Chapter Four:

Silence had its reign in the living room, the muffled sounds of arguing slipped in from outside but not much else. Claire looked out the window in deep thought. After the rest of the women in the house had shared their personal fantasies, it seemed only fitting that she contribute something as well. However, she had never actually said she would share anything with them. Claire smiled to herself as she considered wet blanketing the banter by telling them she had nothing to say…as much as a lie as it might be…

With one final glance at Leon, she turned to her companions and shrugged. "Sorry, girls. But I really don't have any sick fantasies like the rest of you."

Jill blew a raspberry and pointed a finger at Claire, "You are such a liar."

Claire held up her hands in a defensive stance. "Hey, I never said I would play this spin-the-rapist game. Can I help it that I have normal sexual desires?"

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "This from Sorority Sister 69."

"I was never in a sorority." Claire retorted, glaring at her.

"Come on, Claire," Jill said, standing up and crossing the carpet. She paused beside Claire and leaned over the counter to gaze nonchalantly out the window. "Either you share your fantasy—or we'll be forced to talk about how hot Chris looks in biker shorts."

Claire smirked at them. "I think I'm immune to that image by now."

"Or a leopard print bikini." Rebecca threw in.

"I'm ignoring you." Claire told her.

"And a leather collar with the word DADDY on it." Sherry contributed.

There was an uncomfortable silence as the three of them looked at Sherry with dangerous curiosity.

Jill cleared her throat. "Okay, Sherry, now that's a bit much."

"Sorry."

"Oh, come on, Claire," Jill said, giving her a push. "Spill."

"No." Claire said.

"What's the big deal?" Jill asked. "It stays between us girls. No one else will know."

The door opened and who should come in but Leon, looking slightly annoyed and setting the AK-47 down on the island.

"Impeccable timing." Claire muttered.

Leon's frown went from the door through which he had just entered then straight to Claire. "Claire, I'm going to kill your brother. I just thought you should know."

Claire laughed. "Good luck. I've tried. He just gets right back up again. He's worse than a zombie that way."

"Oh my God!" Sherry said suddenly. "It's Leon, isn't it, Claire?"

Claire's eyes darted straight to the young girl sitting on the sofa, a look of cobra venom in her glare. Leon, unaware of the discussion of the hour, took the outburst in stride and said cheerily, "Very good, Sherry. That college education sure is paying off! Now, who's that sitting next to you right there?" he pointed to Chambers.

Sherry looked at her briefly. With nervous uncertainty she answered, "Rebecca?"

"By God!" Leon turned to Claire. "She's brilliant. Simply genius." He ruffled Sherry's hair playfully. "She gets it from me, you know." He informed them.

"Yes, we're all so proud." Jill said, giving Claire a pointed look. Her eyes moved from Claire to Leon and then her eyebrows waggled mischievously.

"What do you want, Leon?" Claire asked, looking witheringly at Jill. "A knife?"

"How did you know?"

"Lucky guess." Replied Claire. She grabbed a knife from the dish rack and handed it to him. "But please, bring it back…I'll be needing it later."

Leon took hold of it as if it were a precious artifact. "Sure thing, beautiful."

Claire tried to force her smile back but she didn't do a very good job. Once Leon disappeared out to the yard, the whole room broke out into giggles.

"That's so sweet, he thinks you're beautiful." Rebecca sang.

"Jealous, Rebecca?" Claire asked.

"Oh, look, she's blushing!" Sherry exclaimed.

"No, I'm not." Claire insisted. "And be careful, remember I'm getting that knife back from Leon later—"

"Oooooh, from Leeeeoooonnn!" the three sang out in a truly annoying fashion.

Growling deep in her throat, Claire snapped, "God, just shut up. Maybe my fantasy is about Leon—and maybe it isn't. The fact of the matter is that none of you will ever know because I'm not saying."

Normally, Claire would not have responded to such immature behaviour. However, after almost ten minutes of endless kissy-faces and five off-key choruses of "Claire-and-Leon-sitting-in-a-tree" she cracked.

"Alright, alright! Stop it! I'll tell you." Claire surrendered. "And learn to harmonize. You sound like dying cats."

From the moment Claire turned on the radio and heard an old Beatles song blast from the speakers, she knew it was a dream. The bleary, threatening film around the edge of her vision and the heaviness she felt was one way she knew. The certain heaviness and uselessness of her body was another. That and the fact that she had had this particular dream about a million times before.

In the dream she would turn on the radio, drive home from her exhausting day at work—a waitress at a diner in town where the clientele consisted mostly of senior citizens who could have easily been her grandfathers (though that didn't stop them from hitting on her)—and pull herself up to her room.

He would be there. Against all reason, good sense, and time past saying that it couldn't be, he would be there. Though he had died on Rockford Island, perished at the hands of Alexia Ashford, he would somehow be in her bedroom, leaning against her wall. His attention was mostly focused on the yard outside her window but eventually his eyes would drag themselves to meet hers.

A strangled yelp escaped her chest as her heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach. Shock, guilt, a whole mess of feelings engulfed her as she tried to comprehend his presence.

Finally, uncertainly, she would choke out a faint, "Steve?"

With eyes that were dark, full of quiet anger, he answered "Hello, Claire." A slight pause. "Surprised to see me?"
Claire swallowed hard, fighting against the urge to pass out or break into hysterics. This wasn't happening. It just wasn't possible. She turned her back to him and took a deep breath. He's not there. He's not there. She repeated to herself over and over again. As if by this mantra the haunting would stop. He can't be there. He's dead. You didn't want him to die, but he did. Get over it.

"What's the matter, Claire?" she heard him ask. Just the sound of his voice, ringing so clearly in her ears was enough to cause a severe shudder in her lungs and a frantic, disbelieving laugh escaped her. "Hard to believe you'd find me here, after you ditched me on that miserable island?"

Vigorously, Claire shook her head, still not facing him. Words struggled to be heard but all died when they tried to escape her paralyzed lips.

"You promised me we'd get out, remember?" Steve prompted. He had started taking deliberate, calculated steps toward her, she could feel the cold from his body radiating onto her back. "You promised we would make it out alive—together…you lied."

"Steve, no. I didn't…I mean…" she exhaled, tears welling up in her eyes as she remembered those words that she had so confidently spoken to him. She had promised they'd get out but she hadn't been lying. She stupidly believed that they would make it. She had assumed that since she had gotten out of Raccoon City with Sherry in tow, she could get a capable teenager out of a mutant infested island. But she had been wrong. And now she was paying for it.

"All those times you said we would survive…" from his tone, Claire could sense he was shaking his head. "You were just planning on getting yourself out. That's all you ever really cared about."

"No—no! It wasn't like that! I really thought—"

"Face it, Claire—all you cared about was finding your brother and getting back to the way your life used to be. Your own selfish reasons. You never gave a damn about who you left behind or who you had to lose!"

"Shut up! Shut up! Just leave me alone!" Even with her hands clenched over her ears to drown out the world, she still heard her own straining scream.

Before a breath could even be taken, she felt his hand clamp over her arm and throw her across the room. Slamming into her bed, her legs gave out and she slumped to the carpet, her head reeling. Steve's fingers gripped her hair and nearly pulled it out of its roots as he threw her onto the mattress.

"Steve, please! Please don't do this!" she pleaded as a swirl of hands and spidery fingers covered her body.

"You shut up." Steve spat at her. "You deserve this suffering."

And there would be pain. Though it was a dream there would still be pain. Violation. Helplessness. Crying. More of the last than anything else.

There was one night where the nightmare was at its worst. Claire had screamed herself awake, practically fallen out of bed and lay trembling beneath the covers. She tried to muffle her sobs in her pillow but they couldn't be contained.

Why? Why, why, why! She agonized over and over. What had she ever done in her lifetime to deserve such torture? To be assaulted nightly by a ghost that wouldn't go away? The dark enveloped her and she shrank against its suffocating heat. How long she had been crying and curling herself into her arms she did not know. Her eyes were shut tight against what might be around her so she barely noticed when her door opened and someone entered the room.

Whoever it was hesitated at the door for only a split second before entering and sitting beside her. "Claire?" a voice and a touch on her back. She leapt away from both, coiling herself like a serpent.

"I'm sorry." She whispered.

"Sorry?" the visitor repeated. "Claire, there's nothing to be sorry about. It's me, Leon."

At the sound of his name she dared to peek out from her fortress of blankets. Indeed, Leon was there. His eyes tired and his shoulders slumped from fatigue but still there.

"Leon?" she stuck herself out from her blanket cave and moved toward him.

"Claire? What's wrong?" The concern in his voice was awful. It made her insides burst and she collapsed into a fit of tears before she even reached his arms.

Words escaped her companion for the time being so he just held her in his arms and let her cry. His hands gently stroked her back and hair in a non-threatening way and the intimacy would be soothing despite the horrid visions still playing in her mind.

Some time would pass before her tears would subside but only when they did would Leon prompt for an explanation. In abrupt, choppy sentences attempting to be vague, Claire would tell him. About Steve, the things he said, the things he did…Leon would listen, a strange, almost angry look in his eyes that he was successful to hide for the most part.

"Claire," he said when she had finished. "Steve never…he never did anything to you, did he?"

Claire flinched. Steve had been a bit of a wise-ass and high on the testosterone gauge but he had essentially been harmless to her.

"No."

Leon nodded, relief passing through his posture. "Good. Because I would have killed him myself if he did."

Claire looked at him guiltily. "That doesn't make me feel any better Leon…" she told him. "…you think it's my fault that he died, don't you?"

Leon looked shocked but shook his head. "No, Claire, no!" he exclaimed. "I don't think that at all. I wasn't thinking when I said that about him. Damn, I wish I hadn't said anything."

The sheepish look on his face made her smile despite the heaviness she felt in her heart. Feeling tired, she settled down on her stomach and took a deep breath.

"I wish you wouldn't beat yourself up over this." Leon told her. She felt his fingers running through her hair again. "A face as pretty as yours should be smiling all the time."

Claire chuckled humourlessly. "If only." She sighed. "I could stand it if it were just him I saw…but to have him doing those things…it makes me sick. What the hell does it all mean?"

Leon laid himself down on his stomach next to Claire and propped up on his elbows. He looked down at her thoughtfully. "Well, Claire, I'm not a psychologist or anything…but you're not over Steve's death yet."

Claire snorted. "You think?"

Leon laughed. "Yeah, I know, brilliant analysis right…but it's true…rape's not about sex, Claire, it's about power. Steve has this power over you and he's not even around. You need to move beyond this."

"Yes, I know that. I'm not stupid. But I just…no matter what I do, he pops up."

Leon hesitated for a moment before asking, "…did you…love him or something?"

Claire looked puzzled. "Leon…I…no…I mean, yeah, I cared for him and everything—I felt responsible for him but…I…do you need to be in love with someone to feel bad they died because of you?"

Appearing relieved at her reply but not having time to dwell on it, Leon rushed on to answer her, "Steve didn't die because of you, Claire."

"But—"

"No, listen. Yes, you tried to help him out but ultimately, he was the one responsible for himself. Don't blame yourself. You shouldn't."

"But…I got Sherry out of—"

Leon cut her off. "Sherry was a different story. She was just a little girl. She could barely hold a gun the right way." Seeing that he wasn't getting very far, he tried again with, "It was different."

Claire sighed. "it doesn't seem so different."

Leon exhaled slowly. "I'm not getting anywhere am I? God, I'm sorry…sometimes I can be insensitive."

"No." Claire replied, catching his shoulder before he could make his move to leave. "I know you're right. It's just so hard to deal with this at night. I mean…there are times where I go for days without even thinking about him but…then…this dream comes up and I just feel like…like…"

"Like shit?" Leon asked sympathetically.

"Yes. Exactly." Claire looked at Leon. "You know, it's weird, but I've never told anyone about this before. I actually feel a little better."

Leon smiled. "You ready to go back to sleep?"

"No."

"You want me to leave?"

"No."

A full-blown grin split Leon's face. "Alright then."

There was a sort of disappointment as Claire finished her story.

"That's all?" Sherry asked. "You said your fantasy was about Leon!"

"Wasn't it?" Claire replied impishly.

"No, it seemed like it was about that weird punk you met on that island." Sherry grumbled.

Rebecca sighed.

"What's your damage?" Claire asked her pointedly.

"I don't know. I guess I just expected more from you, that's all."

Claire smiled. She turned to Jill. "How about it, Valentine. You got any flames to throw at me too?"

Jill didn't give any sign that she had heard her but after a few moments shook her head, looking dazed. "What? Oh, I'm sorry, Claire. Yours was just so boring I had to return to Hawaii with Chris."

"Whatever."

The door flew open with a flourish and Chris charged in with Carlos and Leon following behind.

"The barbecue has been finished. Let the feast commence!"

And that was the end of the girl talk…for the time being at least.