A/N: Long time no see, eh? This story's a little deeper than the previous two…it actually takes some thinking to fit the lyrics in with the story. So don't hate me if it doesn't make sense at first. Please leave a review – you've no idea how much I take them to heart – and enjoy the story!

Disclaimer: "Tourniquet" is by Evanescence, and, of course, Resident Evil belongs to Capcom.

Tourniquet

Claire stepped out of the buzzing street, the bone-chilling cold, the whirling snowflakes and blustery wind, into a cavernous cathedral. It was quiet, and so dark she at first had trouble seeing. There were only four windows, tall and narrow, that cast grey panels of light against the dark walls. As she peered into the smoky gloom, Claire took a hesitant step forward, wincing as her tentative footstep echoed off the ceiling so high above.

This close to Christmas the church probably should've been packed, but for some reason it was vacant. Silent. Dead.

An empty shell where once there was light and joy.

Claire shivered in the hollow darkness and walked down the nave of the church, past deserted pews and scattered hymnals, guiltily pleased that she was alone. She didn't want any company just then – she only wanted time to be alone for a while, away from everything and everyone.

She only needed some time to heal.

I tried to kill the pain but only brought more

I lay dying

And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal

I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming

Am I too lost to be saved?

Am I too lost?

As she approached the altar, Claire turned left and stepped into a small chapel illuminated by dozens of golden candles. The light was soft and warm and reassuring. It reflected off a gold-backed panel painting of the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus in her lap. Mary's eyes looked down upon the dismal figure before her, offering neither condemnation nor salvation.

Something in the painting stirred a hidden feeling in Claire's heart, and with a heart-wrenching cry she fell to her knees. Who was she to stand there, before the Virgin herself? She'd killed and lied and sinned a thousand times over. What right did she have to seek deliverance from anyone? Why was she even wasting her time there?

And the answer came to her in the form of another question: what else did she have to try? There was nowhere else to go for comfort. Perhaps that God of so many people could save her where she herself had failed.

My God, my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

My God, my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

Claire didn't know how long she kneeled there, doubled over with her hands clutching at the rough, uneven stone floor while the sobs racked her fragile body and broken spirit. When she looked up through tear-filled eyes, one of the candles extinguished, sending a lazy curl of smoke from the blackened wick.

With a sniff, Claire stood and stumbled out of the chapel, back into the apse of the church.

She'd been wrong, so wrong. This church didn't help. It couldn't, and God couldn't help, either. Nothing could, now.

Do you remember me?

Lost for so long...

Will you be on the other side

Or will you forget me?

I'm dying, praying, bleeding, and screaming

Am I too lost to be saved?

Am I too lost?

The thought of going back out in the cold was an unpleasant one. And where would she go? Back to the hotel, to sit and stare at Chris's concerned face or to listen to Jill's attempts at comfort? Neither sounded any better than a hopeless meander through the abandoned church.

And besides, there were still open wounds to mend.

In the quiet darkness, she sank to her knees again and hugged her arms against her chest, trying to block out the bad memories that flashed on the back of her eyelids. Tears overflowed and trickled down her pale white cheeks. She'd wanted to be alone, but now that she was it felt so lonely, so cold and friendless…!

With trembling fingers she rubbed her eyes free of tears and leaned her head against the smooth white marble that formed the altar.

The altar smelled strongly of incense, rich and heavy to her delicate nose. It made her sneeze until she slowly got to her feet. Claire stood for a moment, glancing around, feeling as empty and cold inside as the cathedral itself. And then she moved away from the altar at something close to a run.

Her booted feet made clumsy clunking sounds as she fled over the velvet carpet. The silence grew deafening as Claire dashed into an empty stone hallway. She hurt so much inside, hurt from everything that had happened and from all that would inevitably come to pass, that she swore to herself she'd do anything to stop it. Anything to keep from feeling so drained and lifeless.

Claire shuddered once, then twice, and bit her lip to keep from doing so again. Why was it so cold in there? And why was it so empty?

My God, my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

My God, my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

Right foot, left foot, turn a little, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot.…

Claire hurried up the stairs leading to the bell tower, winding round and round and round until she was so dizzy she had to stop and wait a minute for the queasiness to fade. The air was cold, like sipping chilled water, and it hurt to breathe too much too fast.

She reached the top breathless and panting and looked out on the city of Paris. Dusk was fast approaching, painting the white dusting on the bell tower's balustrade apricot and amethyst, crimson and gold. The last few rays of sunlight diffracted through an icicle hanging from the eaves of the bell tower.

Small buildings, sprinkled with snow, sat in the shadow of several taller, sleeker business offices crowned with lacy frost. A fresh snow was falling, whipped this way and that by the howling wind. Claire swallowed and approached the parapet, glancing at the ground far, far below.

This high up, the noise of the city didn't reach her ears. There was only the sound of the wind and the snow, and then the deep toll of the bell in a tower nearby.

This was heaven – this was peace. Maybe God and all his minions had deserted her, but now she had this memory, of a silent city at sundown and the easy, tranquil feeling of the moment. But she knew it would not last forever. Nothing lasts forever…except the certain eternity of death. And the closure death brought with it.

As the ringing faded away, leaving Claire desolate on the balcony, three questions formed in her discontented mind.

Who would know if she fell?

Who would care?

And would it hurt when she hit the bottom?

My wounds cry for the grave

My soul cries for deliverance

Will I be denied?

Christ, tourniquet, suicide....