Chapter 5: Wait
Claire lay back on Leon's bed, starring up at the ceiling in the dark. She possessed no notion of how long she had sat on the floor of the bedroom sobbing and whimpering in his arms like a lost puppy, hours maybe but it could have been days for all she knew. Eventually she had managed to find the ability to speak and her first words had been ones to force her friend from the room. Claire had told him that she didn't need his help, that she'd be fine without it.
'Men.' The girl thought irritably, turning onto her side. 'Always trying to offer comfort even when you don't want it…even when you don't need it. They just assume that because you're a woman you'll need a shoulder to cry on.' Well…maybe she did but that didn't give Leon any right to just assume it.
With a frustrated grunt Claire rolled back over onto her left side once more and shook the thought away. It wasn't fair Leon was only trying to help, only trying to be a good friend. Still, the thought had felt good. It felt good to feel angry, to feel anything except lost and broken and alone. Alone, that was the worst one of all.
There was another advantage to being angry though. Letting the hot, stinging rage bubble up inside her heart helped to burn away the memories that were plaguing her in the dark of Leon's apartment. So many memories, so much pain. She wished she could forget them all – forget her self along with them.
The recollections swirled through her head like a movie with no plot and no end, the images turning and rolling behind her eyes making Claire feel slightly dizzy. Pictures of Chris jumping a young boy in the schoolyard when they had both been children and one of the other kids had teased her. Memories of the times they used to sit out on the back patio of the Raccoon Police Department and have lunch together when she came down to visit, long before the city had become a living nightmare. They would sit on the back steps leading up to the department helipad and talk over coffee and cheap sandwiches bought in the cafeteria. Her brother would tell her about all the people in the department he knew, about all the cases he was working on, about how hard the training for S.T.A.R.S. had been. Chris Redfield had done so much with his life, touched so many people. 'What did I ever do?'
The last memory, the last reel in the slide show of her mind, was always the most horrendous to watch. She was trapped in a dark space with the Steve Burnside's cold, pale hand clenched between her own. He was dead. He had been her friend, had saved her life more than once and now he was dead. 'Everyone I get close to always dies. They always leave me. Mom, dad, Steve…my own brother. Always.'
Claire wasn't sure how long she had knelt there, holding Steve's frigid hand, starring into his glassy, lifeless eyes but she was certain that it would not be long before she shared his fate. Death would find her soon. All was lost and she would die, trapped in this wretched hole on a freezing continent holding the hand of a man – a boy really, a foolish boy – whose last words to her had been a confession of love. 'Everyone who says they love me always leaves me in the end, in the worst way. Forever.' Then, somehow a door was being broken down and her brother, standing cloaked in the light outside like an angel was gathering her up in his strong arms, saying that everything would be alright now. She remembered feeling shielded, safe, the pain of Steve's death still fresh in her mind but somehow distant. Her brother was there and everything would be all right. He would keep her safe. Now, she would never feel that way again. 'Nothing will ever be all right again. Never.'
A heavy, grating nose from the hall outside stirred Claire from her dark reverie. The faintest smile touched her lips when she realized that it was Leon's snoring. If there was only one thing she had learned about him during their time squatting in filthy hotels while on the run from Umbrella it was that Leon Scott Kennedy should have been a lumberjack. He could saw logs in his sleep.
Slowly, Claire rose from the mattress and crept stealthily out into the hallway where her host was resting. The hardwood flooring was like ice beneath her feet but the young woman hardly noticed, all physical sensations seemed muted and diluted now. Out in what would have been the living room – had Leon ever taken it upon himself to unpack and make the room look halfway presentable – she saw the young police officer stretched out across a tacky blue couch, a wool blanket pulled up to his waist allowing her to see the sweat stains that marred his white t-shirt.
Claire paused in mid-stride as she saw the look on her friend's face. His features, normally smooth and finely chiseled, were scrunched together as if recoiling from a rotten stench. His breathing was coming in heavy gasps and his lips twitched in a peculiar fashion. Every so often he would shake his head as if denying something that was simply impossible and moan a low, pathetic wail of fear and panic. She sighed, he was dreaming again.
The younger Redfield knew her friend's dreams well – she suspected they were much like the ones she had experienced for months after leaving the burning city behind. Dreams of being chased through streets that seemed to go on without end by stumbling mobs of what had once been people and now were merely shells of flesh seeking to feast upon the living. Dreams of racing through a twisting labyrinth beneath the sewers of Raccoon, all the while a cool female voice with all the compassion of a block of granite counted down the time until your doom. Sometimes the prospect of sleep had seemed more terrifying than the prospect that an assassin was creeping down the fire escape of your flat. There was no way to defend your self against nightmares.
Kneeling down quietly so as not to disturb his rest, Claire reached out and gently took hold of Leon's trembling hand. His fingers quickly wound themselves through her own, grasping her hand as a drowning man might grasp a life preserver. Gingerly, Claire used her free hand to smooth back the bangs from Leon's forehead, it was frigid in the apartment but his forehead was soaked with sweat.
"Shh, it's okay." She whispered in his ear, the irony not lost on her that only moments ago he had tried to say the same thing to her and she had told him to leave her alone. "I'm here now."
Leon mumbled something unintelligible from the depths of sleep but at least those anguished, horrid moans had subsided. After a couple minutes the young man resettled himself among the couch cushions, his breath slowing back to normal, the twitch gone from his lips. Claire gently smoothed the hair back from his face once more and the creases of worry and fright ceased to spoil his delicate features.
Claire released his hand with a sigh. The man would need his rest after having to put up with her all day. How he must have hated her. She just shows up at his work, sniveling like a child and demanding a ride and now he had taken her into his home, tried to comfort her, and what thanks had she given him? Nothing but a few harsh words that she didn't want his help. A woman like her didn't deserve his generosity or his friendship. Leon deserved better than that. Nodding determinedly to herself Claire made up her mind. She would not be a burden to anyone anymore – least of all Leon Kennedy.
"I'm sorry Leon." She said, resting her head on his shoulder and speaking in a low whisper. She wanted him to remain asleep, he would only try and talk her out of what she was about to do and as much as it pained Claire to admit it, if she gave him the chance he would probably succeed…and regret it later. When she got him killed instead, when she made him leave her forever. She knew it would happen, she needed only to reference her life to point out the fact that she was cursed. "If you don't believe anything ever again, please believe that. I want you to be happy." Giving his hand a final squeeze, savoring the warm feel of his skin against hers, she rose and turned to the table beside the couch.
'Steady, predictable Leon.' Claire thought with a wry smile that touched her lips but came nowhere near her eyes as she surveyed the contents of the table. There was his black leather wallet, a set of keys on a key chain of the Irish flag, some spare change, a pen – his pocketknife. Leon always did have the habit of dumping out his pockets near his bed so that he'd be able to shovel the things back into their rightful spots the next morning. 'I'm sorry Leon. Please don't blame yourself.' With a firm hand she reached out and took hold of the pocketknife.
New tears already burning in the back of her eyes, Claire retreated to the room Leon had given up for her so readily. 'Please, just let him sleep.' The mattress squeaked beneath her weight and Claire looked up, straining her ears, desperately fearing the man in the other room might awake. She waited one minute, then two, but he never awoke, never made a sound. Closing her eyes, the last surviving Redfield snapped the thin blade into place.
A new memory surface at the click of the steel locking. Claire was suddenly very young again, only six or seven but she was overjoyed. She had just learned how to ride her bike even if it meant only being allowed to ride it within her own neighborhood. She had laughed as hard as her little lungs could manage as she rode in wild circles outside her house, the wind blowing her hair back, the sun shinning down on her, she had felt so free. Her laugh quickly changed to a gasp though when her foot slipped, missing the pedal and sending her head over heels to the pavement below.
She had opened her eyes a moment later, and screamed when she saw the state of her knee. A layer of skin had been scrapped clean off, crimson blood flowing steadily out of the wound, making her shin sticky with blood. Oh, how it had hurt! Like a thousand bumblebee stings – what she would have imagined them to feel like at least. For a moment the child's mind had gone into overdrive at the sensation of so much pain and little Claire Redfield thought she might die.
"What's wrong sis?" Even as a young man, barely a teenager, Chris Redfield had always possessed a deep voice. "I had my window open upstairs and I heard you – ouch." He had trailed off, grimacing at the sight of his sister's leg.
"Am…am I gonna die?" Claire had asked, sucking her teeth to quell the pain a little. She sniffed, swallowing back tears. Amazing Chris had smiled at her then, taking her hand in his and giving it a quick pat.
"No, but mom probably won't let you ride again until your twenty." Chris's smile told her everything would be fine. He'd fix her leg up and protect her from their mother as well. She would be none too happy when she found out Claire had been riding too fast. "I'm going to go get some bandages. Just wait here okay? I promise I'll be back soon. Just wait for me."
"Just wait." Claire repeated the words to her self with a small smile tears rolling freely down her cheeks now. Chris had come back and he had patched her leg up as he had promised. Chris always kept his promises. "Just wait there for me, okay big bro? I'm coming. Just wait. Please wait."
The point of the knife bit into the tender flesh of her wrist and Claire gave a sharp wince, the pain would only last a moment though and then she would be free of pain for all time. She racked Leon's pocketknife slowly across her arm, surprised to see such a large amount of blood flow out of such a minute-looking wound. In only a few moments light-headedness took her over and her eyelids felt as if they were weighted down with blocks of lead. The knife clattered to the floor – she had not even realized the item had fallen from her hand. Then her knees thumped painfully to the floor – how long until she would never have to experience pain again? Finally with a heavy sigh, she collapsed to that cold, icy floor with a dull thud. Something strange happened then, as the world began to spin away from her. Claire was quite sure her last thought before death came to take her would be of her brother but instead it was for Leon.
'I love you, Leon.' Claire thought, taking in what she hoped would be her last breath. 'I love you and you deserve better than that.' She exhaled and the darkness stole over her.
With a start, Leon shot awake; his whole body aching from the innumerable places that damn couch had poked and prodded him. Swinging his legs over the edge of the couch the officer rose to a sitting position and rubbed the back of his neck while waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. What a peculiar dream he had had.
As scary as it was to admit, Leon had started becoming used to the recurring nightmare he was forced to watch each and every time he try to catch so much as a wink of sleep. A dream of drowning in a sea of bodies, bodies with dead, white eyes and peeling arms that kept trying to pull him down. They were all dead really, just husks of flesh and bone that had once been people, now devoid of souls and seeking to consume anything left alive. They scratched and pulled at his legs, wailing with hunger and bloodlust. He had screamed, and kicked and thrashed about, trying to rise above them but always they were too many and too strong. The dream always ended the same way, with him being inevitably dragged under and awaking in a cold sweat, panting and shaking. This time however, something strange had happened.
Near what should have been the end of the nightmare, he had thrown his hands out clutching at the darkness, knowing it was futile but not ready to give into death yet. He clawed feebly at the air, the undead below him groaning in their triumph – and a hand caught his. Stranger still there had been something familiar about the hand - with it's smooth, slender fingers - that had reached out of the blackness to take his own. Light, warming and reassuring had flooded his tired body, destroyed the horde of dead creatures below him. From somewhere in that glimmering golden light a voice spoke 'It's okay. I'm here now.'
"What was that all about?" Leon muttered to himself silently. Self-analysis had never been his strong suit and the dream could have meant a hundred different things. Maybe he was going crazy, maybe he had eaten something that had disagreed with him. Who knew?
Abruptly, a tremor ran through the studio apartment and Leon felt his heart skip a beat. Something heavy crashed to the floor in his room. Claire's room. He was on his feet in an instant, racing down the hall. When he finally arrived in the doorway he felt his stomach jump up into his throat.
Each piece of the scene before him flashed in front of Leon's eyes like a jigsaw puzzle, the sheer shock of it all forcing his mind to take the time to place each piece of that puzzle into place. Claire lying on the floor by the bed barely breathing; blood streaming from her wrist down her arm, her face so pale and streaked with tears. There was a pocketknife beside her the slender blade caked with drying blood. His knife. His fault.
"No." Leon said, sagging to his knees beside her and feeling the girl's neck for a pulse. He found one after a moment, a weak one. He looked down at the slash on her wrist, spilling out her life. Such a small wound. Nothing that small could harm Claire Redfield. "No, please, God not her."
Thinking quickly – no small feat with his mind racing, thoughts and fears screaming about in his skull – Leon reached up and tore the pillows out of their casings, wrapping the light material around Claire's wrist and tying off the crude bandage to stop the flow of blood. So much blood. Lifeblood.
Leon feared to leave his friend there, bleeding on the floor but he did not dare move her, unaware of how secure the tourniquet was. Dashing into the kitchen he seized up the portable phone, the blood covering his hands making it hard to dial but he didn't care. With shaking fingers he dialed 911 and with a shaking voice screamed that he needed help. That someone was dying. That they had to get there soon before slamming the receiver down and charging back into the room. Claire was still there, still breathing – thank God – still alive. Falling down beside her, Leon took Claire's other hand and held it tight, smoothing back long locks of auburn hair with his other.
"It's going to be okay." He said, choking on the words as tears threatened to break out from his behind his eyes. When had he last cried, the officer wondered, surely not since Ada had died, not since she had let go while hanging over that bridge. "It's going to be okay. The paramedics will be here soon."
'My fault, I should have watched her closer.' Leon said, feeling a great deal like screaming and tearing out the hair by the roots but what good would that do? He just sat there, smoothing Claire's hair with a trembling hand wishing he spoke another language so that he could pray to God in another tongue in case He didn't understand English so well…it was a preposterous thought but Leon didn't care. All he cared about lay on the floor of his apartment, bleeding her life out. 'All my fault.'
"Please Claire," he said, voice as broken and strained as Chris Redfield's had been back in Saint Jude's. Where the hell were the paramedics? Didn't they know she was going to die? Didn't they care? "Please, I promised your brother to look after you." The tears were falling from Leon's eyes now, unchecked and unnoticed. "Please, I promised. Please don't make a liar out of me. Please, please help me, I don't know what to do." Why were they taking so long? "They'll be here soon Claire." Her face was so pale, so cold. Why wouldn't she smile at him? Would she ever smile at him again? "Just wait. Just wait."
Author's Note: I'd like to apologize for my long hiatus but I'm back now and here is the new installment of Come Clean. I hope you enjoy, my Readers. I'd also like to apologize for any grammatical mistakes that may pop out at you while reading. Spell check seems to work but grammar check is less effective. Please enjoy and look for an update to Three Days In A Nightmare soon as well.