Cambridge Dictionary's entry for "the life of Riley" reads "to live an easy and comfortable life, without any need to work hard"; Merriam-Webster goes "a carefree comfortable way of living". I found this idiom by chance and a thousand connections immediately blasted in my blown-away mind. I SWEAR this is one hell of a coincidence and I'll be damned if I didn't take advantage of it!
Reminder: it's still Thanksgiving Day.
I don't play chess but I do play with words.
Chapter 31 – The Life of Riley
Part 1 – Queen's Gambit
As Chris stood up from the bench and made his grandma promise she'd keep their conversation confidential in the name of the holiday and the trust between them, he felt like a miserable pawn in a game too hard and complex for his intellect. A poor piece encircled by kings, queens and bishops, ready to capture and checkmate him in the net of his very lies. It was a matter of time, Chris feared, he'd soon have to pay the bill for each of his own missteps.
For the time being, though, he simply went back into the cottage.
Inside, he found the "men" – id est John, William, Robert and Matilda – gregariously sitting by the table, engaged in a round of poker while, by the fireplace, Lily and Serena exchanged mommy notions about raising children.
Since he got nowhere to castle and retreat into, considering that Claire had called herself out of the match and defected to officially join the enemy's ranks, Chris needed to draw the least attention possible on himself in order to get a chance to leave the human chessboard safely. Therefore, he kept his gaze low not to let anyone notice his reddish eyes. He politely turned down the offer of joining the poker game, claiming he wanted to take some rest, preferably on his bed. Just as he headed to the stairs to sneak his way out of the ground floor though, one of the too many queens around, intercepted his fleeing en passant, stood up from the armchair and called him, offering a disguised bait.
"Chris, darling, would you please take these upstairs as you go?" Lily tactically asked, handing over the European presents grandma Mary had given them earlier that morning. "They're just cluttering around in here."
"Sure."
If Chris truly believed he'd avoid his mother's concern by simply keeping his eyes dropped, he'd better change his tactics. Lily eyed her son carefully and, taking advantage of him approaching to grab the stuff, she caressed the side of his face.
"Are you alright?" She asked. "You look so pale."
"I'm alright, Mom." He lied.
Lily palmed his forehead to assess his body temperature as skilfully as mothers only can – another thing Serena would soon apprehend. "Your skin's cold."
"Yeah, it's pretty... freaking cold outside..." So cold that the frost had crept up to his very core and congealed his heart into a state of icy immobility.
"Here, come by fireplace." She proposed, gently grabbing him by the forearm. "The gifts can wait. Let's warm up a bit."
Chris opposed resistance with his heavy mass and didn't move. No way the pawn would let her cage him at the very centre of the board, exposed to all those curious adversaries. "I'm... tired. I'd rather go upstairs and rest my eyes."
"Are you feeling sick?" Lily asked again, still concerned by the paleness of him.
Chris couldn't really deny that. Not twice. His stomach was still all upside-down and aching even. "Yeah, my tummy's doing backflips right now. I shouldn't have had all that bourbon with grandpa, I guess." He grumbled, trying to shift all the attention away from his cry-reddened eyes.
Lily snorted. Of course he shouldn't have! Back at breakfast, her dirty looks hadn't been poignant enough to convince her son and father-in-law to water it down and, possibly, have breakfast like normal people. She hated that, when John was around, her underage son felt somehow allowed to drink. If Chris felt sick now, well, he deserved it! At the very least, he'd learn the lesson.
With this little grudge in her heart, Lily let him go upstairs as he wished.
Stalemate.
Part 2 – b0Ys doN't cRy!1!
One snowflake is usually enough to start an avalanche.
It's all matter of balance and timing. You move a grain a little too left and it all may fall down, crumbling like a flabby snowman. Chris had a hunch the small conversation he'd had with Grandma Mary had just moved the barycentre of the whole castle of lies he'd arranged and he now was caught in that shortest moment of precarious immobility before ruin. Temporary perfect balance. But how to keep balance when you're pretty damn much walking on eggshells in a sea of incandescent lava? That's the kind of situation Chris pictured himself in while he ascended the walnut-wood staircase.
Depressed and weak, he was in a funk after that hellish morning.
The upper-floor corridor unravelled before him desert and quiet. Except for his sister, all the other members were downstairs. Nobody would hear his muffled cries for help when the avalanche of despair would sweep him away.
Chris sat the unwrapped gifts upon the chest of drawers in the assigned bedroom. The most voluminous part consisted of the embroidered bedsheets Mary had bought for Claire from some really industrious ladies in southern Italy.
Something though slid off the small pile and thunked on the floor with a metallic noise. It bounced a few times and disappeared beneath the bed. Chris had to kneel down to retrieve it and, once he did so, he didn't feel like standing up again. He was so drained he just rolled on his butt and sat down on the floor, his back resting against the side of the lower bed.
Chris fiddled the little item in his hands. It was his gift from Mary.
It was a narrow rectangular silvery tin box, each of the two widest sides were accurately decorated with elegant engravings. There was still the plastic ribbon attached to it, since he hadn't had the chance to properly unwrap it before because of Riley being in his arms. He'd just thanked his grandmother, grabbed the present, rested it on the couch and returned to worship his little cousin and amuse her with funny voices and grimaces.
He hadn't even really figured out what it was.
Chris observed it, clumsily unwrapped the ribbon and pushed the little button on the narrow side. It clicked open effortlessly. He couldn't restrain a little scoff.
It was a cigarette holder.
His grandmother, who was supposed to have no clue about his bad habit, had bought a goddamn cigarette holder specifically for him and carried it along across half Europe and then overseas!
The hell she knew nothing!
Chris clicked it closed and sighed in dejection.
What else did Mary know about him unbeknownst to him?
He felt a new wave of discouragement rise up to his throat, clogging it. The overwhelming feeling that everything was slipping out of his control ran over him so harshly that tears pricked in his eyes and lungs wrenched in his ribcage and obsession raged in his mind.
Claire was pregnant. That alone was more than enough to make him want to die. But it wasn't just that. No, it couldn't be that simple and easy, goddammit! When things must go bad, they always do it in grand style! All piling up together like a load of crap upon more loads of crap! And he was in the shit up to his neck. Chris quickly recollected all the other misfortunes happened in the last day or so.
His father kind of suspected he'd acted nasty to his sister; his grandfather knew he'd been lying to him all the time and wasn't the "wholesome lad" he used to believe; his mother wouldn't stop grilling and inspecting at the minimal sign of distress and now his grandmother and her impenetrable mysteriousness and insight completed the picture! Chris was surrounded by enemies. Everyone in his family either shared a terrible secret or threatened to discover what secret it was. He felt attacked on all sides.
Poor helpless pawn.
As the discouragement topped over, Chris released a shaky little whimper and, on the very verge of panic, he hurled the cigarette holder away to rest his open palms on the floor, trying to steady himself and straighten up his torso in order to breathe better. The impression that he was going to experience the same panic attacks he'd seen Claire undergo so many times in his body almost crashed him. For more than one reason. He cursed because, notwithstanding he'd seen it happen a million times, he'd developed no methods to overcome the crisis. He was obviously going to have a breakdown and he had not the slightest idea of how to behave. He felt powerless, but it's presumably part of the thing itself. So, he just forced himself to consider it all better – before he'd die either of heart attack or forced apnoea. Maybe he was overstating it a little – except for the pregnancy of course, there's no way that can be overstated.
Alright, Claire used to rely on breath-control, right? Long, deep breaths and closed eyes. Fine. Three, two, one...
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Alright, so... first of all, his father had ultimately brushed off his out-of-place – yet accurate – guesses as stupid nonsense, so perhaps "suspect" was too strong of a verb for the case.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Secondly, his grandfather had officially caused him to feel sick – at least at his family's eyes – because of the drink John himself had poured, so he couldn't really blame him for poisoning his lungs as long as he poisoned his grandson's guts and liver.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Lastly, his mother was just being a mother, treating him like a two-year-old kid with flu like every other damn time there was something off about him. His grandmother... his grandmother... well, she... uh...
Chris breathed out a ragged whimper.
She knew everything, didn't she?
Didn't she?!
She'd already guessed everything, didn't she?!
He was screwed! She would totally know everything by then and he'd never guess what she had coming for him a-and...
And... he gasped.
Chris looked around for the cigarette holder. Quietly panting, he reached out and grasped it, holding it tight in his hand.
That gift was the evidence that Mary knew about his stupid bad habit. But it was also the proof that she hadn't breathed a single word to her husband about it. In years! Suddenly, that was the most comforting thought.
Chris couldn't know the real extent of what she knew, but he could totally rely on his grandmother not to betray his trust. Even though he couldn't deny how a move such giving him a motherfucking cigarette holder had exposed him so bad to the risk of John making questions and jumping to conclusions. Still, Chris needed it to be comforting.
It wasn't much yet it was something. And Chris was up to anything would allow him a little relief and a sense of safety now.
Clenching his jaw, Chris wiped the tiny tears off his brown eyes and rested the holder back onto the floor.
She won't stab me in the back.
Still and all, in spite of how hard he tried to convince himself, Chris didn't wholly believe in his own words. It wasn't enough to put his alarm to bed.
Chris tucked his knees to his chest, tiredly rested the elbows on them, and sat his forehead against the forearms. Just as he did so, his stomach grumbled loud and deep, protesting against the starvation it'd been coerced into and Chris believed to hear a rustle coming from the door. But, when he raised his look to check, he was met by the emptiness of the desert bedroom.
He was alone with his misery and hunger.
Good thing though, since he didn't want anyone to see him this low and wrecked. Especially not his family. Except for Claire maybe. It'd totally be of use for her to see what she'd made of him.
A few minutes passed where he simply sat there, lonesome and blue, all curled up like a sitting hedgehog, basically drowning in self-pity. Chris never felt this down in his whole life. He couldn't even restrain tears from keeping flooding his eyes so he just gave up and quietly wept against his arms.
At some point, hefelt two fingertips tap on the crown of his head.
Wincing, he peeled his forehead off his arms and looked upwards just to see a porcelain dish levitating right in front of his eyes like a spaceship.
"Guess you'd use some of it right now."
Part 3 – peace
Claire snuggled more down in the bathtub.
She let the hot water rise up until it grazed her chin. Hair tied into a high knot, she reclined her head onto the edge and closed her eyes, seeking peace.
The girl loved taking long baths in her grandparents' bathroom, it was so pampering. Unlike the bathtub in the basement of her home, one could enjoy a beautiful view from this one, since it was placed right below the window overlooking the frontside yard and the woods and, in the distance, one could guess the mountains around the low valley where Raccoon City lay. She'd normally spend entire hours in there doing nothing, careless of her brother's protests to get out and let him pee. She'd just idly watch the forest and the sunlight beam through the steam rising from the water until the skin on her fingertips looked like pink raisins.
But not this time.
This time she lay restless and agitated in the suffocating warmth of the hot water, the by-then-perennial look of worry furrowing her features. There was no way for Claire to escape adulthood and its troubles by diving in childhood memories of comfy peace.
Since there was nothing normal in her, nothing preserved its normality around her. The awareness of her dreadful condition climbed up all over the walls like a dark mould, decaying all the surroundings, gnashing the wood tiles and screeching so loud that the aesthetic of the countryside house was ruined forever. Just as much as she was. Horror would trump everything, always. And she'd die in the haunted house with its walls crashing on her and the mould devouring her up to the brain until only a heap of dried dust was left of her.
Claire opened her eyes, heaving and wide-eyed like a little girl waking up from a nightmare – only that she'd been daydreaming. The calmness of the bathroom was there to welcome her back from the horrors her own brain birthed.
Staring at the white ceiling, Claire wondered how far she could take this shit. How long she could pretend and hide it from the world. Not long enough, anyway. She wished she could just disappear. She wished she could simply drown without survival instinct kicking in and saving her lungs.
She wished she hadn't told Chris.
His reaction by the river alarmed her so bad, she hadn't fully recovered yet. This time she'd managed to make him change his mind, but what assured her he wouldn't succumb again to his sense of responsibility – or whatever shit compelled him to blurt it all out? Could she rely on his word? What if she'd not be there and prevent him from ruining her… their lives?
What had she been thinking?!
Claire exhaled a sigh, for she knew exactly what she was thinking when she made up her mind to confide him her secret.
Their secret now.
Claire abruptly tilted her head upright.
Their secret!
"Thanks." Chris lamely replied as he grabbed the dish, a look of confusion plastered all over his face.
"I could hear your stomach grumble almost from the hallway." Claire said.
"Yeah…" Chris muttered, still in disbelief for the unexpected courtesy. He wiped his tears and watched his sister sit down on the floor, right next to him, and mirror his same pose, adjusting her comfy clothes all along. He then eyed the dish and the single big slice of pumpkin pie on it. It just sparked a warm feeling inside his ribcage.
"Want some?" He bashfully offered.
Claire shook her head no in polite refusal and watched him as he shifted to a crossed-legged position and took a big bite. The pie was still so mushy that it made no sound as Chris chewed it. The deafening silence in the room and the whole upper floor contributed to create a sense of fresh stillness along with the sharp light of the late-afternoon sun, so incredibly white, all enhanced by the bright shades of the maple wood inside and the snow outside. Claire combed a few damp tendrils of hair on her nape into her high knot with her fingers and casually looked around, appreciating the pervading quietude of the snug bedroom – Chris's bulky presence only increasing the cosy feeling. Her eye eventually fell onto the little tin box resting on the floor right next to her hip. She grabbed it and briefly studied the obscure small object. "Is it your gift from granny?"
Chris, who'd been following her moves with the corner of his eye, hummed affirmatively. Sitting all hunched over the tilted dish, he pushed all the chewed food in his cheek, and spoke "Switzerland."
Claire fiddled with it until it somehow opened in her palm, disclosing its secret nature. She knew it was meant to store cigarettes since Piers had been using a similar thing too and kept it with great care and always extracted it from his jacket pocket with a cocky move. It didn't take long for Claire to put two and two together.
"Looks like you've been hiding behind the cabin uselessly." She pointed out. "Or, at least, that you didn't hide well enough since Granny knows."
Chris couldn't help but sigh in agreement, but as soon as he gulped down, he remarked that "Grandpa knew nothing, though."
"Knew? Has she told him?"
"Nope. He just caught me, uh, red-handed." Chris shrugged, faking to be unaffected by it.
Claire shifted her look from the tin box to Chris's face, a shade of concern crossing her features. "He caught you smoking?!"
Chris took another bite and nodded. With his mouth full, he said "I don't care what he thinks. I didn't even hide this time." He swallowed and lowly muttered, more to himself than to her, "I'm sick and tired of hiding."
Claire's look hardened in an expression of earnest. That just didn't sound right. Such sudden laxity of him was as out of time as it was alarming. And alarm rose indeed, breaking the fragile peace she'd found in the bedroom. If Chris thought he could just give up on everything and stop giving any fucks about his life, he was damn wrong! This wasn't just about bad habits. He couldn't give it all up!
Claire shifted her look from the opposite wall to his face. "You can't stop hiding, not now." She said, "I want you to know it."
"Guess it's too late to turn back now." Chris shrugged. "He saw me."
"You know what I'm talking about." Claire pointedly remarked, determined not to beat around the bush and go straight to the sore point instead.
The siblings locked gazes.
"I do." Chris murmured.
"Chris," she sighed, shifting and turning her body towards her brother until his meaty shoulder was just a few inches away from the point of her nose and her bent knees were above his thighs almost ready to jab in his ribs, "we... we're in this together..."
"Don't fret. I'm not letting you down." Chris said, to reassure her he hadn't changed his mind and wouldn't go back on his word. Even though he had no idea how to keep it in the first place. "I promised, remember? But... we need to talk about this whole... thing." The boy cautiously enticed.
"We do, I know that but, please, not now."
Chris nodded at the window direction and the Arklay forest and its river beyond it and urged, "you can't expect that little talk was enough to solve anything!"
"We'll talk it all out, we'll make plans, trust me." Claire spelled, sighing heatedly, "I mean, we have no choice, right? Damn, nobody wants to get out of this shit as much as I do! But we won't do anything as long as we're here. We can't do anything from here!" She took a long breath and toned it down before even the last miserable shred of peace would be burnt away. "We got the whole weekend ahead of us and..." she looked down on herself and shook her head as to dispel unpleasant thoughts out of her mind. When she spoke again her voice was reduced to a low whisper. "...and the bump won't pop up overnight, so..."
"You're right, but there's a time limit for..." Chris cleared his throat and gulped in discomfort, "I guess."
Claire clenched her jaw and looked away, piercing the wall with her blue stare.
Am I slurring my words?!
She'd clearly stated they'd better leave it alone for a while, she'd openly asked for him not to oppress her with his solicitude, yet he kept hurrying things! Obsessively bugging her! And he kept fanning that abortion idea over and over as if she didn't know what had to be done!
Claire sighed and reclined her head against the mattress, staring at the ceiling now. Maybe she was too hard to him. She couldn't really expect him to keep calm, not so soon. You don't get this kind of news every day, there's no way he'd be prepared to stand the blow. Had she already forgotten how bad she'd reacted to the news? She felt she should be more considerate about his feelings, but it was just so hard for her not to keep blaming him for it all!
We did it together. We did it together.
Claire took a couple of long breaths and tilted her head upwards. She reached out and rested a hand on the crook of Chris's arm, her eyes firmly glued to his. She glanced at the door then stared back into his caramel-brown eyes. There was something in her look that immediately made concern grow in her brother.
"I thought about it." She said, speaking in low tones. "Look, I told you because I think it's the right thing to do. You needed to know, okay? And... I was thinking that since you know we might just help each other. Listen, I don't want to cut you off but... ugh, I need to know we're on the same wavelength about this."
"About this what, exactly?" Chris gingerly asked.
"About keeping the secret." Claire replied, addressing him a pointed look to remark she'd no intention to ponder any solution for the moment. A-n-y. The plan was to survive Thanksgiving. Nothing else. Whatever there was to be decided, it'd be next week's problem. Claire just wished he'd understand that once and for all. But if she was so eager to procrastinate every stressful decision-making, Chris, on the other hand, was desirous to erase the evidence of their sin as soon as possible and get them out of trouble. "We keep the secret. Together. And we fucking pretend everything's alright, okay? We need to team up." The girl spelled, her big blue eyes inviting him to abide by her simple request. "And I need to know you're not taking any decision without me. Any."
"I already promised that."
"Yeah, but…" Claire sighed and rested her forehead against his shoulder, letting his warmth cuddle her, for the first time in what seemed like ages, resisting the sudden want to be bear-hugged by him. How naïve of her to believe she'd not miss his closeness. He was doing absolutely nothing, yet it was enough to make her feel a little better already. "What I'm asking is just you and me side by side." She muttered against his sleeve. "That's all I'm asking."
"So, you need me." Chris chuckled, to defuse a little the drama and taunt her in a cheering manner, certain that she'd appreciate.
"No but... yes." Claire chuckled back and tightened her hold around his bicep, nestling even closer to him.
Chris observed her resting against his side and concealed well all his perplexity about that whole conversation. There was something about her that suggested she was withholding something. Still and all, he wouldn't grill her more, lest it'd push her away. With a bow of his meaty neck, Chris kissed the crown of her head in a long, heartfelt kiss and thanked every god for that unexpected proximity.
"I'll never not be by your side, baby." He whispered. "But it can't be only me making promises. It's your turn now."
Claire immediately tilted her head upwards, a look of confusion furrowing her brows.
Part 4 – Dolceamaro
"Woops!" Serena exclaimed in embarrassment as soon as she noticed the big damp stain on her shirt. No matter how often she'd feed Riley, her swollen breasts would keep leaking milk. Fortunately, she'd quickly learned to always bring at least one change of clothes along.
It was almost dinner time, the table had already been laid and the woman was enjoying the comfiness of the fireplace on the rocking chair, cradling her daughter in her arms. Honestly, she'd have appreciated that tender moment to last a little more, but the annoying stain tickled her OCD too much to just leave it there a second longer. Oh, what a stroke of luck that her niece was just about walking by!
"Claire, wardrobe malfunction over here! So please take Riley while I go change my shirt!" Serena said, basically thrusting the baby into Claire's arms without even waiting for a response and disappeared up the staircase.
Dumbfounded, Claire found herself holding her little cousin out of nowhere, against her will. Worst timing e-v-e-r. The girl just wished to sit the baby anywhere and go as far as possible away from her. She looked around for either finding the pram or someone to fob Riley off to but she was disappointed on both sides. The pram was nowhere to be found and everybody seemed busy doing something. And you can't just leave a baby on a chair all on her own and walk away, right? Certainly not when she's hardly a month old!
It was the second time she held Riley since she was born, and she felt all the more unexperienced and scared to be appointed of such a responsibility as to look after her while the mother was away. And most importantly, the last thing she wanted now was a baby in her arms reminding that there was another baby in her belly!
Claire was trembling inside. The fear she might accidentally drop the baby mixed with the terror of tasting again what to hold a baby feels like, insomuch so that her legs seemed to turn into jelly. She just hoped her discomfort wasn't too evident, maybe the rocking chair would be of use now and conceal her shuddering with its gentle swinging. Tight-lipped and resigned, the girl sat down, with the same naturalness as if she were holding a stinky and soiling heavy brick.
The girl initially held her a little afar from her chest, but the fear of seeing her fall over and off on the hard ground pushed her to hold her tighter against her bosom. The baby was all bubbly smiles and swaying tiny arms and she moved erratically but relentlessly about at the height of where Claire's heart maddened inside the ribcage, oblivious that by doing so she was jabbing her older cousin's feelings. Despite how much she strived to ignore that tiny bundle of cuteness in her arms, Claire repeatedly failed to keep her eyes off of her.
Riley was so tiny and innocent.
She needed to be looked after all the time. She needed to be fed, cleaned, lulled, entertained, educated. She needed everything since she was anything but self-sufficient. Her mother, her father, her uncles, cousins and grandparents, they were all there ready to take care of her and satisfy all of her needs and more. She had to worry about nothing but sleep, eat, poop. Nothing troubled her but the pangs of hunger when chow time came, but even in that occasion all she had to do was cry out and Serena's nipple would immediately come in sight.
What a cushy life she had!
Claire couldn't help but envy her cousin for that, and wondered when exactly had her own life stopped being that easy and started messing with her at such a degree that she was pregnant of her own brother! Was it since the 24th of September or had everything started to go to shit even before and this was just the bottom of it all?
A movement in her eyesight caught her attention. As she looked upwards, she met Chris standing by the fireplace, right in front her, and he was looking at her. As if the situation wasn't already uncomfortable as fuck! There was something strange in his gaze, something Claire could hardly acknowledge and certainly failed to name but that she felt hitting her hard and merciless. It was a blurry shade of tenderness, a note of melancholy and a lot of bitterness all mixed up together. Probably, the best suiting word that would get the closest to what actually showed on Chris's face was "guilt" or, at least, that's surely what his clenched jaw gave away. But in his eyes... in his sweet eyes there was something even more threatening, beyond the overall beaten look.
Chris took a few steps closer to Claire, while the girl held her breath throughout, wishing he wouldn't dare to do what was clearly going to happen. Once by the rocking chair, he knelt down, squatting on his ankles beside it. The sight of the back of his forefinger delicately grazing the red hair on Riley's head confirmed all her fears were coming true.
Claire looked at him.
The vermilion halo of the nearby flames caressed his features, highlighted his jawline, defined his cheekbones and enhanced the gold caramel tones in his irises as he watched Riley smile under his soft touch – upside-down from his point of view. Framed under a intent frown, the look on his face was mild and sweet, vaguely enamoured like every time he set his eyes on Riley, even though the tender smile was missing this time. An imperceptible, tight-lipped, downcast pout had distorted it. A sour melancholy had replaced every joy. Yet, he was ridiculously breath-stopping to Claire, for reasons she partially ignored.
As his fingers trailed over and over the baby's head, Chris slid the other arm behind Claire's back to steady himself. She was so close he could distinguish her warmth from the fire's. Her perfume mixed with the baby powder scent and together they lulled Chris's nostrils. He could feel their knees touching, her arm under his wrist, her shoulder close to his cheek, her waist against his other forearm.
Claire wasn't escaping his presence and peacefully let him savour hers.
Chris could've died, hadn't he already been so deadly appalled.
The warm, jolly voice of Robert clashed that moment of unspoken connection. "Oh, look at that!" The man smiled and extracted his phone from the pocket, "I need to capture this! Look at me, kids! Say cheese…!"
Now more than ever the kids appreciated the tradition of saying that yellowish word while taking pictures. The double "e" helps faking smiles, that's specifically its purpose. Remindful of the reciprocal promises they'd made to each other up in the old bedroom a few minutes before, both Chris and Claire made a great effort to show their best smiles while Robert went all professional with the settings of his phone's camera, to immortalize the next generation of Redfields all hugged together, in his niece's very first holiday of her just-begun life.
The siblings stayed there frozen, looking like two newly-weds with a baby posing for the family portrait to send as Xmas cards, whereas happiness was far from being found behind those fake happy faces. The perfect family picture of a family that ought to never be: Claire sitting on the rocking chair, a baby in her arms leisurely chewing the pacifier and, finally, Chris kneeling down next to them with one hand on the baby's head and the other looped around Claire's waist, protectively.
"There!" Robert giggled as he watched the result on the screen, "this goes straight on my desk." And he gladly walked away to proudly show the photograph to the other family members, glad to finally see his kids get along well after all those days of weirdness.
Now that their father was finished taking pictures, Chris dared to glance at Claire's eyes. She looked back quite frightened and… something else. Her big blue eyes dropped on that little bundle in her arms and then raised back up into his brown eyes. They made eye-contact for less than a second, yet it was plenty of time for him to read her from the inside out. There was pity in her look, almost apology, but he'd be hanged if he denied he didn't see the ocean of chagrin storming in the background.
There he realised.
Chris finally intuited the real reason behind Claire's actions that morning and why she'd told him about her pregnancy. He didn't even need to ask for confirmation, the look on her face spoke volumes about her inner feelings, almost telepathically.
The truth unravelled to him like springtime after the winter snowstorms: it simply broke her heart to know she might be the one who will have to deprive him of his rightful paternity, of holding his baby in his arms, the real blood of his blood, with the same look of love he had for Riley – if not more – a look that Robert had certainly caught in the picture. Claire hated she'd be the woman to deny Chris to make that family portrait come true. Come to life. There'd be no life coming… isn't it?
It also filled her heart with resentment to know he was just doing the same to her. He'd deprive her of maternity, of holding her first-born in her arms. The blood of their blood. And, at the same time, he'd forced her to experience maternity at such a young age. Whatever they decided to do, she was pregnant and couldn't undo that experience.
It was unfair, an injustice they both did to each other, unknowingly but inevitably.
The bulky boy hunched onwards a placed a little peck on Riley's head and he swore he heard Claire sob quietly next to him but when he looked up nothing on her face suggested she was crying internally.
How many times had she been crying inside, hidden from him? What a terrific actress was she?
Chris tenderly smiled at his sister and squeezed her waist a little as if to say "I'm here, it's gonna be alright". Riley squirmed a bit and blabbed a short whine. As Claire instinctively tapped the point of her tiny nose with a delicate fingertip and quietly cooed, Chris rested his temple against her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her a little more.
"She's so small." He murmured, sweetly.
"She's so cute."
As a dense silence fell between them for a few seconds of stillness, Chris stood up, breaking out of the family portrait, whose only remembrance was now carefully stored in Rob's phone and happily shared via group chat – as those multiple beeps across the house suggested. That tender moment was over, leaving behind the burning acid that lacerated the kids' poor hearts as long as it filled them with sorrow, desire, fear.
Part 5 – The Cobra and the Mantis
To spend the Thanksgiving weekend at the elder Redfields' mostly meant to replicate the Thursday luncheon over and over across the following days, testing the extent of the insatiable appetite, such a recurrent trait in the family. Eating together, that's how the Redfield lineage reinforced its bond over the time. Meal after meal, drink after drink, Thanksgiving Day passed, the Black Friday expired as fast as its crazy sales and, finally, Saturday came.
It was so late that everyone had wrapped Saturday and its leftovers and went to bed, ready to wake up to the last day by the mountainside cottage before returning to the normal routine in Raccoon.
It was the ending of a longest weekend that had left Chris numb and scared, filled his hours with obsessive worries and forced solo acts of feigned normality in his manners. He'd overall kept his word quite well and had proved he could keep up appearances at least as good as Claire.
Claire…
In spite of every promise of friendly closeness he'd extorted to his sister, the last two days had been full of... formal friendliness? Basically, little had changed between them. Claire still preferred being mostly on her own lest he'd remind her how dreadful her life had turned, with the difference that now, when they had to be together, the accusing frown had disappeared from her forehead and she'd even regarded him with a few genuine smiles and a goodnight hug that Chris had promptly and jealously cherished dear in his heart.
Not that Chris had struggled to be with her, though.
He'd spent lots of time with his grandfather tinkering with the motorbike and shopping for replacement parts on sale by hardware stores. After that little accident involving tobacco and long-kept secrets on the other day, John had quickly returned to treat Chris as usual, although without missing to address scolding looks anytime Chris's all-new cigarette holder came in sight. If on one hand the boy was finally free from the chains of at least one secret and now able to smoke wherever he wanted, on the other hand he avoided to openly do it in John's presence out of respect, albeit he'd stopped hiding.
So basically the weekend had slipped away slow and dull among idle strolls, meals and hidden breakdowns.
In the quiet of that Saturday night, Chris couldn't get to close his eyes and sleep. All he could do was to stare at the upper bed staves like a hypnotized mummy in a bed too small to contain his wide-built mass comfortably. He felt like squashed by a thousand chains immobilizing him down. The mattress springs above squeaked quietly every now and then and it only fuelled his concern about his sister. Like the past two nights, she was clearly having a troubled sleep too, as she tossed and turned all the time. Or, at least, that's what he thought she was doing.
Chris lay with his hands entwined between his nape and the pillow, unmoving except for his crossed feet, nervously swaying below the heavy woollen blankets, the only spot where his repressed energy managed to vent a bit. Night brings good counsel they say and every night since Thursday Chris spent a good deal of wake time regretting every promise he'd made that day. Every single word he'd uttered was a new link in the chain that oppressed him now, forcing him into immobile passivity. He couldn't speak, couldn't ask for advice, couldn't take Claire straight to a hospital and get her to miscarry, he couldn't do anything. It was late and he had to wait. That's all. And that's what had been going on in the last two nights, over and over in loop.
Time rushed inexorable and he had no power to stop it.
Chris hated feeling helpless like that. He hated he couldn't take action and solve their troubles. He hated there was nothing in his power to help them make it through unscathed. He hate-… the springs squeaked louder and the mattress above sunk until the light shape of Claire's legs appeared in the dark, as she climbed down the bed.
Chris's first instinct was to sit up and ask what was wrong but he immediately reconsidered. As the calm movements of her suggested, Claire was probably only getting up to go to the bathroom, nothing more. Too scared he'd only fuck up, Chris didn't want to annoy her with his unmotivated concern or make her feel like he was breathing down her neck. Thus, he stayed down, silent, watching her indistinct shadow creep up to the door and sneak outside.
Minutes passed and Chris's mind began raging out of control as long as Claire wasn't returning. He now remembered he'd once witnessed Claire walk down the staircase with the sick paleness on the face of whom has just puked the shit out of her stomach. What if this was the case and she was feeling sick and needed his help? What if she'd passed out?
As what-ifs filled his brain and lungs with a sense of suffocating anxiety, Chris made up his mind to go check how she was doing, before he'd go crazy, so he hurled the blankets aside and forcefully climbed out of bed.
The cottage first-floor corridor was imbued in a silvery moonlight profusely filtering from the big window at the bottom end. The wooden doors stood out in the clarity of the walls. The silence was deafening. Was it possible that nobody in house even snored? Only the wood floor panels quietly creaked a couple of times below Chris's feet, yet it wasn't enough to actually bore a hole in the hush.
Once by the bathroom door, Chris leaned against it and eavesdropped for any noise coming from inside.
Nothing.
The boy bit his lip in indecision. Should he knock? Should he go back to bed? Should he break in and check Claire's vital signs? Gritting his teeth in self-deprecation at his sudden spinelessness, Chris gently knocked at the door.
No answers.
Was she even there? Or had she gone somewhere else? Maybe in the kitchen for an overnight snack… Chris took a glance at the empty corridor around him and knocked again. "Claire?" He whispered, barely audible. "It's me. Open up."
Again nothing.
Chris's brain would've surely exploded in worry if only the door lock clicked one second later. As expectation grew on his features, the bathroom door cracked open, an intense cool white light cut Chris's side vertically blade-like. Temporarily blinded by the shift in luminosity, Chris didn't immediately notice the flush on his sister's face along with many other tale-telling little details about how wrong he'd been about her.
"You alright, Claire?" He whispered.
"Go back to sleep." The girl answered.
"Do you need help?" Chris insisted, peaking over her head to see if he could get any clue on what was going on, like vomit stains on the floor or whatever a pregnant woman would produce. "Let me in, I can help you if you're feeling sick and-"
Before he could list all the things he believed he could do to relieve any pregnancy sickness, with a heavy eye-roll and a hushed mewl of annoyance, Claire shoved two fingers right under his nose, silencing him on the spot.
Chris knew that smell better than any other smell in the world.
It was her scent.
God, he'd missed it.
Dumbfounded, Chris's jaw dropped and, before he could blabber anything, Claire grasped his shirt and gracelessly drew him inside.
The lock clicked again.
How exactly they'd ended up in the bathtub Chris could hardly tell.
The sole thing he knew was that only when his sister had dragged him inside and started undressing, he realised she was naked below the loose nightgown, like, with zero underwear on. He panties and bra actually messily laid on the floor, as if she already was naked before he knocked and had put the nightwear back on only to open the door.
Feeling sick my ass, he'd have presumably thought if only he could peel his eyes off her curves.
Claire hadn't even asked if he felt like it, she'd just undressed, taken his face in her hands and started making out with him, torturing and trumping him with her full-frontal beauty. She'd caught him completely off-guard and left him awestruck.
The more she kissed, the less he knew.
Beaten by the ravaging passion of her, Chris kissed her warily at first, hesitation making his kisses shallow and cautious and his hands rather shy. Sensing his uneasiness under her touch, Claire kissed him to the wall then dropped to her knees. Now that his mouth was free again, Chris was on the verge of asking her to stop but, in a blink of an eye, Claire took him in her hand and strongly pumped him a few times, just that much she needed to drain enough blood from his brain straight into his dick and… seal the deal.
She quickly got him wrapped around her finger too tight for him to complain further.
There was no way Chris ought to feel at ease, no way he'd forget they were surrounded by their family, sleeping on the other sides of both walls, no way he'd feel comfortable committing incest in their grandparents' cottage, no way he'd have pulled his clothes off and followed her in the bathtub yet he did it all. Like a cobra dancing to the notes of the snake charmer, Chris followed Claire and did everything she wished. He let her music possess his willpower. She mewled under her breath and tugged at his shirt claiming his skin for her, high-handed and determined until he pulled it off and offered all the beauty of his brawns for her to satiate her insatiable appetite and compensate the fact that she was the only wholly naked one.
It took a while but, in the end, Chris completely abandoned himself to that unexpected, senseless love-making.
Claire instead, she seemed restless and constantly unsatisfied. She was aroused, sure, but she wasn't satisfied yet. She kept switching between hasty hand-jobs to demanding quite acrobatic oral and then going back to her sucking him. It looked like she was desperately looking for the best way to get what she wanted from him, so she kept trying many options before ending up in the bathtub and go straight for the intercourse.
Laying down inside the bathtub, they didn't wait. Like at Carlos's birthday party, they adjusted inside it, Claire below, Chris above. Only that this time they were in the right bodies and with no clothes on to separate their skins and prevent their conjunction.
Claire seemed utterly possessed.
She literally devoured him, not only with her mouth. She'd make a great deal of effort to grab as much as she could of him and drag it to her, inside her, as if she wanted to nurture herself of his flesh. Arms, legs, tongue, everything was licit. It was like she'd developed a whole new set of limbs just to attract him and keep him all the more glued to her skin.
Claire was hungry.
Starving.
Needy.
Brainwashed by her seduction, Chris let her lead the dances. He was certainly aroused, evidently aroused, although a certain voice inside of him didn't allude to stop warning him, howling a like a siren, to stop here and now, stop that madness, so ridiculously reckless. All the other parts of him, instead, wanted to just keep fucking, after all that time without her. The rest of his body, mind and soul wanted him to stop wondering how the hell had he even managed to fit into that bathtub in the missionary position without breaking any bones already. Where had his ankles gone, by the way?!
Guess which part won the battle.
As smooth and silent as a snake, Chris abandoned himself to the dance Claire had chosen for them but his male pride hurt a little when she rolled her eyes in scorn as he hesitated to get inside her bareback. But she was right, what was the use of a condom now? He knew that, still, her pointed look was uncalled for.
But it certainly didn't stop him.
As Chris felt his release approaching, the need possessed him. He rose on his elbows and then he straightened up to grasp the bathtub edges, almost sitting on his ankles – oh, there you are! – enjoying the view of Claire so incredibly folded in two under him and that magical place where their bodies joined. She was so slick his dick glided in and out effortlessly. The low wet sound of his motions was the loudest thing in the whole room and it drove him wilder than any screamed moan would've ever done. Fuck the pregnancy, fuck the troubles, and fuck the rules. Fuck the scruples and fuck the risks. Now that even the last drop of blood had left his brain, the only fuck he gave was to fuck his sister, just that.
As he heard her shallow breaths grow harder and he saw her squirm and writhe more and more vehemently, Chris thrusted into her with all himself until the orgasm rolled his eyeballs backwards and ripped a raw pant out of his throat.
That position, so complicatedly twisted and constrained, was harder than it seemed. It'd forced Chris to ponderous and complex movements to both accomplish the "fucking goal" and keep their skins from soundly slam together, insomuch so that it left him almost breathless now that he'd finished. Still grasping at the edges, Chris pulled out, unable to prevent the intrusive thought that he'd just come inside her to rise and mess with the post-coital bliss. He'd come inside her and it was fucking alright since she was already pregnant. Ridiculous! Yeah... Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. She's expecting. She's pregnant!
What have I done?
Without further delay, he fell back prisoner of the same worries that had caged him in the last three days. To watch his member come out of her "naked" like a filthy worm only made it worse. The sight of Claire's fingers replacing his dick gave to "make it worse" a whole new meaning. Her huff of annoyance reached his ears and compelled him to look up at her face. She lay with closed eyes and a hard scowl of reproach furrowing her brows as she kept working hard with her hands to finish herself.
Claire was annoyed.
Notwithstanding all the hopes she'd set on him, it annoyed her that his presence hadn't certainly given her any better orgasm than those she'd been giving herself every other night so far in the relative privacy of the bunk bed. Little good did to her Chris kissing her neck and jawline to mend for his inconsiderate hastiness, and even less good did his hand hurrying to finger her to climax. It rather added insult to injury.
Claire came with a series of short, high-pitched, susurrated hums a bitter taste in her mouth.
Despite being the one below and the one coming last, Claire was the first to step out of the bathtub. Still mother-naked, she untied her messy bun and massaged the scalp as a rainfall of wavy auburn hair danced over her shoulders, the shape of her resembling an hourglass of pure femininity. Claire then picked her panties and slipped them on, careless that by bowing down she was literally slamming her exposed parts straight at her brother's face. Without breaking her silence, she grasped her bra and hooked it around her breasts.
Chris watched her every move in silence, while still sitting on his ankles inside the bathtub. His softening manhood lay on his thigh in a funny pose and minuscule droplets of sweat shone every here and there across his chest. Caught in the middle of adoration and mortification, he replayed in his head what had just happened.
What had exactly just happened?
Had it happened for real? Was it a dream? Chris glanced at Claire adjusting the straps of her bra around her shoulders. No way he was dreaming. She was never that beautiful in his dreams, no matter how wet they were.
Had he had sex with her again? His flaccid penis suggested so.
Damn, how awkward had that whole thing been? He'd never been – or felt – that clumsy and gawky around a girl not even when he was about to lose his virginity. It never happened before that he'd had to be spurred on making love, especially not with Claire, let alone with her already naked and hot. Not that he was scared or shamed but… he just… he just wasn't feeling like it. Chris couldn't stop loathing himself for how hesitant and dull he'd been.
Dammit, had he… failed to please her?! That was totally inexplicable to him. How could've come that he'd ignored her needs?
Chris clenched his jaw at the thought that maybe he'd been just so damn eager to get out of that situation that he'd rushed straight to the ending as quick as possible.
Claire slid back into her nightgown, sinuously letting the soft fabric glide all the way down her curves up to her hips, putting an end to what, at Chris's eyes, now tasted like a stupid parenthesis supposed to mean absolutely nothing to her by dawn. Chris blamed himself for having not stood his ground and refused to comply to her egoistic will when he'd had the chance. Allegedly, he was unable to say just no-thanks to a good shag.
Stupid fucker, he thought, it's so easy to regret what you actually thoroughly enjoyed doing, uh?
What the hell was in their minds? To have sex as if they forgot the tragedy going on?! How low could they really get? Was even there a rock bottom to hit?
Chris scoffed inwardly. Instead of resolving their troubles or at least deciding how to move in order to solve them, they just mindlessly fucked and went for ignoring it all! He mentally added that thing to the growing list of things they had to discuss someday.
Chris eventually stood up, a giant nude, beautiful and sculptured like a Greek statue, and climbed over the porcelain edge of the bathtub, rubbing his tired face with a hand. It was the first time that after the sex he felt even more tense than before. The first time it didn't help in the least.
With the excuse of not waking the others, the siblings remained in the same silence in which they'd made love – or whatever it's called what they'd just done. The awkwardness between them could be cut with a knife. None of them dared to directly look at each other in the face as though they were both waiting for the other to find an elegant way to call it quits and go to sleep, harmless.
Just as Chris bent to pick his shirt from the floor, someone knocked at the door forcing the siblings to exchange a frightened look. The air in the bathroom froze on the spot and so did the blood in their veins.
A second knock followed right away and this time a voice joined it.
It was Grandma Mary. She talked too loud for Chris and Claire not to flinch at the revelation. Not loud enough to wake everyone, but enough to instil total panic in them. Chris gulped down in jitters. Suddenly to even grab his pants from the floor became a real struggle, as it kept falling off his trembly fingers. Dead end. They were with their backs against the wall, the enemy had found them. Checkmate was just one move away.
Claire looked at her brother, wide-eyed and mouthed a silent "what do we do now?"
Chris hated to shrug. He had no plan. There couldn't be one since there was only one option: open the door. After all, they were in their nightwear, nothing could possibly be suspected. Breathing deeply, Chris walked to the door, determined to take on the amiable witch standing on the other side. Make it or break it, they had to leave the bathroom, that was for sure.
As he walked, frightened and tense, he sensed Claire side him and take shelter in the reassuring proximity of his heft body. The familiar feeling of being the older brother, of being able to offer protection to Claire, allowed a small confidence to grow in him, even so not enough to trump his nerves completely. Petty little nod at his hurt male pride.
Mary hadn't got to knock a third time that the door opened. Her whole frame kind of glowed in the dark under the white light radiating from the bathroom into the corridor darkness. Her silver hair fell loose and slightly tousled all down her shoulders and chest up to grazing her waist. The total lack of any make-up on her face and the whitish large ankle-length nightgown gave her a ghostly appearance.
Curbing any unnecessary reaction, Chris and Claire appeared in the doorframe, smiling widely, and exited the bathroom careless of the old lady standing in their way with a look of worry on her wrinkly face.
"Everything alright, kids?" The lady asked, wrapping the shawl around her shoulders tighter.
"Yes, Granny." Claire answered, infusing as much nonchalance as she could in her girlish voice. "Chris just got a little uh… stomach-ache but it's gone now… so, goodnight!"
Chris underlined his sister's prompt lie with an eager rub on his belly and a wide nod and didn't waste a second to follow his sister unceremoniously rushing through the corridor.
Only once inside their bedroom, they released a long breath and exchanged a look that spoke volumes about the shit their grandma had scared out of them. Damn, that was close! Thank all the possible gods in the universe Claire hadn't forgotten to lock the door! Otherwise their grandmother would've found Chris standing mother-naked right in front of a Claire in underwear! Not to mention what could've happened if Mary got up from the bed only one minute earlier. The walls of the whole cottage would've resounded with the deafening scream of horror of her!
Chris rubbed his face again at that terrible scenario and wiped a subtle layer of cold sweat off his forehead, forcing himself to acknowledge that the worst had been averted, by pure chance of course but averted nonetheless.
As he lowered his hand off his face, Chris found Claire standing on her tiptoes in front him, with a hand delicately resting on his shoulder as she rose to place a kiss on his stubbled cheek.
"Goodnight, Chris." She murmured, giving his shoulder a tiny squeeze.
"Goodnight." He parroted, taken aback but pleased.
Chris stretched a little smile. Maybe… maybe it'd have mattered by dawn, in the end.
Claire gave him another little peck then turned and climbed on the upper bed, willing to leave that brick-shitting episode behind and see if she could get some good sleep out of that day. Chris watched her in silence, caressing with the back of his fingers the spot she'd just kissed. As soon as he made up his mind to follow her footsteps and go to sleep, a voice at his back aroused from the land of nightmares to haunt his dreams forever.
"Christopher, dear."
Heart jumped up into his throat, hairs raised all over his body and his face turned as pale as the Moon in the sky as Chris stiffly turned at the door direction where Mary stood leaning through the doorframe.
The woman smiled warmly and reached on with an arm, the shawl slowly slipping off her shoulder as she moved.
"Here, darling," she said, handing over something, "you forgot these on the floor. Be more careful next time." And addressed him a malicious wink before glancing at Claire staring at her from the bed, maybe even paler than her grandson.
Running out of breath and heartbeats, Chris took the thing from Mary's hands on autopilot and shaky legs. "Th-thanks." He muttered and looked down to see what it was about.
It was his… boxer briefs.
A hand-grenade with no safety pin in would've scared him less.
Jesus. Christ.
His jaw dropped, his breath stopped. Chris grazed death with his fingertips that time, while Claire stretched her neck from the upper bed to see what he was holding. Soon, she'd be paralyzed by the black-magic spell too.
Mary enjoyed every twitch on her grandson's face with a well-concealed malignity seeping through every wrinkle of her skin and turned on her heels to walk away, not willing to be there and listen when he'd recover his speech.
The appalled look on his face was all she needed to know.
Can you count all the Easter eggs bunny-girl here left around?