Author's note: That took long. Sorry, but I'm just incredibly pissed off that a rival model, THE only rival model (other than those b*stards Louie and Richard) of mine got a spot for a phone company's new commercial. And they say that modeling is an easy job? Hell no. You lose sleep, you have to move fast backstage, and you have to be careful of anything that you eat…and HE GETS THE F*CKING commercial. Son of a b*tch. I hate being 17.
Hotaru: Birth certificates are a cowardly and superstitious lot.
Orion's Shadow: (I still haven't watched the last episode of Buffy…)
Redfield 99: Thanks for the heads up. I'm a little too lazy to have to change everything, though.
Chapter 4: "Coffin"
It was a horrible cliché. Dark clouds hovered, covering everything in sight with a depressing tint of gray. As if God did not find the depression enough, a shower of ice-cold rain fell from the sky. Ever helpful. Black umbrellas were kept up as the spectators watched the coffin get laid to the earth. A stone angel was watching over the open ground. The falling rain made it look like tears were falling down her cheeks. It was cold. Mud mixed with the grass, while trees swung helplessly, yet elegantly, as if all coordinated by some twisted puppeteer.
"She's practically my age…" Derrick thought as he watched in silence. The young man wore a simple black suit, a black tie, and a pair of ruined, black leather shoes. Beyond where the body rested, were Chris and Jill, people he never knew, only heard of. "She was so beautiful…" anyone could tell that, even those who were unfortunate enough to not have met Heart Redfield. Everyone suffered at her hands, not because of the pain she may have caused when she was alive, but rather, the hope that was kept in their hearts. The hope of the things that she could have accomplished if she did not die. Believing that she would survive only made it more painful for them to accept the truth. She was killed by something inside her, inescapable darkness.
Chris had his arm around Jill's shoulder, while his free hand was clenched in both of hers. They subdued the tears with painful expressions. Keeping back pain was always a mistake. Both of them were heroes, icons, legends that were more human that most others this day. A handsome young man held an umbrella over them, getting almost half of his body open to the stabbing drops of water. "He was her boyfriend." Derrick thought. He saw the young man had a more steady expression, just like Chris did. Both of them found a great deal of strength. They shared a class in integrated multimedia.
Derrick felt his arm cramp, so he shifted the umbrella onto his left hand. His mother, ironically, was the one who wasn't able to come. His glance fell onto his father, just a few inches shorter than he was. Barry kept on him the same black suit that his son wore, save that Barry's was made by Armani, which would mean all the difference in the world. The old man looked sincerely solemn by the turn of events. Derrick didn't know that his father was capable of such a thing. "Concentrate on the wooden casket son…not on everything else." Barry reminded, not even looking back. "…And there I thought you almost cared about something." Derrick cut back, keeping his voice low. "Is this really the time?" His father asked, somewhat threateningly. It was enough to hush his son into cooperation.
It was hard for Derrick to believe that these people once worked together in stopping apocalypse. The end however, erupted not in the world, but in themselves. Each one of them was torn, haunted. He didn't know that the same virus, which killed Heart, was also the infection that was crippling his father. The whole idea of undead monsters and superhuman spies seemed a little far-fetched for the young man, even after all of the stories and archives that he's seen in his life. It would explain why his father was so cold.
"…You know son…death is the greatest lesson one could learn."
"I'm sure that she'll appreciate that." Derrick responded sarcastically, referring to Heart.
"No…not just death…but pain. Hardship, suffering…all leading to the ultimate isolation, which is the end." Barry continued, ignoring his son's impulsive commentary. "You see Derrick…it isn't the happy, shiny things that mold you into what you will become…rather….it is the strife."
"…Thank you dad…I feel so much better now. I hope that you don't plan on giving the same inspirational speech to the Redfields…because I don't think that they'd appreciate the sentiment."
"I don't have to. They already know the truth."
"That life's one big hellhole? Is that your truth?"
"…" Both of them were glad that they weren't too near any other of the grieving people, as their constant bickering had already caught the ears of those nearest to them.
It was bittersweet, a recollection of old friends amidst atrocious sequences. The wake was held in the house where Chris and Jill stayed ever since they finished off the last traces of Umbrella and HCF. For the first time, the house was crowded with people, men and women they worked alongside with, saved, at one point loved. Neither Leon nor Claire could be found, and some people heard that the latter committed murder. The former simply vanished.
"I'm so sorry for your loss." Derrick overheard a middle-aged woman inside the kitchen, talking to Jill Valentine, Heart's mother. "Thank you… Ada." Jill responded, already weary of tears. "If there's anything we can do for you…anything at all." The Asian woman had as much dignified posture as Jill; both of them were clearly under heavy military conditioning. Both of them were extremely elegant, even though the circumstances would push practically anyone into isolation. Derrick didn't realize how much of a façade everyone was keeping.
He was alone, leaning against the wall, watching everyone come and go, talking to each other, reliving the past. Derrick wondered where his father went, and at the same time, thanked heavens that he had some time away from the old man. It was a large house, so even though there were plenty of people in attendance, he could always find a place to keep to himself. The living room was most populated, seeing as it was the largest room in the entire house. Derrick kept away from there, and kept on wandering around.
"…She had her mother's eyes." Chris whispered as he looked out the window of their massive bedroom. At one point, it was beautiful. Nothing in it changed, but now, the beauty wasn't there. Out the window he could see below, the gazebo where Mark and Heart spent most of their time. "Yes…I remember." Barry placed a hand on Chris' shoulder, still a step back from his former comrade.
"…How did it all…?" the older man asked. "It's a long story." Chris responded before Barry finished his question. "The strain was in her?" Barry asked, to which Chris just nodded in reply. "…I'm supposed to be the wiser, more experienced soldier here, Chris…the one who seems to have expert advice on everything…I'm not. But I do know that things like these…tragedies…they are there for a reason. They make us stronger."
"…I don't want to be stronger. I just want her back."
"Excuse me." Interrupted a female voice. It was Rebecca Oliviera, along with her husband, Carlos. Like all the rest, they were clad in black. In silence, all of them exchanged embrace, everyone save for Chris and Rebecca, who simply stared at each other. "…" Rebecca slowly took a step towards Chris, and placed a hand on his cheek.
Chris could feel all the pain in those hands, from the moment that Heart came to her attention, to her final, failed, attempts at bringing Chris' daughter back to life. They remembered the drama, Mark's chance of false redemption, Jill's stoic state, Heart's final breath. It was hard for anyone who was there to forget. Rebecca's face faltered, then she soon found herself once again in tears, as she entered Chris' embrace. Carlos and Barry looked on. They always thought that the nightmare would end when all the companies were gone. Heart's death proved them all wrong.
"…Mark." Derrick greeted solemnly.
"Hey." Mark replied, sitting by the lake that was just beside the Redfield estate. They knew each other from school, as well as from the war stories they heard about their parents. Contrary to what some people may believe, it really was difficult being popular. People talk about you, most others hate you for the simple reason that you look like you have it better off.
"I'm sorry." Derrick said, customary, as he sat beside Mark on the cold, sharp grass. Both of them had their legs extended forward, leaning back and resting on their hands. "I don't even know what I'm still doing here." Mark told him.
"…You knew her. That's more than I can say for the rest of us."
"…She's gone now. And if she's the only one in this house who actually gave a shit that I existed…?"
"You're…part of their family." Derrick said, hoping to comfort Mark. "You don't know that." He whispered to Barry's son, given up on hope. He knew that he was only there, because Heart wouldn't forgive either Chris or Jill if the person that she loved wouldn't be in her own funeral. "I should've been the one who died…not her." Mark continued, his eyes were once again stinging with salt water.
"…Don't say that." Derrick wasn't there, but he knew what happened. Everyone did. Rumors were stories that turned into tortuous wraiths. In this case, the whole area of Stoneville became haunted.
"I can't let anyone see my face for what I did…I'm a failure even at killing myself.
"…Maybe…it's God's way of saying that it wasn't your time?"
"…Maybe. We…we were supposed to share all our classes together for this term. She was looking forward to that Literature class."
"…It sucks anyway…"
"Yeah, it does."
"…What are you going to do now?"
"Other than space out wherever I go?"
"Yeah?"
"…Habitat…for humanity. I think…I never… realized how important family is, you know? I mean… it's all that shit about caring for each other…standing by each other…but that's not just it. A family is something more. I don't know hot to explain it…but you get what I'm saying, right?"
"…Yeah. I do."
The sky was still gray when the guests headed back to their cars. Soft rain drizzled on their heads, some opted to use their umbrellas, while others didn't. Derrick kept an umbrella over his father's head as they traversed the wet grass, just as silent as the rest. He didn't know where Mark would truly go on from there, how long it would take him, and especially Jill and Chris, to recover from seeing their loved one in the coffin. "…Life is precious, isn't it?" Barry asked rhetorically, to no one in particular. Derrick always hated his father's semi-philosophical ramblings from ever since his accident. To him, his father's words were pointless.
"…Yeah." He rode along to his father's train of thought. In any light, life really was precious, but that is a fact that would always go unmentioned. Wind swirled about them, contorted into nymphs that seemed to take special interest in their melancholy. Derrick looked back on the beautiful house where Heart once lived. Beauty taken away.
In a gruesome fashion, the funeral was an open relief for Derrick, whose conscience kept on snapping at his neck. Sadness, tears, they were enough of a diversion for him. Unfortunately, the stall has ended, and he will soon find himself thrust back into the world of mixed truths and lies. As powerful as any nightmare, the thought of his interaction with Alex in the canteen warped back to his mind, like a blunt instrument. Alex hasn't called since then.
Barry didn't notice his son's obvious trepidation, in a way, he didn't bother to care. He knew his son was already of age, he could tackle his own problems. The old man was still involved in his own views of life, vindictive, bitter. He was ashamed of having a son that never excelled in anything, unlike his two beautiful daughters, the very symbols of perfection in his shattered life. Derrick was the epitome of mediocrity. Barry hated him for that.
"When is mom coming back?" Derrick asked his father.
"…Next Sunday." The old man replied. "You asked me that question before we got out of the car." He then complained to his son, showing his disfavor once again. "…I forgot." Derrick responded, wondering why he ever thought he could open a window of conversation. "I'm more than twice your age…and my memory is still sharper. That isn't a good sign, boy." The old man then further berated. As always, Derrick kept a steady silence. "Where are we going now?" Derrick asked, desperate to change the subject. He was succeeding in keeping his mind off of Alex.
"…Home, if that isn't obvious enough." The old man smirked, proud of his constant snippets. It was pathetic for a man to find pride in his ability to rebuke a person, and Barry has gone of the deep edge.
Author's note: So what if he is 3 years older than me? We look practically alike, we have the exact same attitude, I should be in that stupid commercial! Okay, now I am very shallow and obnoxious. If somebody calls me by his name again in school tomorrow, or if somebody mistakes me again for him, I am going to seriously wreck stuff. I'm joining an agency in the end of the year, I won't let him get another one over my head. Wow, it IS fun to vent.