Hotaru: Ick is right, but hey, it wouldn't be me if I revealed the big twist at just chapter 7, right? Anyway, thanks for the support. It really means a lot to me.

Solid Snake91: Yeah, so you've read my other stories? Whoa, thanks for that. Most people just read Remember Heaven and never return. Hehe, anyway, yeah, some stories I connect, others, like this, I don't. I'll get to sorting them. But Rivers and Legacy are connected.

Author's note: Chapter 8 is finally here, which is more or less just a set-up for the hell I'll be breaking loose next chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter 8: "Living Hate"

It was already beginning to get dark outside. She could already hear the dusk wind blowing against the glass behind the drawn curtains. They sounded more like fingers clawing more than anything else, spirits of the ruined who could not find rest. "…" She did not want her imagination to get the best of her. Strengthening her posture, she turned the doorknob and opened the door. Claire stopped as she exited her motel room, as not to bump into an overweight man in a suit, and a young woman by his shoulder. He looked to be in his forties, obviously only capable of finding a girl who needed the money. The woman was still young, probably new at the game that she probably would be spending the rest of her days in.

"Excuse me…" she absent-mindedly muttered as she tried to get past, but the couple didn't budge. "Hey, I know you…you're Claire! Claire Redfield!" cried the excited woman as she realized who it was. The man seemed to follow in his escort's enthuse, as Claire was still viewed as a celebrity by the populace. Unfortunately for her, the door to the room that she came from was still half-open, and the corpse of the man inside was still sprawled on the floor. "…" The sudden interruption dumbfounded Claire, as she already felt that it was too long since she last made a face for the public. She had almost forgotten how. "Hi." She simply responded, with the best smile she could muster.

"Could we take a picture with you?" the man asked, already reaching in his pocket for his mobile phone.

"Uh…sure." Claire responded, with her hand reaching back to try and get the doorknob so she could close the door. Luck however, had other plans. A sudden strong gust of wind blew right across the three individuals, pushing the door wide open. "Fuck…"

Aya closed her eyes, relishing the rest it gave her tired face, even if it was just for but a moment. She opened them again at the sound of the chime, with the elevator doors opening in front of her. A middle-aged man stepped in ahead of her, keeping his thumb on the door's 'open' button for the young woman. "What floor?" he asked as she entered. "Fourth, please." She responded. He complied, and then pressed the button for the sixth floor where he was going to get off. It was just the two of them inside. Both of them were covered in long dark overcoats, as if any sign of color could mislead someone that there was still something other than despair in their souls.

"Um…aren't you Aya? Aya Brea?" the man asked. He was in his thirties, unshaved, but still looking respectable. The fluorescent light above them made his eyes look more sunken than they were.

"…Yeah, I'm sorry, do I know you?" she asked, a little surprised that a man she doesn't remember recognized her.

"Oh, you don't…Evans. Chris Evans. I'm on parole."

"Oh? Oh! I remember you, the bank thing. Getaway car, right? Sorry, I'm just not good with faces."

"Yeah. You came out of nowhere, literally kicked me through the side window…" He smiled at her as he talked, the sincerest smile she's seen in days, ironically coming from a random person in an elevator. "Good behavior, they said." He then said.

"That's nice. So, parole? You'd better not be doing anything out of the ordinary." She warned him jokingly, knowing full well that she was more than capable of taking him down again should he try anything.

"Anything to keep my nose away from your boot." He responded, keeping a lighthearted demeanor that seemed to betray his muscular frame.

"Sorry about that. Job and all."

"I'm not. At least the dizziness made me see clearer. Does that… make sense?"

"I think it does." The chime rang again, signaling that they were already on the fourth floor. "This is where I get off…" Aya remarked, somewhat disappointed that the first conversation she had in what seemed like an age, which wasn't devoted to a Redfield, had to end so soon. "Congratulations on your parole." She then said as she stepped out, turning to him and flashing a smile. "Thank you." He responded, waving to her once, and then the doors closed.

"…" Aya's smile lingered as she walked down the hall, painted with a soft shade of pink and peach just so that it could look uniform with the pre-natal, just the floor above. There was a young nurse who passed her by, muttering something about reading the prescription wrong. It didn't take long for Aya's mind to get grounded back in reality, as the pressure of having to capture Claire began to hound at her neck.

The corridor felt like it got narrower and narrower as Aya made her way to past a countless array of doors, finally stopping at room 410. "…" Aya wanted to go back here after she'd land Claire in jail. Only to have a face to show to him. But she needed the comfort. And the escape. With her heart still heavy, she knocked thrice, and then turned the steel knob. A rush of warm air met her, invitingly, caressing her with a taste of a haven locked in the small room ahead.

"Hey." She greeted, seeing the bedridden young man look at her with compassionate eyes. Kevin already had color in his cheeks again, and it was enough to make Aya be as a child again.

"Sorry for the scare. I hate my lungs now. My lungs are bad." He apologized, jokingly, as his eyes followed her walk up to his side. "I'm glad you're okay. That embolism had nothing on you." She answered.

"Yeah…my own body tried to kill me, ironic. Was I dead or anything?"

"For a couple of seconds, I think. Your rep skyrocketed back in the precinct."

"A good side to everything?" he teased, with his voice as tender as the day they first met. Aya smiled and nodded, taking a seat on the stool beside the bed. "I always said you were in desperate need of a vacation. This is God's way of agreeing with me." She teased him, while gently poking him on the rib.

"Hey, I'm the one with the bullet hole; let me sit on the pedestal." He joked back, gently pushing her hand away, but not letting go. Both their hands were callused by years of war, of blood and honor. Yet with each other, their hands felt soft, innocent. "I promise I'll get her for you." Aya then told him, drawing closer. Kevin furrowed his brow, and held Aya's hand tighter. "Hey, there's plenty of time to talk about work when I'm back on my feet. But not right now…right now…let's just…"

Aya looked at their hands entwined, and then returned her gaze to meet Kevin's. "Okay."

The commissioner walked down the hall in dead silence, only responding to the officers' greetings with a casual raise of the eyebrows. "Commissioner." greeted Emily as he walked into her view. "Get me Crime Lab." He immediately instructed, not even giving her a second of a glance as he stepped into his office and forcefully closed the door behind him. "…Yes sir…" Emily muttered, knowing full well that she wouldn't be heard, as she got back to her desk and did as she was told. "This is too easy. This is…just…" With a sigh of frustration, the commissioner got down on his chair and rested his feet up on the desk. "Been too long in this fucking job. Can't believe that the only thing I need to convict Chris Redfield is getting handed to me in a silver platter. It's just too convenient." The old man closed his eyes, replaying the conversation he had with Jill Valentine earlier that morning, every word, every physical gesture that the woman made. And it was only in his memory that something dawned on him. "What does Jill get for all of this?" he asked himself, and with that his eyes opened, and he took his feet of his desk.

A second later, the phone began to ring, and the commissioner wasted no time picking it up. "Commissioner." Greeted a male voice, one that was already showing signs of fatigue. "Hey, I need you to check something for me." The old man quickly announced, getting straight to the point.

"Lead?"

"Hunch. Check for any files Chris may have on Jill. Anything you can get at all."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah. Jill said that you can find the drugs behind the painting…" the commissioner thought. "When he was admitted to the hospital, you already had a tox report from his blood and urine, right?" he then asked, wishing that the answer would be the one he wanted.

"Yeah. Anything of it?"

"…Were there any traces of drugs? Any drugs?"

"No. There weren't. Why?" came the response. The commissioner closed his eyes and rubbed his temple with his free hand. He felt his heart sunk as the truth began to set in. Chris may be telling the truth.

"Nothing." He finally said after a moment of silence, cursing under his breath.

"Is that all?"

"Yeah. Thank you."

With a loud sigh, the commissioner stood up. Once again putting on his brown trench coat, and letting his hand slide over his holstered gun. He was always able to sense things some other people could not, some sort of strange clairvoyance that didn't make him feel ghosts or demons, but rather, the feeling of an impending truth. Of closure. That somehow, he knew that something was about to happen, that could very well signal the end of his story.

Claire leaned in front of the mirror, carefully putting on a fresh shade of red lipstick. "You've got nice taste." She remarked, glancing over at the dead, naked, body of the woman. She pleaded less than the man in the suit, whose own lifeless corpse took a part of the floor. Both of them had the back of their heads blown off by a .45 auto. "Cute clothes too…"

The commissioner opened the drawer by the wall, just a few steps away from his chair. Incandescent light seemed to sparkle from the bottle pf chardonnay he had inside, almost bathing it in a surreal glow. "Ah…Betty, maybe I can break my promise to you just this once…" he mumbled under his breath, glancing at the portrait of his deceased wife back on his desk. He could feel warmth comforting him as he stared into his wife's face. 'Wait for me sweetheart." With half a smile, he made his way back to his chair, with the only comfort in the world he had left.

Still inside the motel, a smile lingered on Claire's face as she watched herself in the full-body mirror, wearing the clothes of her most recent victim. It was a smooth, brown, leather jacket that fitted her perfectly, looking like the top of a cat suit more than anything else. Underneath was a red halter top, just the same color as her lips were, and a black miniskirt that could have exposed her underwear if it were an inch shorter. "…I can't wait till Chris sees me in these…" she whispered to no one in particular. Not that she needed anyone else, anyone besides her brother.

The light, green wine swirled in the glass, bouncing off light like a constantly moving jewel. Once upon a time, the commissioner could just let the waves carry him off into the new shore, where he could forget all the noise and violence that plagued him in his waking moments. He relished the cold touch that met his lips, dreaming of the days back when it was a woman whom made him feel as such. The sound of knocking then drew him back to reality.

Claire slowly trailed her finger up and down the barrel of the .45, almost as if relishing it as a companion and not a weapon. "I'll have to get me more of you when this is all over…" she whispered, as she gently tucked it into her handbag. "I'll be taking you, too." She muttered out loud as she slipped a flick knife into the waist of her skirt. Turning around, she looked at the small massacre she just committed, not feeling a single emotion for the now, empty faces that stared right back at her. "Goodbye." She softly remarked as she made her way to the door. 'Chris…I'm off to see you now…"

Emily entered the commissioner's office, standing much like a school girl would in front of a principal. "I'm going out for awhile. If anything should…happen to me, then…I asked forensics to check out some documents. Make sure Aya gets to read them. Just tell her to connect the dots." He instructed. "Sir?" Emily took a step forward, shaking her head. "I don't understand." In a lot of ways, she was still young. She still looked at the old man, as if waiting for him to stand and at the least graze her skin with his. But at least then, she knew that it was not love.

"You're a good girl, Emily. I have no doubt in my mind that you'll make it big someday."

"…"

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be."

"…"

"…I'm paying Chris a visit one more time."

Author's note: In the next chapter of The Rose and the Estuary, the commissioner finally sets his sights, and the barrel of his revolver, on the psychotic, exaggeratedly sexual Claire Redfield. But we all know Claire won't be going down without a gunfight, or the offer of a BJ. Who will win? Place your bets now! (Lame, much?)