"The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost." –G.K. Chesterton

Chris Redfield was the kind of person that you either love or hate. The people that hate him do so because he's perfect. The perfect cop, brother, and citizen. He makes everyone else look bad without even trying. That's not to say that he had many enemies, though. There were some from his past that faded away in time, and a few criminals still sore from being arrested.

So, when gunfire erupted outside of his Pleasant Valley Avenue home, you'd expect there to be a certain amount of attention paid to the incident. At around seven thirty p.m., an unknown sniper opened fire on the quaint home in the middle of the street. One person was shot, and the sniper had disappeared before the cops arrived.

No one paid attention to who the victim was. They had been shot in the head, and sped off in an ambulance within minutes. Chris' partner, Leon Kennedy arrived at the scene fifteen minutes after the shooting occurred. The neighborhood was bright with red and blue lights. Men in blue were everywhere, and paper cups were placed over the shells from the fired bullets.

Leon tried to remain calm as he climbed out of his car and headed towards the entrance to the house. There was a pool of blood on the floor where the victim had been. Mark Houston, Leon's boss and the lieutenant of the detective squad he was a member of, stood hunched over, examining the scattered shells.

"Boss…" Leon greeted, his voice sounding shakier that he wanted it to. "What's going on?" Houston straightened and took a sip of his coffee.

"Leon…I was hoping you'd know. We got a call about shots being fired maybe twenty minutes ago. A squad car was in the area, so they flew on over here after hearing who's house this was."

"Without ordering back up?" Leon questioned.

Houston nodded. "You know the rookies. They all look up to Redfield. Anyways, they came over here and could still smell the gun powder in the area. There was a victim on the ground, and the gunman was gone." He explained.

"Chris…?"

"No one knows where he is."

Leon turned his head to the side. "What? He-he headed home about a half an hour ago. He should be here." He replied.

"Yeah, well he's not. No one can seem to find him. We've been calling him on his cell phone every fifteen minutes since we got here." Houston said with a sigh. Leon turned to go into Chris' house. He pulled out his keys and rummaged around before finding the one to the front door.

"If you ever need a place to stay, don't hesitate to come on over. Just try not to wake me up."

Pushing the door open, Leon stepped inside. He turned on the light switch on the wall to his right. Chris' jacket and keys weren't there. "Hey, were there any lights on when you guys got here?" Leon asked one of the young men in uniform.

"A few, mostly table lamps and stuff." One of them replied.

"Was anything disturbed? Phone off the hook, chairs knocked over…anything like that?" Leon continued.

They both shook their heads 'no'. Leon wandered through the rooms in the first floor, trying to notice if anything was out of the ordinary by Chris' standards. The house was still dimly lit, as Chris liked it. In the back of his mind, Leon was thinking of Claire. Chris' baby sister, and someone close to his heart. If she got the news that there was an incident at Chris' house, she'd knock over old ladies just to get there faster.

When he got to the kitchen, Leon's eyes stopped at a plate on the stove. There was a bag of frozen chicken defrosting. "Yo!" Leon shouted, back towards the living room. One of the young officers ran in.

"What?" He asked urgently. Leon pointed to the chicken.

"This was out when you got here?" He asked.

"Yeah, we didn't touch a thing."

Leon waved the officer away, and started heading towards the front door. "Chris left food out for dinner, meaning he was planning on staying at home long enough to cook and eat. He should have been here a few minutes before the shooting. So why did he leave..?" He mumbled to himself as he walked to his car.

"Leon, where are you going?" Houston asked, jogging after him.

"Chris' car isn't here, and he's got a radio in it, right? Why hasn't anyone thought to radio him?" Leon asked.

"…"

"Alright then." Leon closed the door and grabbed his radio.

Sighing, he held it up to his mouth. "Chris…it's me. You there?" He asked. He listened through the silence, waiting for something, anything, from his missing partner. "Chris…alright, you don't have to answer, but at least listen. The cops are at your house, someone was shot and no one has any idea where the hell you are. No one's pointing fingers or anything but everyone's wondering why you're not here. I haven't talked to Claire yet, and I'd at least like to let her know you're okay. My cell is dying, so I have to charge it whenever I get a chance but you better call me soon, got it?"

Tossing his radio on the passenger seat, Leon rested his head against the steering wheel. He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, so he dug it out and looked at the screen. Claire…she's going to be pissed at me for not calling her. He pressed the button to accept the call and whispered a dull "Hello."

"Leon, it's me. Where are you?" Claire said quickly.

"…no where. Why, what's wrong?"

"Haven't you heard? Jill's been shot."

END