holding a sealed off test tube. "Get to the back of the room and get down, Jo. This is going to get messy." The woman in the gas-mask hesitated, but ran to the other side of the room, jumping through the broken glass and ducking behind the wall where she couldn't be seen.

Alex turned to face the Tyrant, a sickening grin on her face. She held the test tube delicately between thumb and forefinger. "Say goodnight, Tyrant." She threw the tube and ducked, pulling her arms over her head. As the glass impacted and shattered against the Tyrant's chest, it exploded, knocking out several cameras the computer had been using. When it finally found a new view all that remained of the monster was dripping tissue on the walls. A B.O.W. gas leak was contaminating the subfloor and the Biohazard busser was activated. The tape went dead.

Needless to say, the recording was put in the drawer for safekeeping.



***



Midfield Valley, Davenport Estate, Stables



Alfred stepped trepidously through the aisle of the stable, hoping none of the horses could reach him with their teeth. They eyed him with curious brown eyes and those that could stuck their heads out and sniffed, ears pricked forward in interest. He dodged away from them and one whinneyed--laughing at his fear.

He finally reached the tackroom where a pony was cross-tied in the stable aisle to be groomed. The small equine grabbed at the straps attached to his halter with tactile lips and tongue, slobbering all over them pleasantly. It snorted at the sickly Davenport and swished its tail, giving a yawn after a few seconds. Alfred held his hands out and let it sniff him as he waited.

"I know you're in here," he said, suddenly. "Come out of there."

"Coming, Alfred."

A ten-year-old girl walked out of the tack room, carrot in one hand and a brush in the other. She held out the carrot, which the gray pony took graciously, careful not to knick the china hands with his yellowed teeth. The girl turned to the thin boy and gazed through him with her icy blue eyes. She must have found nothing important on his face, for she turned casually around and walked under the cross-ties to begin brushing the pony. Her pale golden hair shimmered as she turned, then lay still on her back but for an occasional rustle that occured as she stretched her arm to brush. They gray's lips quivered contently as the dust was lifted off of him.

"What do you want?" she asked, standing on her tiptoes to reach the crest of the neck. Alfred watched her intently for a moment before the question registered.

"You were outside. You aren't supposed to be outside during the day."

"I had to exericise Pepper."

"Someone saw you out there. I hate inventing stories."

The girl moved to Pepper's shoulder. "Its not like they could see me well. I was in one of the back fields."

"That's not the point. You should have been in the dormitory. That's where you should be now."

"But everyone else is asleep. It's so boring."

"Father will be angry."

"I have to take care of Pepper." The blond girl set her jaw stubbornly and glared at Alfred. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle under the cold gaze.

"I just don't want you to get in trouble and you should really be with the others."

The girl sensed the worry and stopped frowning. She replied to him, warbling with a dove's voice. "Alright, let me finish with my pony and I'll go back." She looked out the door, a rain cloud seeming to pass over her face. Alfred felt the mood change and was sad for yelling at the younger girl.

"I'll come and play with you there."

She smiled, blue eyes brightening. Her golden hair fell over her shoulders as she leaned in toward the pale, blond boy. The black, dust-covered dress rustled slightly. "Bring them."

"The ants? Of course I will."

There was a long pause as the girl stood, brush posed in her hand. She put it down and ran her fingers up the gray. "You can bring them," she said, smile never leaving her lips. She slipped under the cross-ties and grabbed Alfred's thin fingers. "Yes, do bring them--but I meant the butterflies."



***



Midfield Valley, Cross Residence



Petra groaned and stretched as she got dressed. It was 9:30 and the extra three hours of sleep had done her a world of good. The frostbite still spread red across her abdomen and she now had bruises from the pans, but was less exhausted than yesterday. She rubbed some first-aid ointment on her stomach then pulled a tight orange shirt over it. A little flesh peeked out between the baggy black pants and the shirt, but she felt no need to change it now. The outfit she wore in Anarctica now hung in her closet, gloves with the knee and elbow pads shoved into a drawer.

The woman stepped from her room to the bathroom, pomading her limp hair so that it spiked up in the back the way she liked it too. Hands reached for the rewetting drops and put them into her eyes to keep her contacts from moving around. She blinked as she heard Chris tromp by. When the woman was certain he'd gone downstairs, she reentered the hall and walked to Claire's room.

She knocked. "Claire?" When there was no answer Petra opened the door. She could hear water running in the master bathroom. The red-head was in the shower.

Petra stepped back to leave the room when something on the dresser caught her eye. She walked over and picked up the paper that was next to a red zippo. The gloss revealed that it was a photograph, so she held it delicately between her fingers. The purple eyes gazed intently, then blinked. She turned it over but there was no writing on the back. The woman looked at the picture's front again. There was a man sitting next to a blond woman. Behind them, a familiar boy with auburn hair leaned forward.

"The boy?" she whispered. The water shut off. She gave the picture one last glance, then put it gentley back on the desk by the lighter. Her face felt hot and her eyes stung. The shoeless feet barely made a sound as she slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her as though she had never entered.

TBC in Chapter Six.